Chapter 1 The Gateway


Lights of Stonehenge

Wiltshire, England 1586
            The crisp morning bit at James’ face as he dipped the wooden bucket into the well on his small farm. Every day seemed to turn more gray and cold, but the bright shades of the changing leaves in the surrounding wood accented the dreary world and brought a smile to his young face.
            The mist brushed low on the long green grass and it reminded him of one of the strange lands he’d seen in his sleep. Frowning, he lugged the full water bucket back to a long, rickety wooden trough the Thomas family used for their one, not very plump, hog.
The mysterious lands he’d seen were the cause of his solitary life. He was only sixteen and should be doing things the other sixteen-year-old boys did each afternoon after the morning chores.
            The first time he’d mentioned he’d seen different lands, full of mysterious creatures, plants and people he had been seven and his father dismissed it as childhood fantasy. But when the visions came again after he turned fourteen, it was not dismissed as easily.
            Memories of that dreadful morning filled his soul with regret as he remembered the events that would change his life forever.
            "Mother," he'd shouted as he'd burst into the small kitchen. "I had the strangest dream...well actually it was too real to be a dream, more like a vision?"
            His mother laughed. "Ah, James listen to you go on with such foolish things."
            "Oh, but Mother," he said wistfully. "The land I saw was beautiful. It had rolling red deserts, with ruby rocks and – and the people." James was so excited he believed he would burst. "They had magnificent hair, such as I've never seen. Bright blues, and oranges like the morning sky after a storm."
             His mother had stopped stirring the tasteless gruel and looked at her son curiously.
            "James, enough. It was only a dream. Now help me turn the table for the morning meal."
            "That wasn't all mother, there were other lands, other people! The most captivating was a dark world, with a black castle—as if it were always night. The sun is never there, only two strange moons." His mother gasped and held the wooden stirring spoon tight to her chest, but James took no notice. "The strangest part about the dark world is the people; Mother, they have silver eyes!"
            "ENOUGH!" James whipped around as his father fumed in the doorway. "I will not have such blasphemous talk in this home. The Good Lord made this earth, and only this earth. Now, speak true my son, do you understand these to be dreams?" His father's eyes were furious and his jaw was taut as he waited for James to reply.
            James knew the worlds weren't dreams. He'd tasted the salt from the sea in a cold, icy world; he saw the colorful, rainbow stars in the dark, twilight sky holding the two moons suspended. The people had brushed passed him in the fire world. It wasn't blasphemy, and he yearned for his parents to help him understand his visions.
            "Father, I saw what I said. I tasted the air, heard the people, felt the heat. Imagine if our family made such a discovery as this. It would change the world." James chuckled in delight, but his father looked sick.
            "Send Peter for the priest immediately," he commanded James' mother. She nodded with big tears streaming down her face as she sought out her younger son.
            "Father," James protested. "I speak the truth, please believe me."
            His father approached him and placed both hands on James' shoulders. "We will rid you of this lie, this demon that has possessed your mind. No such places exist, or the Lord would make it known. If you are seeing a place that is wrapped with night, what more could it be than Hell itself?"
            James swung an ax against a large piece of kindling as he pushed the bitter memories from his mind. Two years had passed and the priest continued to declare to his parents a demon was still wreaking havoc in his mind. No matter how many times he tried to tell them he was healed, no matter how many times he denied he ever saw such places, the church, his parents and the townspeople still viewed him as a damned soul slipping into madness.
            He was never permitted to leave his home, especially not into town, as not to risk more shame on the Thomas family. So James lived his solitary life.  He kept quiet, rarely speaking, even to his parents. The only conversations he had were with the field mice, the skinny hog, and his brother Peter.
His brother believed him, but he was still only eight. He was still permitted to have wild dreams, without incurring the wrath of all around him. Peter had learned never to mention that he believed his older brother in front of his parents. The two brothers only spoke at night, after their mother and father had gone to sleep.
            Suddenly a light caught James’ eye. The ghostly beam of yellow crept up the misty hillside. Dropping the ax James opened the wooden gate to investigate. Traipsing through a grove of trees he came to a large boulder and cautiously knelt behind it to peer over the top.
His eyes widened as he saw multiple ghostly lights floating around the stone structure the townspeople had named Stonehenge.
            A sudden gust of violent wind buffeted him, stirring up the forest floor into a billowing cloud of leaves and detritus around him. James covered his face until the furious wind dropped. Wiping dirt and small twigs from his eyes he peered down at Stonehenge once more. The lights were gone. As if nothing had ever been there, they'd disappeared and only the ancient stones lay in their circle.
            James' heart pounded wildly against his chest as he leaned against the boulder. He didn't know what had happened, but he knew he would have to keep the event secret. Looking once more at the huge and ancient structure he ran back to the farmyard, vowing to discover what had happened and what the stone structure really was.

