On the backseat of an eagle premier Keen peered out of the tinted black glass in awe towards the cityscape. Flashy billboards and neon lights attracted his eyes like a moth. A faint smoke screen filled the car, it came from the front seat. Uncle Mickey on the wheel, and his father Traine smoking a cigarette.

"Remember. Always listen to your mother. Don't be like your daddy puffing a cig whenever it gets difficult." He turned to the backseat towards Keen and then smiled towards Traine. "I don't need another smoke chimney, a mini smoke chimney. My fine leather is already poisoned" Mickey caressed the car's leather door. "Kid listen to your mommy."

"Turn here left."

The car turned rapidly, controlled, almost robotic, Mickey squeezed his eyes in the dimly-lit street. Few people wander these parts and when they do, they're not alone. Groups between three and fives walked on the battered walkway. The pavement missed a few tiles, some of the missing laid shattered in the bushes next to the road. Deep potholes hidden in the shadows, awaited the wheels of the unknowing. In these parts walking was the better choice of two.

Traine opened the car door and walked straight towards a wooden house of dried white paint, decaying in time, but still reflected by the street light and visible from afar. The four bedroom house rotten and used up to the point no family should live there. In front of the door Traine did not wait to knock, he kicked the door in one swoop and slipped in the shadow.

"Take a good look around Keen," Mickey turned his head to the backseat, "rats scrambled here and now they are gone." Mickey hesitated for a split-second and got a good look at the young boy. "Do you understand why?"

"Because of dad."

"That's right."

Bang...Bang...Bang

Mickey's right hand went towards his gun, but lessened his tense as Traine gets in view. He leisurely walked carrying his gun left handed, dangling, pointing towards the ground uncaringly. He opened the car door and sat down. Traine's cold glare turned to a smile.

"Mick..." Traine was in thought. "Lets go towards Papa Joans... to buy some rum raisin for ourselves."

"You got it boss" Mickey licked his lips and that squeezy glint of his turned to an open approachable, trustworthy face.

Keen gazed out of the window, he was excited for sure, but a hint of longing crossed his face. The bright city lights flared his heavy set of eyes, tingling, easing when they passed the night district.

They exited the district, the store fronts turned dark and uninviting even for the night walkers.

At the age of eleven Keen should not have joined with his fathers escapades, but mostly when it was necessary. His mom went away to her father, Keen's grandpa. For business. Traine likes to call it. She already was gone for a few weeks, and that is exactly how long Keen hasn't been to school.

These nightly roams took a toll on his young mind, Keen's already heavy eyes closed shut.

—

Traine frowned as he watched Keen peacefully sleeping on the backseat. It wasn't directed to his son, but more to himself. Why is life like this Sara? He thought. A faint pressure crept on his left temple, It was regret. To blame Sara made him feel better. It resolved their core problems to its origin, father-in-law.

Damian Comoran kept his daughter close, too close to the family business. It slowly eroded her good nature to a cold killer. They were happy yet the lingering thought of Keen becoming heir of their families enterprise, churned his stomach.

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"Mick, keep an eye on the kid, he is not his usual self."

"He just misses his Mom. Hell, I can't even stay away a week from mine let alone a month."

Traine knew of it, he kept trying to make it better for Keen. Pleasing him with treats and the hottest toys freshly in store yet Traine understood. He understood this wasn't the life he wanted to give. 'A familiar cozy house to return to after honest work, a dog happily greeting its owner or a cat's 'prrrt' acknowledging your existence. Sara doing her things whether it was work or something else. Arguing with the wife for 'what's for dinner' instead of the 'which kill next'. Attending school visits or a musical he and his classmates set up together. A normal job, a normal Sara, a normal life'. He stared out the passenger's side window and noticed his own reflection and showed a wishful smile.

Mickey gave him a glance, he opened his mouth almost forming a word and closed it tight shut. Mickey focused on the road again, after passing an intersection he steered the first street on the right and parked on a spot. "Boss, don't be too hard on yourself. We have been together since Keen's a baby" He glanced at his mirror. "Keen at least has a mom and dad that loves him dearly" Mickey's hands on the wheel fell on his knees. "My father beat the shit out of my mother after she told him about wanting a second child. That man left us, alone. He said to mom that staying was his biggest regret. No money, no family or a house. All alone with a five year old, against the world."

Mickey's mother always wears a smile, he thought.

"I never told you this because she forgave him a long time ago."

The wide backed man with thick black brows and a clear stubble beard turned into a boy, in a sudden moment the air turned dreadful, threatening. His hairs stood up right, and every bell and whistle inside his head made a noise. Watch out! Traine's instinctively thought.

Mickey's posture straightened as before he hunched down and turned to a glare, a dead stare.

"I searched him up, It turns out he ran an investment company named Parason. So I went for a visit. Not like, hey dad it's me, your long lost son but as Weston smith, a young entrepreneur with a lot of cash to invest. I was fifteen minutes earlier than the appointment so I sat at the table, awaiting Hector Ramirez. In that quarter of time I thought about many thing, I even expected many things." Mickey rubbed his clam right hand on his femur. "But when that man opened the door, and I saw those sparkles eyes, my fathers eyes. I knew. His shadow cast a frail frame but I knew. My spine got that butterfly feeling you know, and I knew he was a monster like me. I stood up. Pinned him against the wall and put my thumbs in those beady eyes and bashed that skull of his on the wall, again, again and again." Mickey gulped hard and let out an almost unnoticeable soft whimper. "He did not even know who I was or why I did it, in his last moments he died because of a stranger not because of his loathing son."

Traine gave Mickey's shoulder a pat, one of few, less than a handful of times he truly sympathized with another. The work wore him down, after each job he meditated a simple, closing of the eyes. Confronting the shadow eye to eye in his mind. Ignoring that ever growing alter-him, could cost his sanity.

"You remember what I taught you, right?" Traine reminded him and explained again.

"Close your eyes. Imagine a place where you feel safe, comforting, warm, even happy. And wait for it. Do not force it. Keep your mind open and clear, feel the thoughts flow through you. And when you see it, whatever you see. Embrace it. Accept its nature, its semblance. And ask. What do we want? Not I, not you, ask it. What do we want?" Mickey closed his eyes following Traine's instruction.

Traine on many occasions met with these strange creatures in his consciousness. Sometimes it was shapeshifting as long lost friends, some were storied figures, celebrities and a few even his targets. But most times it took shape as hellscape creatures, monsters, worse than any fictitious thing humans imagined. Indescribable yet comprehensible, whenever he tried to remember, it slipped back into his memory bank. Yet that vague bodily shape kept imprinted on his retina.

"I... I ... I can't!" Mickey groaned and met Traine's eyes, "you keep bragging how it works for you. How it reliefs you. Yet the only thing I see are those dark eyes staring back at me."

"Its okay, we'll try another time" those eyes? I understand Mick. I truly do. "Let's skip Papa Joans for another night, the kid is asleep and you also deserve a bed."

"Sure..."

The happy go lucky Mickey turned these last days a few times to frequent bleak. Mick don't let it grow for too long or you will regret it. The air in the car turned grim as silence took over. The pistons of the motor moved. Sounds of eviscerated gas fueling the engine with each sharp acceleration, the roaring of the exhaust overwhelmed his ears. The car's noise became his focus, deafening all others. Traine looked ahead at the traffic, for words he wanted to say had no meaning. At least not for Mickey, the fool has less brain than a brick, he thought.