Prelude (85% sure this will be totally canned)

FIXING THE FLAW

Prologue

Arthor Bates, going on his 48th year, was far to old to be chasing criminals and apprehending trouble makers. Everyone agreed unanymously that he should of quit the first time he got shot, even him. Most of his fellow police officers figured that the second shot he received, a few pellets in his left leg from a 20 gauge, would of scared even the most seasoned veterans of this back woods town police force, but that second shot seemed to strengthen his resolve to unheard levels.
He was at least 6ft tall, his short hair a dark brown, peppered with gray, his thick, stern brows in a permenant furrow over his dark brown eyes. His once broad and built stature seeming to shrivel away, slowly with age, has seen far better days. Arthor never cared for himself or his well being when it came to his job, his life. His drive came from watching his father try to strangle his mother to death when he was 16 years old. He became revenge obsessed and awaited the release of his father from prison, which, after a violent altercation, became impossible. Since his father's death, Arthor swore to never let another person feel defenseless.
He became known as the "Art of Justice" after a columist in "The Pecking Times" wrote an article with the same name. Inspiration for the column came after Arthor (aka Art) intimitaded the ex husband of the columist, Kathy Cale, and his 3 drunk and reckless friends. She described how he stepped from his squad car and was immediately critisized and belittled by the wasted adults. He stood, sternly staring each of them in the face as they threw every dirogitory statement they could manage without falling in a drunken lump on the front porch. They argued that being drunk on ones own property is perfectly legal, while Art just stared, intently until they quit speaking.
"Oh." Art finally had said. "You weren't talking to me, were you?"
"Who the hell you think I'm talking to?" The scrawniest of the friends asked sarcasticly, causing an eruption of cackling laughter that lasted for a good minute. The laughter subsided to another moment of silence. Art stepped in real close to the biggest friend, who stood a healthy foot taller than the, then 42 year old, police officer, and, with a growl in his voice, issued his one and only demand: "Get in the car, now."
The four grown men did exactly as they were instructed and spent the night in jail and the next morning at the local wafflehouse, Art's treat for them being so complient.

He was 48 years old when he got his first call of distress from the end of Dunn st. A domestic dispute between a man named Greggory Graham and his surpised neighbor after he accused the 83 year old woman of spying on his family. She was simply daydreaming and was caught blankly staring in the general direction of Graham's garage. This would not be the last time he'd be called to aid Graham with "eavesdroppers", "snoopers", and "bounty hunters."
It wasn't long before Art felt Graham was a meth dealer or majuanna farmer trying to hide his opperation, but Art ruled that out once he figured that a drug dealer wouldn't call the police to settle his problems. Art felt it was time to figure out what was really going on and dispatched a private investigator to find out more. With his assignment in hand, the investigator hit the road to find any and all leads he could to discover the cause for this intense paranoia. The paper trail was hard to follow and housing history even more sparatic, with 2-4 different addresses per 17 states.
As the Private eye was digging away, Art decided to keep an extra close eye on Graham and his small family, consisting of a wife and a 4 year old son. Somewhere deep down, Art felt there was something missing from the big picture. Greggory Graham was running and hiding from someone and Art was bound, driven, and determined to find out who.
It was a good eight months before the investigator made contact with Art again, explaining that he followed the trail to a small truss building company in South Carolina. Art was confused at first, asking if the trail ended there, only to have the investigator specify that this was Graham's hometown and that his childhood home had been burnt to the ground along with the neighbor's...all in the same night, 7 years ago. The strangest part was that all the locals claimed that the Graham and Price tragedy was a sad one with no happy ending due to the fact that the mafia stole into the families' properties and murdered them all. Local legend claims that no one survived the massacre.
Art's confusion coupled with worry when the investigator admitted that a few interveiwees seemed astonished at the mention of Greggory, trying to correct the investigator. "The entire Graham and Price families were slaughtered, including their only son, Gavin Graham." Seemed to be the final, accepted story of the Grahams.
A week passed before Art was contacted again by the investigator, this time his tone was a worried one as his shakey voice spoke.
"Arthor, the mafia had nothing to do with it. It was some kind of demon worshipping cult. I'm serious! I found a book in a security lock box belonging to a Greggory Holt." He nervously explained.
"Holt?" Art asked. "Why Holt?"
"Holt was Graham's mother's maiden name, but forget about that, listen. The book was a detailed record of several family bloodlines, one of them being the Price family, with the last name being Pamela Price."
"Pamela Price, eh? What does that have to do with our man?"
"That's the thing, Art. Graham isn't our man! It's his wife! She's Pamela Price!"
"Wait, so Graham is trying to protect her?" Art's face grew pale and he sighed. "Well I think he's a bit dramatic if he thinks the mafia would still be chasing them after 7 years, esspecially since everyone believes them all dead."
"No Art!" The investigator shouted. He took a moment to compose himself again before elaborating. "No Arthor...this is bigger than Graham. There are at least 20 different bloodlines in this book and if my research is correct, along with the Price family, there have been "accidents" that have wiped out at least four other families that are listed in this creepy book...and, like I said, this wasn't done by the mafia!"
"Demon worshippers?! Really? What kind of crap have you been smoking?!"
"The people responsible for the murders are not killing them! The whole Graham family died from a house fire, but the Price family's bodies all had severe facial mutilations and traces of cyanide in their blood...it was a mass suicide."
"Wait...so they were avoiding capture? Who is trying to capture them?"
"Someone the book refers to as "The Abyssals" who, if this isn't wrong, are trying real damn hard to gather up these families so that they can "Offer them to 'Nionus the Plague'."
Art took a moment to absorb the ridiculous story laid before him, before the silence was broken by the investigator.
"Arthor...they know they are alive and they will come for them...I promise you. Of the hundreds of houses they've lived in, all of them were left quickly and some of them left behind stories of a family outrunning bounty hunters..." A brief pause passes. "Be on the lookout for anything suspicious. As silly as the reason may be...the threat is very real."
"Thank you for your help, Carl. I'll keep a close eye on them."
"Remember Arthor, they would rather kill themselves than be caught." The line went silent as the investigator hung up, leaving Art setting at his desk, staring into space. He shrugs, scoffs, and laughs. "Heh...Abyssals eh?"