Chapter 1 Rise of a Guardian
​Destiny in Dreams
      Fire burned his chest as he fled along the damp, musty corridor. Shrieks of frustration from his enemies echoed behind him, deafening the blood pounding in his ears. A small halo of light glimmered ahead, signaling his freedom from the deadly pursuit. A confident smile spread across his young face; he was going to make it. They wouldn't get it and he would live.

     His heavy footsteps seemed to leap across the ancient stone pathway shrouded from the warmth of sunlight. Taking one final bounding step a pain swallowed up his shoulders and neck as the eerie purple and blue mist encompassed his body, then everything went black.
     Cheerful light seeped into the small room. A single mattress was pushed against the side wall covered in mismatched sheets and a cheap plastic box of drawers held a few simple clothes. Killian Thomas breathed deeply trying to slow his heart as the sunrise shook him from his fitful sleep. The dark, lurking figures from his nightmare had hissed and argued angrily in the moss ridden hallway. Their conversation was wicked to the core, but the deadly pursuit twisted his insides. The dream had never ended with him making it to the small lighted opening at the end of the cold tunnel. Each time he was always swallowed in the painful mist.
Rolling from the old mattress he wiped the sweat off his face and pushed back his thick mud-colored hair. The nightmares were getting worse, and the two mysterious villains seemed to be creeping into his mind more often, as if it were something Killian needed to know. Why he kept dreaming about others trying to kill him didn’t make sense, he was no threat to anyone. In fact he felt quite the opposite. There was nothing extraordinary about him, just a young man with no family, a few friends—mediocre in every sense.

      The thoughts toppled through his mind as he rubbed his sky-blue eyes trying to wipe out the memories of the recurring nightmare.

     “Killian come eat, you’re going to be late.”

     The wooden steps echoed as he bounded down the narrow stairway. Stepping into the bright blue and white kitchen, he brushed his wavy hair out of his eyes before Laura, his foster mother, could do it for him.

     “Sorry, I overslept,” Killian breathed as he plopped down in front of his cereal.

      He glanced at the graying, blonde woman and immediately pursed his lips as the sun caught the side of her face. A hideous, purple bruise covered her high cheek bone underneath her thin wire-rimmed glasses. He could tell she had tried to hide it with make-up, but the swollen lump reared its ugly head on her thin face. Killian angrily dug his spoon into his cereal and shoveled the cardboard-like flakes into his mouth. He didn't know why he felt guilty about the bruise; he didn't give it to her. Scanning his lean, but defined muscles he vowed to protect Laura better. As if she knew what he was thinking, Laura placed a gentle hand on his arm, until he looked at her again.

     “Did you have another dream? Those have been keeping you up a lot lately. If you don’t get some sleep Donna is going to start thinking we’re neglecting you and she’ll take you outta here.” She gave him a kind, motherly smile.

     He smirked. As of last month Donna, his family service worker, no longer had a say where Killian ended up. He often wondered why he stayed. After aging out, legally there was no reason to stay. He cared about Laura; she had taken good care of him for ten years. Richard was the reason he would leave and never look back. Ironically, he was also the reason Killian wanted to stay. If he left no one would protect Laura from his rages.

     “Now that you mention it, I did have a strange dream,” he finally answered. “I was trapped in a cold stone hallway. As I tried to escape I overheard a conversation...I think it was two men, I'm not sure." Killian waved his hand in front of his face. "It’s hard to remember everything now that I’m awake.”

