Note: See chapters 1 and 4 for legal notices. Thanks!

Chapter Five: History

Shannon had been only nine the first time she saw her step-mother strike Boone. Sabrina was glamorous and successful, and she really didn't have the time or the patience for a needy little boy. Even as a child, Boone had been needy, even if no one but Shannon and Sabrina saw it. In fact, Shannon and Sabrina, the two women Boone wanted to love and trust the most, were the ones who repeatedly abused him. Boone always shouldered their hate and contempt, yet would risk his own safety and comfort to come to their aid. He always put them first.

Boone had been only eleven at the time, a little too serious, an old soul in a tiny little body. He knew lots of things—how to fix Shannon's curling iron when it broke, how to set a proper table for one of Sabrina's parties—and had lots of friends. He was full of typical little boy mischief, yet always stopped short of causing real mayhem. He didn't want to cause trouble, had no desire to bring attention to himself. He simply played sandlot baseball, began flirting with the pretty girls who flocked around him, went for hamburgers and milkshakes with neighborhood friends. Everyone liked being around him, yet felt no real loss if he weren't around.

Boone knew he had been an accident. He had heard Sabrina screaming that at his father one afternoon. She hadn't wanted a baby, hadn't wanted to start a family. He'd heard Sabrina yelling, screaming that Boone should have never been born, that she grew so tired of having a scruffy little boy underfoot. From that day on, Boone saw the world as this large place where he didn't belong, and was never meant to be. If Boone's father hadn't tampered with Sabrina's diaphragm, he'd never been born. He knew this was what both parents wanted. Sabrina didn't want to give a child the attention she should be giving her business, and Boone was a disappointment to his father. He knew, without a doubt, it would have been best for everyone if he had never been born.

Boone was remembering this argument one night in his bedroom. He was only eleven, caught somewhere between boyhood and the turbulent teen years, and alone by choice. It had been raining today, and Boone, who was always careful to keep up with the weather, knew thunderstorms were predicted. Boone hated thunderstorms. He always had. He was all set to spend the night in his room, cuddled up in bed. Shannon had a friend spending the night, and their parents were throwing another dinner party. If Boone played his cards right, he would be ignored until morning.

The thunder started an hour later. The wind picked up, howling outside Boone's upstairs window. He wanted to put on headphones, put he was afraid to stop listening to the wind.

He wanted to hide under the covers when the lightening began, but he was too frightened to take his eyes off the window. He had to see the lightening, had to hear the wind. If he stopped watching and listening, the unthinkable would happen. He knew.

He also knew he wanted his mother. Sliding out of bed, Boone began inching his away across his room. He had to pass the bedroom window to get to the door. He hated to pass the window, was frightened by the idea of being so close to the rain and thunder and wind. He waited for a lull in the thunder before tiptoeing past the window. Perhaps he could make it…

CRASH! Boone was even with the window when the loudest rumble of thunder yet clasped against the sky. He scampered across the room, desperate to get away from the window, out of his bedroom, out the door, down the stairs, and into his mother's embrace. She might not have wanted him, but he knew she wouldn't be able to turn him away. He had helped her out too many times.

It was moments later, as he stood peeking into the formal dining room, that Boone realized his pants were wet. He must have wet his pants when the thunder boomed. Flushing, he quickly clasped his hands over his butt, and turned back toward the staircase. He needed to go wash out his pajamas. If his mother found out about this, she would kill him.

"Hi, Boone," Boone looked up, startled to see one of his mother's friends leaving this bathroom. She was smiling at him, her brown eyes crinkled with smile lines. She reached out and fluttered a hand through his hair. Quickly, he spun around, desperate to hide his soggy bottom from this pretty lady.

"Is something wrong?" She asked kindly. Her hand remained, soft and gentle, atop his downy head. "Are you hungry?"

Boone shook his head. Just then, another loud clap of thunder rang through the massive foyer. He jumped, looking first startled, then very, very embarrassed. "Ah," she said, suddenly understanding. "You're afraid of thunderstorms. They always scared my sister, too."

He shrugged one thin shoulder, trying to be manly, yet needing comfort. But if she hugged him, she might feel how wet he was. He cleared his throat. "I-"

"Booger!" Shannon yelled from the top of the stairs. Boone spun around, his back to his mother's friend, to see Shannon and her sleepover companion at the top of the staircase.

The friend was bent over, giggling, while Shannon looked furious. "You've peed!"

Boone flushed a deep, angry purple. "Shut up, Shannon!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the spacious foyer. "Go back to bed!"

"Boone!" Sabrina was walking out of the dining room, her face, like her son's, flushed and angry. "Why are you yelling? What are you doing out of your…" her voice trailed off. Too late, he realized he still had his back to his mother. She could see his wet pajama bottoms. "Boone," Sabrina said, her voice low and dangerous. "What happened to your pajamas?"

Boone chewed on his bottom lip, eyes downcast. "Boone," his mother said threateningly.

