0. Devil in the Dark

Second Revision

“You became a teenager when you realized how flawed and fucked up adults were. Then, you forgave me, and that made you a man. Learn to forgive yourself for how flawed and fucked up you are. After that you'll be wise.”

Kurt's teeth chattered in a series of vicious clicks as he recalled the last words he's heard his father say. Leather seats offered little warmth aside from torn patches of exposed foam, and his fingers danced around the smoldering butt of a cigarette. Raindrops, which once drummed a lulling patter against his windshield, had long since turned to veins of ice. His home was transformed to a maddening chamber of isolation.

For a moment Kurt actually forgot why he came back to this place. Another breath twisted up from his throat, and he surrendered a delirious sneer watching the cloud take shape. Suddenly, a thud cracked against the driver-side window startling a jerk from Kurt's weak body. A figure loomed outside veiled in shadows as it tried to catch a glimpse inside. Kurt steadied his nervous shivering to open the glove compartment. He was eager for a weapon with which to defend himself but it fell through numb fingers to the floor mat. Both hands fumbled a mess of garbage to find it.

A wash of adrenaline guided him. He clutched the hilt and tossed the sheath from a serrated hunting knife in a single flick. The silhouette paced a bit before returning to issue a gentler knock. Colville had one master who's eyes scanned watchfully down every street and ally. Brian Jinco was a force to be reckoned with; he was feared so deeply that not even local officers dared cross his path. Born and raised here he spent all his time skulking down worn sidewalks and declaring ownership of his stomping ground. He enforced vigilante law by the blade of a hatchet.

Kurt used up his three strikes long ago invoking Brian's wrath. Their last altercation ended with that chipped blade beneath his sweat soaked chin. They both, respectively, had business with a seasoned mother of three. Brian was so protective of her that he swore Kurt would lie twisted on her kitchen floor with his throat slit should they ever speak again.

Half frozen and half drunk Kurt reached to unlock the door. After a pint of vodka and three unmarked pills he'd acquired in trade at the local park there was little left to go on besides instinct. The only chance he had was to get first swing. Slamming his shoulder against the door Kurt heaved it open and his arm upward in a powerful thrust. The figure dodged clear of it, grabbed Kurt's wrist, and yanked him off balance.

The crushing grip caused Kurt's hand to seize, and his knife fell top heavy into a pile of snow. Both eyes opened wide in anticipation of death. To his surprise Brian wasn't there. Looking down at him instead was a young man. Quickly, the stranger let go to watch Kurt sink back into a swathe of shadows where he perceived some semblance of safety. He stood in place a while collecting snow upon his broad shoulders before kneeling down to pick up the knife.

He then leaned into the driver's seat. Emerald eyes were hypnotizing, embedded into darkened rings of exhaustion, and he breathed life into both chilled hands. Golden hair fell across his face as the stranger lowered his head and vanished into thought. After what felt like an eternity he spoke.

“Do you try to kill everyone who knocks?”

He twisted the knife a few times playfully before laying it to rest on the dashboard. Confidence radiated around his presence. He lacked any and all nervousness of Kurt. Even now that the weapon was within easy reach of them both the young man leaned back into the seat with a cool exhale.

“Is this... a dream?” Kurt meekly asked.

“It's real life on my end but god knows what you'll remember. From the smell in here I'd say you have a ramen budget for alcohol.”

“Who the f**k are you?”

“My name is Deviin Madison.”

“Did Brian send you?”

“Brian Jinco?” Deviin scoffed, “I try to stay away from that circus loony if I can help it. It's supposed to be ten degrees by midnight. Why are you parked on Mcihelle's lawn sleeping in your truck?”

Kurt bit his lip; already, it was colder than he could stand. Deviin's question finally sunk in and Kurt issued a suspicious inquiry of his own, “Who is she to you, boy?”

He pointed down the road a little ways, “I live over there. Her son Josh and I went to school together. I've known him since, hell, the fifth grade?”

With that the mysteriousness of their encounter ebbed away. Surely, Kurt looked like a stalker but without money it was the best he could manage, “I need to talk to her about... something. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh, yeah, she'll be surprised by the vagrant popsicle in her front yard. You can be sure of that. I just came out here to say you can stay at my place where it's warm if you want.”