     Killian omitted the dream attackers attempt at killing him. Laura would spend the afternoon pouring over The Meaning of Dreams, her favorite book. Since he'd come to live with the Petersons the dreams had been there every night, almost as if they were reminding him of his past, or warning him of his future. Laura had taken a keen interest in it, and often tried to uncover their hidden meanings.
She opened her mouth to inquire more on the subject, but was stopped by a knock at the door.

     “That’ll be Blake, I suppose,” she said, an edge of disappointment in her voice at the interruption. "I'll read over some pages in my book while you're out. We'll get to the bottom of your dream. The part with you being trapped in darkness must mean something."
Killian rolled his eyes and slurped one last bite of cereal.

    “What time will you be back?” Laura asked when he stood.

     “We’ll be gone for a while, I’d guess,” he answered while shrugging his shoulders. “We’re hoping to have a bonfire with some people on the beach.”

     Killian and Laura both turned their heads toward the front door that had opened.

     “Laura, my love! You look more gorgeous than ever,” the young man said overly dramatic. His collared shirt was unfolded, hitting just below his jaw line, but the strange black inked, double-moon tattoo was still visible on his neck.

     “Blake, there is no need for your sappy sucking up, Killian’s coming,” Laura chuckled turning toward the flaxen-haired young man. Blake winced slightly when he glanced at the fading bruise. Laura hung her head as if feeling self-conscious and began gathering the dishes from the table. “Well, you kids take care, and pick up some salt water taffy for me.”

     Killian smiled. Laura asked for the candy each time he went to the boardwalk in Seaside. He'd determined she believed the taffy was only available at that location.

      “Don’t worry Laura we’ll bring you a huge bag. Take care of yourself okay,” Blake said sincerely. Killian waved and walked out the door.
“Man, he made a mess of her this time didn’t he?” Blake huffed, as they drove toward the boardwalk.

     “I don’t know how much more I can stand, Blake. Why does she put up with it? Me, I can take it, but Laura? She’s just too good, too forgiving,” Killian said bitterly.

     Richard had often roughed him up as a younger boy, though he had always been careful about pounding him in easy to conceal areas in order to keep the abuse hidden from Child Protective Services. In recent years, however, Killian had grown significantly larger than the man and the rages had subsided. The downside was now his pent up anger was doubled against Laura.

      “Laura was joking this morning about my case worker taking me away cause I’m not sleeping. To be honest, some days, I want to leave and never look back,” Killian finished as he looked out the window. His hand found the gold charm he had worn around his neck for as long as he could remember. Blake simply nodded.

     They sat in a tense silence for a moment before Blake finally asked, “Why don’t you leave?”

     “What?” He was annoyed that Blake had the courage to point out the obvious— that he could leave. He had no reason to stay and endure the hidden abuse.

      “I mean, why don't you leave? You’re old enough to be on your own, dude. You can finish school somewhere else. How long have you been with them anyway?”

      “Ten years. I was with a lot of different families for three years, then placed with Richard and Laura.”
“So why do you stay?”

     Killian scoffed. Blake was trying to make him feel better about leaving, but the fact that it was true and he was out of the system made his gut twist in knots. Donna hadn't cared what he decided to do when he turned eighteen. She had seemed relieved when he said he was going to stay put. It made for less work and scholarship programs she was required to provide when kids stepped into the big world alone after growing up in the system. Laura had pleaded with him to stay. Wanting to see him graduate was her reasoning, but he figured she was afraid to be alone with Richard.

      Laura had mentioned numerous times the idea of adopting Killian, but Richard never agreed. It was his subtle insult to Killian— he would never be good enough to be his son.

      Richard was a respectable business owner in Seaside. He owned several sandwich franchises and often donated to non-profits. His status painted a loving image in the community. Killian thought Donna was rather naive. She had mentioned on numerous occasions he was fortunate to live in such a home, even if they didn't adopt him.

      If only she knew, he thought bitterly.

      “I still can’t believe you don’t remember your family, you weren't placed in the system until you were what—five or something?” Blake asked.