"What happened to your pants?"

Boone kept his eyes on the floor. He could hear Shannon and her friend giggling, heard his mother's ragged breathing, and felt the pretty lady's warm hand atop his head. He took a deep breath. "The thunder scared me," he whispered. "I was coming down to see you…"

Sabrina's chest heaved. She closed her eyes briefly, obviously praying for patience with her little boy. "Karen," she said to her friend. "Why don't you go back to the dining room? Gena was just about to serve dessert. Chocolate Raspberry torte tonight, one of my new recipes."

Karen smiled. "You may have invented the recipe, Sabrina," she said knowingly. "But someone else actually prepared the torte."

Sabrina shrugged one delicate shoulder. "You're right," she agreed. "Nevertheless, I am sure you will love the torte. I'm featuring it at two bridal parties and a sorority tea next week alone. Please go sample a slice and tell me what you think. I'd love your opinion."

"Of course," Karen said. She removed her hand from Boone's head and smiled down at him. "Nice to see you again, Boone. Come in for a piece of the torte later, if you'd like."

"After he takes a bath," Shannon whispered loudly. Her friend collapsed in a new fit of giggles.

Sabrina's smile was tight. She followed Karen to the dining room, her high heels click-

clacking on the marble floor. Sabrina closed the double doors behind Karen, assuring no

one in the dining room could hear what was happening in the foyer. She stood with her hands on the door knobs for a moment, her head bowed, shoulders rounded. Boone had seen his mother drop her glamorous façade only a handful of time in his short life. What

happened afterwards was never pretty.

When Sabrina turned around, her eyes were flashing. She walked quickly toward Boone, her searing gaze never leaving her face. When Boone was in reach, she pulled her left hand back and slapped him hard across the face. His head snapped back and tears sprang in his eyes.

"How dare you embarrass me like that?" Sabrina hissed. She pulled her hand back and slapped him a second time.

"I-I was s-sssared of the t-thunder," Boone stammered, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

Sabrina heaved a deep breath. "Thunder," she muttered. "Your father was too soft on you when it came to thunderstorms. It's time to end this silly fear of yours for good."

Grabbing his hand, Sabrina began pulling Boone through the house. Behind him, he heard Shannon and her friend run down the staircase, following them. Sabrina stared straight ahead, moving purposely through the house, her hand in Boone's strong and firm.

As much as he squirmed and pleaded, she didn't relinquish her grasp.

When they finally made it to the rear of the house, Sabrina pulled the backdoor open. A blast of cold, electrified night air hit Boone's face. The thunderstorm was in full mode now, unleashing a virtual firestorm over greater Los Angeles. The wind, thunder and lightening, which had been frightening enough up in Boone's room, was absolutely terrifying on ground level. Here, Boone was able to see the lightening as it struck the earth, actually hear the crackles in the air. His teeth began to chatter.

Before he knew what was happening, Sabrina had shoved him out into the night. He stumbled into the backyard, mud oozing through his toes. He looked back at Sabrina over his shoulder. She was illuminated by bright yellow light, and looked more powerful than he could have ever imagined. Shannon and her girlfriend peeked around Sabrina's legs, staring awestruck at Boone. The girlfriend looked a bit frightened. She clearly wanted to go back to Shannon's room, far away from this little family drama.

The look in Shannon's eyes, however, momentarily halted his shivering. He had never seen an expression quite like the one she was wearing, and he'd not see it again until a plane crash. She looked horrified and scared, yes, but there was something else…something which told Boone Shannon had just realized her power.

She knew, as in the natural selection of things, that she was a survivor, while Boone was

the loser. She had just realized the strongest survived only by feeding on the emotions and power of the weak. She knew.

Now, over a decade later, Shannon and Boone lay lost and injured on a deserted island, both remembering the night Sabrina had left her son alone and frightened in a thunderstorm. Boone remembered being locked out all night, staying awake long after the thunderstorm had died. He remembered his stepfather sneaking out of the house at dawn,

finding Boone hiding under the storage shed. Mr. Rutherford had helped Boone clean up, made him hot chocolate and chicken broth, and sang silly songs until Boone fell asleep in his own bed.

Shannon and her friend had left Boone out in the thunderstorm, bid goodnight to Sabrina, then trampled back up to her room. Neither girl was in the mood for the video and popcorn the maid had brought in. They both climbed into bed, feigning sleep, but around midnight, Shannon gave up pretending and went to the window. She saw Boone standing in the middle of the yard, his arms wrapped around his thin body. Even from a distance, she could see him shaking. She had felt sorry for Boone. She'd never deny that. But she also knew…she knew her world changed that night. She now knew she was the powerful one, she knew she could control Boone. All it took was an unkind word, a slap, a hateful look, and Boone would crumple. She and Sabrina both knew.

And now, looking at her brother as he shivered in the moonlight, she realized things would never change.