AN: To the anonymous reviewer who commented on my comments about Jack's pointless death: When I said Jack's death was pointless, my point of view was from the perspective of a story teller. Most of my protest is out of frustration with the repetative nature of Hollywood action movies. Three relatively famous action movies: Fast & Furious, American Outlaws, and Four Brothers all have little brother characters who die tragically. Their names are Jack, Jim, and Jesse (they're all different actors' takes on the same character, if you look closely). Two of them, (Jack and Jim) even have older brothers named Robert. It's simularity to a sickening extent. Little brother characters are killed off for the purpose of pulling the heartstrings of the audience and a) justifying the anger of the older brothers and b) to make the enemy look bad (the point of Jack's death was to makethe watcherdislike Sweet, since it was hard to identify him with Evelyn's murder,but I thoughtthe strategy wasextremely ineffective). I especially hated it when Jack died in Four Brothers because, literally, from the first second I saw him on screen, I knew he would die in a shoot-out. The reason I knew Bobby would survive? He's the writer's pet, the character the most effort was put into--and the writer's pet almost never dies, except in tremendously heroic circumstances. The movie was that predictable--yet, sadly enough (because of the work put in by the actors), itwas one of the better movies of 2005.

In my opinion, too many movies are put out a year, and there just isn't enough quality material to go around. I realize my skills need a great deal of polishing, and I have a lot to learn, but I believe one day I will be able to come up with better stories than the basic plot behind Four Brothers (the improv acting saved the movie) and with far less predictability.

AN2: I'm just too lazy to keep checking to see if the editor deleted spaces between words when I post new chapters. I absolutely hate it when that happens, but I figure it's a losing battle and hope it's not too annoying to read. Sorry:-P

I woke up to the phone ringing, hours later. It was the father of one of the kids Jack and Mike hung out with during school. He told me there'd been an accident, a shooting, a number of the kids got sent to the hospital. Some of them died...

I left the phone hanging off the hook in my rush to get my keys and run out to my car. I didn't even stop to put on a coat, and before I got half way to the hospital I was freezing. I turned up the heater to high blast, but I couldn't stop shaking.

I raised hell the moment I got in the doors of the hospital emergency room, finding myself in a packed waiting room with dozens of other people raising hell over their own injuries or their own missing children from the park shooting.

Just when I started to feel the urge to reach behind me and whip out my gun to shut everyone up so I could get some answers, I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye.

He'd curled up in a corner, as far from the mob as possible. His coat and sweatshirt were gone, as were his gloves, boots, and hat. He'd wrapped his bare arms around his knees and started rocking himself, sitting on the floor, sobbing through clenched teeth.

I rushed over too fast. He flinched away from me, scrambling and screaming when I grabbed him, forcing him to his feet. Out of shock I let him go, watching him sink into a boneless pile.

The front of his white t-shirt was a mess of blood. I hadn't noticed at first because he'd wrapped up into himself, covering the stains.

Before I could even process how horrible he looked, Jack jumped up and made a dash for the emergency exit, setting off the alarm when he ran out into the cold winter night.

Seeing him run snapped me back into the moment and I ran after him. The kid didn't even have shoes on. His feet would freeze in minutes out there.

I caught up with him quickly. He fell a few feet from the door, slipping in the slush. I almost tripped over him, unable to stop my own momentum. Upon regaining my balance I grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up so I could examine him.

"Where're you hit? Where're you fucking hit, Jackie?" I yelled, panicking.

"It's not mine," he sobbed, gripping my arms, letting his forehead come to rest against me to hide his face when it started to twist with his sobs. "You told me not to come home if I lost them! You said you'd kill me. I lost them. I tried to stop them, but they pulled them right off me. They took everything. They were kids from the junior high. They had guns; they shot kids and took all their money. They didn't take anyone else's skates, only mine! I'm sorry, Bobby! I'm so sorry!"

I wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, crushing him to my chest with the arm I had around his shoulders. "I don't care about the skates, Jackie. I thought you got shot! Don't you scare me like that again, you little fairy," I scolded, so relieved I could barely breathe.

"They killed him. He died, Bobby. He died," Jack choked, his young voice cracking. I didn't know if he even heard me. I couldn't make heads or tails of half the shit he was saying.

I lifted him so I could hook my arm under his knees, carrying him back to my car.

He withdrew on the way home. I'd covered him with my sweatshirt after buckling him in. He huddled in the passenger seat, his teeth clenched too tight to chatter and his wide eyes staring at something horrifying that I couldn't see.

To say Ma freaked out probably would've been the understatement of the decade. She started ripping into me, so I had to do some fast talking, tell her what happened. What I thought happened... For once it wasn't my fault my brother had blood on his shirt and his brain had shut itself off.

I'd never seen anyone do that before—dissolve instantly into complete unresponsiveness. When mom went to get clothes and blankets for Jack, Angel took a pin and poked Jack's finger deep enough to draw blood. The kid didn't even flinch.

"Bobby," mom called, bustling in with a garbage bag and some towels. "Get his shirt off. We should get rid of those clothes. He won't want to see them again after today."

Angel hid the pin before Ma could see him mutilating Jackie's hand and he took a step back, standing next to me.

I approached Jack warily, wondering if he'd lash out at the first person to touch him I'd known kids in foster care who pulled stunts like that. Some of them on purpose, some because they couldn't help it.

"Lift your arms up, Cracker Jack," I instructed, sounding bored. I couldn't let on that I was worked up. If I started acting like something was wrong with him, he'd never snap out of it.

Jack didn't even blink in response to my words.

"Fine. I'll rip it off. Is that what you want?" I asked, reaching behind him and taking hold of his shirt about halfway down his back.

Still nothing.

Angel stepped forward when I sighed in frustration, lifting up Jack's arms so I could ungracefully pull his shirt over his head. Ma brushed past us, wrapping him in a towel to keep him warm.

Ma and Angel took him upstairs for a shower and I ate a cold dinner, mostly pushing my food around on my plate because I hated the sense of helplessness pressing down on me.

I finally went to bed, listening to mom sing to Jackie from a chair at his bedside. She sat up in our room most of the night.

I wondered that night if I'd ever have the patience to care for another person the way Ma always took care of us.

I decided that I didn't, and I never would...