     “I just don’t remember. I’ve had weird dreams about a red-headed woman before—sometimes I’ve wondered if the dream was a memory but…” Killian trailed off for a moment before gathering his thoughts. “Why would I want to live with a family that just ditched me anyway? Obviously they kept me for five years then decided to call it quits.”

     “I get it I guess. They might be dead, though," Blake said. "I'm not trying to be crass.  I just think if you found out they were alive, living with them would be better than Richard. Anything would.”

     “I guess not everyone can live the high life like you, Blake. How much did good ol’ grandpa dish out today just to get you out of the house?” Killian teased, trying to change the direction of the conversation.
“You can’t put a price on the love we share Kill,” Blake laughed. “Besides, it’s the only way you get to hang out with the pretty girls. I can only help you out so much, though. You’ve got to leave your pretty jewelry alone.” Blake laughed nodding toward his incessant rubbing of the charm.

      Killian gave Blake’s shoulder a hard punch, causing their car to swerve slightly into the other lane. Even so, he obeyed and tucked the circular charm back underneath his shirt. He always wore it—in truth the idea of taking it off made him physically sick. He didn’t understand where the connection came from. It was tacky and unattractive. The faded gold looked ancient and the circle had a hideous crack fissuring to the top of the charm.

 “What?” Blake was laughing, his face lit up in his typical mischievous manner. “It's true dude, you’ve got to hide the necklace. And don’t joke about my grandparents. I guess they give me stuff to keep me busy; I can’t help it if my antics exhaust them.” Blake paused for a moment waiting for the street light to change to green. “You know Kill, I have to admit, I'm glad you hang around. Us parentless kids gotta stick together.”

     “Thanks, Blake,” Killian said, touched by the statement.

     “Whoa, don’t sound so gushy dude. I don’t want to organize a club or anything,” Blake’s eyes widened. “Hey, wait! Maybe we should. I know a little girl down the street who makes awesome elastic bracelets! We could have matching ones.”

     “Shut up!” Killian said, shoving him again. Blake started laughing so hard tears formed in the corners of his eyes. Killian just shook his head. Despite the joking, he often wished he could convey how much he envied Blake and his odd, but loving relationship with his grandparents.
“I need some gas; while I fill up, will you go buy me some gum? Amanda is going to be there tonight—I better be prepared,” Blake chuckled as he pulled into the gas station.

      Within a half hour they sauntered along the beach where several other people were standing around a charcoal barbeque laughing and holding roasting sticks. Killian didn’t recognize many of them, but knew some were from school. Blake scanned the small group apparently looking for Amanda. She hadn’t arrived yet and Blake’s disappointment was painted all over his face.
Blake was always the exuberant one, even though he’d only moved to Seaside a few years earlier he had more friends and acquaintances than Killian could ever dream.

     The rushing tide and crashing waves along the rocky shore calmed Killian’s nerves he experienced every time he was pushed into a crowd, especially when it was people he didn’t know well.

     “Blake!” a high voice called from up the beach. Spinning around Blake and Killian watched as Amanda and her brunette side kick marched up the beach, swinging two packs of beer in each hand. Killian groaned in his throat, Blake turned and gave his shoulder a friendly punch.
“Don’t worry Kill, it won’t get out of control,” he whispered, trying to keep Killian’s disgust for alcohol a secret from the others.
Killian rolled his eyes and walked toward the shore. He’d learned from experience with the Petersons, nothing could change a person more than those drinks Amanda swung around playfully.

       Killian found himself standing behind a couple as Amanda passed around the beers. The young man next to a girl with long chestnut-colored hair took two cans and offered one to her. Killian watched as she shook her head and looked away.

     “More for me,” her date shrugged and laughed gulping down a large amount. The girl turned around, disappointment written in her smooth brown skin. Killian was instantly captivated. Her features were bright, yet also dark and fierce and her emerald-colored eyes glistened in the sunlight forcing him to keep staring at her.

     To his embarrassment the girl met his gazing eye and scanned him up and down. Killian’s palms started sweating when she stepped off the log, glancing back at the young man she was with, who was already working on his third can. She rolled her eyes and walked toward Killian.
“Hi,” she said sweetly. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at school before.”

