-Eleven years later-
Logan woke up, covered in sweat and breathing hard. He had the nightmare again. It didn't happen that often, but when it did, it scared the crap out of him. He heaved himself out of bed, showered, got dressed and went downstairs. "Hey, Mom," he mumbled sleepily, pulling a box of cereal out of the cupboard.
"Morning."
He took out a bowl and sat at the table. As he started on his breakfast, he started thinking about the nightmare he kept having. It was always the same; not very long. It was always the same. Him waking up to find his mother screaming at the window. Him rushing to the window to see what she was looking at, and seeing a dead boy on the ground below . . .
Logan gave a small shudder and stood up. "I'll see you later, Mom. I've got school."
Logan grabbed his backpack and left the house, beginning his walk to the bus stop. When he got there, his best friend James was already waiting for him. "Hey, Logan!"
"Hi James. How was your weekend in Chicago?"
"I went there to see my cousins. How do you think it went?" He rolled his eyes. "They drove me crazy, as usual. How about you?"
"Me and Carlos went to the rink on Friday afternoon, but besides that I didn't do much."
James and Logan got on the bus and saw their other best friend Carlos had saved them seats at the back. "Carlos! Hi!"
"Hi, guys!"
They talked all the way to school, all the way to their lockers, and all the way to their first class.
Simon wasn't doing well. He didn't have a job, and so he had no money. He was a thief, and often worked hard to keep the cops from tracking him. He was good at hiding. They never found him.
Logan didn't know what his dad was like. Maybe it was better that way.
Kendall was thrown against the hard, cold wall for the third time, wincing as the pain shot through his body. He fell onto the floor, only to be pulled to his feet again. "I won't have you giving me cheek, got it?" a cruel, cold voice screamed in his face.
"I'm your father, and you'll treat me with respect! Won't you?" Kendall nodded feebly, praying that he'd be satisfied and would leave him alone.
He was slammed against the wall again, and he fell onto his knees. He barely noticed his father spitting at him and leaving the basement, slamming the door behind him. He lay on the hard floor, holding the tears in as he stared blankly at the darkness around him.
Why couldn't he stand up for himself? Was he really that weak? He pulled himself into a sitting position, finally allowing a single tear to fall.
What had he done to deserve this?