Paranoia owned Kurt by leash and collar. His initial instinct was to decline because this stranger could be genuine or, just as easily, luring him into a trap. Unfortunately, Deviin had a point. Kurt hardly stood a chance of lasting the night without so much as a blanket. Slowly, he took back the knife, retrieved its sheath, and fastened a canvas clip to his belt. It was a simple threat. Once he was warm with the weapon at his side another jab wouldn't miss its mark. Deviin was generally unaffected by the gesture.

“Alright, I accept,” Kurt mumbled as he grabbed a backpack from beneath his seat. It contained the lot of everything he owned.

Stepping out Deviin stretched his stiff limbs and beckoned the other to follow in tow. Kurt peered up at the frigid heavens above. Black clouds choked out a navy blue sky. Drizzling snowflakes dotted his fiery red hair as they fell en mass to the ground around them. Each step Deviin took into the darkness was an effortless stride of his long, muscular legs. Kurt, on the other hand, struggled to keep up with his short stature.

The shelter they sought proved nice for what it was; Deviin's powder blue trailer was surrounded in various, ornate decorations like as wind chimes made of smoothly polished bone. He fished a ring of keys from his pocket and Kurt gazed down the road at Michelle's little abode. It was gripped with blackness, displaying a series of lifeless windows. Everyone slept in undisturbed peace. His eyes fixed on the furthest one to the back. Behind a tattered curtain his prize laid in wait for him blissfully unaware of all the miles Kurt had driven and all the money he'd spent just to make and appearance.

“You've got a nice place,” He whispered. Kurt's stomach churned with nervousness as he forced his eyes away.

“Thanks,” Deviin sarcastically replied. “There's an especially beautiful, unobstructed view of Walmart.”

The trailer was much smaller than Michelle's. Every accommodation was visible from where Kurt stood upon entering. He tossed his backpack under the coffee table. Aside from a couch and that table the living room housed only a TV, a half empty rack of CD cases, and a large matted poster of Freddy Mercury. Deviin disappeared down the hall before returning to sit heavily on the edge of his couch. A blanket was draped over one shoulder. The other arm extended to offer Kurt a shot glass. He hungrily snatched it up. There was never a bad time for another gulp of liqueur, especially since he'd shivered off most of his buzz.

Exhaling a subsequent sigh of relief he made himself comfortable. Deviin rested his chin on one hand to observe. There was on air of vacancy around him now; the young man's eyes were expressionless, deadened to emotion like a living statue. He was completely clocked out to the world around him. Suddenly, Deviin snapped out of this daze and stood drawing a strange, mask of a smile. The expression above it failed to change.

“My name's Kurt by the way... I guess I never introduced myself.”

“I have work in the morning so I might not be here when you wake up. There's food in the fridge. Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks I'll be out of your hair real quick, I promise.”

Deviin issued a passive shrug. The haste of Kurt's departure was of no consequence to him. He stared a few moments longer before waving his fingers and turning out the light. Wriggling free of his sweatshirt Kurt nestled into the couch and closed his eyes. His sorely cold extremities regained feeling and tingled back to life. He dragged the thick comforter over both shoulders. It was absolute bliss. Soon, however, butterflies fluttered back to Kurt's stomach as his mind wandered back to Michelle.

He didn't come all this way for her. Rather it was her youngest son whom Kurt was interested in, his only child. He'd missed the beginning of his son's life hulled up in a prison cell and the rest of it being fervently pushed away by Michelle. His betrayal of her wasn't intentional, but it proved a swift gesture of immaturity. She was right to act the way she had at first. Now they fought a decade old grudge which she refused to let go. Michelle deterred the very idea of his visits and hid his son away from him behind the law of custody. It was a game of cat and mouse. The game had no winners. In fact playing simply left Kurt stricken with loneliness. He trusted only himself and that proved a sad existence.

He then sank further from consciousness into the cradling arms of sleep. Todd had to be saved; this god-forsaken place was so broken and empty. There was no greater destiny in Colville than a life of poverty and intoxication. Picturing his boy not far from him now Kurt finally let go and fell into the twisted color of a dream.

Author's Note

Please comment on whatever you like. I always appreciate grammar suggestions and caught typos where I missed them. Also, I like to hear which characters you like/ dislike. If you catch plot holes, unrealistic scenarios, or things that pulled you out of the flow please tell me.