     Killian shrugged stupidly. His stomach turned in knots when the girl’s perfect smile spread across her face. “I’m Killian,” he whispered.
“Good to meet you Killian. I’m Merc…”

     “Dezzy! Dez,” the slurred voice of the young man interrupted her. “Come on lets go have some fun.” He pulled her closer to him and planted loud, wet kisses along her neck. Killian shuddered at the awkward display.

     “Ugh, Kevin stop. You’re a sloppy drunk.” Her voice was angry and frustrated as she tried to push him away. The tone made Killian’s heart pound in frustration. Kevin’s face darkened and he gripped her upper arm hard.

     “We’re going. Now.” He pulled her away back toward the boardwalk. Killian knew she didn’t want to go with him. His skin burned as he yearned to keep her from drunk Kevin.

     “Hey,” he called after the two, but was drowned out by a loud shout of disgust.

      “Ahhhh! Gross!” Blake was slowly picking up each foot and looking on in horror. “Kill! We have to go…NOW!” Killian watched as a swaying Amanda leaned in toward Blake’s face. Disgusted Blake pushed her away gently and marched over to Killian.

     The strong smell of vomit burned his nostrils when Blake stood next to him.

      “We’re outta here,” Blake huffed. Killian looked to see if the emerald-eyed girl was still close, but she was gone. His heart sunk, but he still laughed at Blake and his vomit soaked shoes.

     Blake pulled into Killian’s driveway and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Sorry man, this was supposed to be an all-day thing,” he pouted.

     “Tell Mandy not to chug so many drinks next time, okay.  Its nasty stuff anyway,” Killian teased. He was amused by what had happened, but his thoughts often drifted to concern for the girl drug away by blubbering Kevin.

      "Amanda didn't know you have a weird issue with alcohol," Blake said defensively.

      "I told her at school I hate the stuff. Come on Blake you don't honestly like her do you?"

     "Why do you say it as if it’s a bad thing?" he asked, looking confused.

      "Blake," Killian laughed and covered his face with his hands, "the girl thought she could chug five beers! She threw up on your shoes and then tried to kiss you."

      Blake squirmed in his seat, but didn’t say anything more about Amanda. “Well, have an awesome evening hanging out with Mama Laura! I've got to go wash this smell out of my shoes. Maybe you guys can watch a nice Cary Grant.” Blake laughed at his own sarcasm. Killian scoffed, but couldn’t help but smile at the reference to Laura’s obsession.

      Perhaps it was her escape from Richard, Killian wondered to himself. She loved to run back in time to the simplicity of the classics.
 The house was dark inside, which was surprising since it was so early in the evening. Killian saw all the blinds were pulled shut and that made his hair stand on end. Setting the brown paper bag full of taffy on the kitchen table he knew something was wrong.

     “Laura?” he called out as he traipsed the halls of the large house. He heard a thud upstairs toward her bedroom. Killian ran up the stairs two at a time, he hadn’t seen Richard’s car—unless…

      Killian rushed down the hallway even faster to the master bedroom. Often times Richard would leave his car at the office, and lock his door so his employees would think he was in a meeting, then slip out on the bus when he felt a rage coming on. If anyone ever saw a battered Laura, he would have an alibi to clear his involvement. The eccentric strategy had worked numerous times; it made Killian hate the man even more. It revealed how premeditated and deliberate all his attacks had been.

      The door to the master bedroom was cracked open. Killian paused, unsure if he dared enter the shadowed room until the hall was filled with a loud SMACK followed by a gurgled groan. Killian burst into the room—the sight before him made his stomach churn and he was afraid he would lose the contents on the soft Italian carpet.

      Richard stood over his wife, holding a clump of her light hair in his hand. His athletic build heaving from the exertion of beating her down. His French cuffed, perfectly pressed, white shirt was splattered in fresh blood. Laura lay on the floor with her eyes closed; at least Killian imagined they were. Her face was plastered with thick, streams of blood and swelling had already started to set in. The room smelled metallic and it made Killian feel certain he would be sick.

