Disclaimer- C'mon guys I don't own anyone but those I've made up. You must realize that by now.

Late Saturday Night

Scott was jarred awake by the feeling something was wrong. He thought he saw two figures standing by him, both wrapped in shadows. He struggled to wake up. "Wha'?" he asked sleepily, his eyelids winning the fight to stay asleep and starting to slide down. One of the figures turned and punched him, helping him on his way to the sandy shores of sleep. Before he drifted off, he heard one word, whispered urgently.

"Da'!"

(5 minutes earlier)

Rowan lay sleeping, lost in the bliss of unconsciousness. He didn't hear the door being forced or the large bulk that made it's way softly across the creaky floorboards. It took the punch to wake him. When he did, his stomach dropped to his shoes. He recognized the smell of oil and alcohol that emitted from the hand over his mouth. It was a smell he knew instantly, a smell associated with one word that his mind and body screamed silently, Dad.

His father removed his hand and before Rowan could yell or move he was punched two or three more times. He felt his nose begin to bleed and his lip split. The pain didn't register for another moment or so and by then his father had once again covered his now bloody mouth with the dreaded hand. "Ye shut up now," said his father although Rowan had yet to make a noise, knowing if he did he'd just be beaten more. "I've got a gun and a mind to take out e'eryone of your new friends," he whispered harshly, sarcasm weighing heavily on the word friends, "so ye better keep your trap shut or …" He let the possibilities hang. Rowan nodded slowly, so his dad understood that he wasn't going to speak.

He dragged the boy from the bed. Scott chose this moment to stir, to mumble something. His father turned and punched the boy. Rowan couldn't help it, he whispered the word, "Da'!" His father turned and slammed his fist into his face. Now the blood was really pouring down, getting all over the bed, the floor, on him. His father started to drag him from the room, and Rowan felt the blood splatter. He reached out his hand and managed to grab his jacket. He prayed it had something useful in it. He let his feet drag slightly on the ground, hoping the tracks would tell Dwayne, the police, any one who would bother to look, some-thing. His father threw him in the car and his head hit the other side. Then the blissful blackness.

(Sunday)

Ezra opened his eyes and saw spots. There were splotches of red everywhere, even, Ezra realized, looking down, on him. "Peter!" screamed Ezra, over and over again.

Peter entered the dorm running and saw blood everywhere, on the floor, the walls, the desks and dressers, but most of it seemed to be on Rowan's bed, where Rowan was not. Peter turned on his heel and sprinted to the main office to wake up Sophie and call Dwayne and the police.

A/n: Moo hahahaha! A cliffie!