       Richard reeled around at the sound of the door opening and glared at Killian, his black eyes seething with anger and power. He smirked at the younger man as if to prove how out of his hands the situation was.

      “Looking to be a hero?" Richard hissed. "You—are—the most insig...insignificant waste of space I have 'er seen.” The words slipped out of his mouth so slurred the insult was barely audible.

      The ridiculous statement boiled beneath Killian’s skin. A strange sensation overwhelmed him; he felt his insides being split in two. A strange rage filled him, followed by a seething hate. It was almost as if Killian was feeling emotions that were not his own—emotions that matched the expression on Richard’s face. He hated the man to be sure, but not with such passion and viciousness as he was feeling. The sensation made Killian’s head spin—he couldn’t understand the strangeness of the feeling, but he quickly acted on the rage, even if it was causing discomfort. The anger built up inside him until his body seemed to perform on its own accord.

      Killian immediately rushed between the two people, causing Richard to stumble for a moment. He stood over the battered, moaning woman in an attempt to protect her. Richard stumbled toward him, tripping on his feet, but caught himself. This attack was unlike others, Richard's eyes were pure black—there was no light. Killian had to protect Laura, or she may not live through the night. A strange sensation pooled in his chest, almost as if his desire to defend formed into physical matter. He coughed and weakened slightly as the feeling seeped through his pores and toward Laura. It was an insane thought, but he could almost see a barrier forming around Laura, leaving her protected for the time being. Shaking his head, he focused again on Richard. The man was attempting a charge again, and without thought, the fire that burned through his blood pushed his fist toward the side of Richard’s taut jaw.

      Richard stumbled backward from the blow and fell against the couple’s dresser, slicing the side of his head. A clean trail of blood trickled down his temple from his scalp. Richard’s mouth fell open dumbly, a flash of anger ripped through his vicious eyes. Killian recognized the hate. He had lived with it most of his life, but he also saw hesitation toward Killian’s strength. Richard lifted his head toward his closet and Killian’s heart pounded—he knew he kept his 9mm on the top shelf.

      Killian rushed in front of his line of sight and pushed Richard back against the wall.

      “Don’t bother Richard, I’m leaving, you won’t see me again. Just remember every time you beat her down, you are nothing—nothing but a worthless, sorry excuse for a man.” Killian spat at the stunned man’s feet then rushed out of the room.

     His heart panged. Perhaps I should stay and protect Laura, he thought to himself. He quickly talked himself out of the idea, believing Richard may kill them both if he tried to take her. Something inside him urged him to leave, he knew the attack on Laura was over—though he didn't know how he knew it. Rushing down the stairs he quickly dialed 9-1-1 on the phone in the kitchen. His breath grew ragged as he heard Richard scuffling off the floor above him.

      "9-1-1 what is your emergency?" the calm female voice sounded on the other end.

      "He attacked her, four twenty-one Blue Bell Street," he breathed into the phone. Before the operator could answer, Killian left the phone connected to the operator, but dropped it on the counter. He heard Laura's sobs, but Richard’s sloshing feet on the stairs urged him to move. He had to leave now, or he wouldn't leave at all. Killian rushed out the front door and ran—he knew there was only one place he would be safe.

     A half hour later, Blake shoved Killian down the stairs to his grandparents’ basement.

     “You really hit him Kill? Are you crazy?” Blake breathed quietly.

      “You should’ve seen her, Blake. He was going to kill her, I know he would’ve.” Killian was still reeling from the adrenaline rush of the entire ordeal.

      “You should’ve called the cops man, Richard will never let you live now.”

      “I tried, but…” Killian didn’t finish and swallowed a lump built up in his throat. Blake didn’t know how true he believed that statement was. Richard was violent, and had no love in his heart for Killian. His life as he had known it was over.

      The two boys rested on the soft leather couch. They sat in silence, neither knowing what to say.

      A knock came to the front door and Blake shuffled upstairs to answer it. Killian recognized that Blake did a lot of work for his grandparents around the house. In truth, Killian had never met the two elderly people. Blake said they spent the majority of their days at the country club spending their vast retirement fund. He knew at this time of night they were most likely in bed, although it was still early for their grandson.

      “Kill, uh—you gotta come here dude,” he heard Blake’s nervous voice call from the top of the stairs. He swallowed hard, readying himself to face Richard, who he was certain had sniffed him out to Blake’s house.

      To his surprise, he was met at the front door by a hefty dark man in a police uniform. His lanky partner leaned against the side of the house, putting on a stern, serious face that meant he was in no mood for delinquent behavior.

     “Killian Thomas?” the officer asked.


     “Killian Thomas you are under arrest for the assault on a Mrs. Laura Peterson, you have the right to remain silent…”

      The man’s voice blurred as he continued to read him his rights. This was not happening. He hadn’t touched Laura. The police officer reached for his wrist to place the cold handcuffs around it, but Killian yanked it away.

      “No, this isn’t right! I stopped it! It was Richard, I called you,” Killian was shouting and desperately fighting against the officer.

      Blake had a hand on his forehead and just stared, not knowing what to do. The hefty officer gripped his wrist so hard Killian shouted out in pain. The second, lanky officer had joined his partner and was helping detain him.

      “It's okay, Kill. It will work out,” Blake shouted, trying to reassure him. “Laura will tell them what really happened! I’ll talk to my Grandpa, we’ll straighten this out for you! I promise.” Blake’s voice faded as the police officers walked Killian to their patrol car. They pushed his head briskly so he didn’t hit the side and shut the door on his face.

       Killian was sure he was going to be sick.  His shoulders heaved up and down.  "I didn't do it," he whispered obsessively under his breath. "How is this happening?”

      Killian glared out the patrol car window as he held firm to a single moment of clarity. "Richard," he hissed. Inside he knew it was over— no one would ever believe him over Richard.

      Killian looked over his shoulder.  Blake and several other kids from his school sat behind him, certainly recruited by his friend. Blake gave him a thumbs up as Laura made her way to the witness box. Killian was dressed in a bright, pumpkin colored jumpsuit—his hands were still cuffed in his lap.

       This was his moment. Laura was going to tell the judge what happened and it would match with the statement he had given the police. Blake had testified of his character, and he was certain the 9-1-1 call would help his case. He would finally be able to walk free of the prison and Richard would be trading places with him.

       “Mrs. Peterson, what happened on the seventh of July, the night of the assault?” a neatly pressed lawyer asked a nervous Laura.
Laura glanced quickly at a Killian, making brief eye contact. Her eyes were glazed with pain and fear. Killian’s heart sunk and he shook his head. He felt a wave of emotion overcome him. The sensation was thick and encompassing. It was guilt as he had never felt before. He believed he was going mad, but he knew the feeling was not his own. He had felt guilty for leaving Laura that night, but not in such a deep, agonizing way. He knew what was going to happen even before Laura opened her mouth.

       “I was alone in my room, cleaning up before my husband came home from work. My foster son came in—he was angry I hadn’t let him stay out with his friends longer,” Laura began quietly, she hiccupped with emotion before continuing. “Killian, began to hit me. I don’t know what would’ve happened if Richard hadn’t come home. Killian pushed Richard against the dresser when he tried to stop him. Then he ran.” She sniffled into the microphone.

       Killian believed his heart would rip in two. He knew Laura wasn't his mother, but she had told him many times she wanted to be. How could she slander him in such a way? His pain and disbelief were broken by a loud shout coming from several rows behind.

      “THAT'S A LIE! Richard did this and you know it, Laura!” Blake shouted, coming to his feet. The judge pounded the gavel at the commotion that had rippled through the courtroom until the bailiff forcibly led a ranting Blake from the room.

      Laura had stepped down and returned to her seat next to Richard, who looked directly at Killian. His face was smug as he smiled in victory. The blackness in his eyes was pure hatred.

      Killian stared at the man’s face and physically felt the stone wall build itself around his heart. These people had, in technicality, raised him. Yet, there they were—one controlled by fear, the other by power, sentencing him to a life of banishment. He knew he would never forget this moment—Killian Thomas knew his faith in love and trust would be forever tainted and damaged.
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