Art was ever busy with petty crimes and drunken brawls but when he found time, he'd spend it parked across from the only entrance to Dunn st. and it's small collection of trailers. From the parkinglot of Meeks he could watch all the traffic coming from Peck to the west or Charlesville to the northeast. He'd spend the next 4 months either watching perceptively himself or having close friends on the force at least 3 hours a day, using the excuse that speeders have come to claim HWY 74 as a drag strip.
September rolled around and Art caught some unusual activity, a gray car with blacked out windows pulling into Dunn st. A Mercedes with a flawless finish that looked brand new. Art pulled out of the parking lot as the car made it's way into Graham's driveway. By the time he'd made his way down the dusty, unpaved street, Graham was already threatening the young woman in slick business attire to get back in her car.
"I don't care who you work for!" Greggory yelled loudly to the 25 year old woman's face. "I better see your ass high tailing it back to where ever the hell you came from, or-"
"Mr. Graham!" She yelled back. "I've called you and warned you several times already!"
"Is there a problem?" Art finally interjects, pulling up on his belt as he walked around his squad car.
"They are breaking the law!" Both of the adults belt out as they point to the other.
"What?" Art tilts his head and steps closer, noting the stark difference between the two adults. Greggory's wardrobe reflecting his construction funded lifestyle: torn white t-shirt, red flannel with rolled up sleeves, stonewashed light blue jeans and steel toe boots, his hair dirty blond and sticking up on one side. While the young woman stood prim and proper with her brown hair neatly held in a bun with two solid black ceramic chopsticks, her wardrobe consisting of a clean, lint free black blouse, long pearl and bead necklace, matching gray suit jacket and knee length skirt, dark pantyhose and black, short heels. The only part of her outfit with color was her blood red lipstick and same shade red earrings.
"I'll need you to explain why you are tresspassing on Mr. Graham's property, ma'am." Art's word causes a small but noticable change in Greggory's composure that doesn't escape her attention. "Legally, you must leave once the land owner has instructed so... Miss?" Art's now outstretched hand is softly held and shaken by the woman, who's voice noticably softens.
"Miss Haddox, Vera Haddox. I'm with the department of child services." She releases his hand to reach for a business card from her matching gray purse. "Mr. Graham here has failed to enroll his son in Peck Elementary School."
"He's home schooled!" Greggory interjects as he takes a step closer to the two.
"That is a lie, Mr. Graham, and we both know it is! You've yet to report to the local charter school for the neccesary packets and intructions." She drops the soft tone and returns to her previous, scary voice. "He turned 5 last week according to your neighbors!"
Graham yanks his gaze to the trailer next to his just as the curtains flutter shut.
"My son will be home schooled, I'll go get the papers tomorrow!" Greggory says with finality in his voice as he turns and heads back towards his front door.
"Mr. Graham. You are not finished here." Her words cause him to halt and hang his head back and sigh loudly. "We've heard of your multiple altercations within this neighborhood within the past year and I am beginning to see that you are purposefully hiding your son from the world."
"So what?!" He whips around and quickly advances towards her. "So what if I don't send him to school here? I don't feel safe letting him leave home and going 7 miles up the road to a school that, if I'm not mistaken, has a history fire problems, and has been rebuilt twice!"
"Mr. Graham, the school was hit by a tornado 12 years ago and a small section caught fire as a result. Then last year the gymnasium was torn down to be built bigger so that high school basketball teams could-"
"Miss Haddox!" Greggory sarcasticly interupts. "I don't want him at your school! Period!"
"Mr. Graham, you are misusing your authority as the boy's father and it will greatly affect his development! If you do not reconsider-"
"You'll what?" His eyes shift from angry to almost threatening. Art flinches but is surprised by Miss Haddox' change of tone.
"Mr. Graham...Seeing you in person i can tell that you aren't as bad as some of those reports make you out to be." Her words soften his face just a bit but he doesn't drop his guard. "The reports, however, still exsist and your name is still sullied. You really have no other choice than to send the boy to school or have your authority as his father stripped and him put into the foster care system..."
Greggory's eyes show something that Art had never seen on his face as he turns from her and faces his chipped white painted truck. He's afraid, for a reason no one around here could ever hope to understand...no one but Art. Art opens his mouth to offer comfort but is cut off by a soft small voice.
"Don't be upset Dad." the voice comforts. The three adults take a few seconds to compose themselves as they realize they were being evesdropped on. A few seconds pass as the adults do a quick scan to locate the source.
"Skylar, son." Greggory's voice softens to a level that halts Art and Miss Haddox completely. They had no idea such a feirce man had such a tone. "Where are you at, Skylar?"
"Up here!" The three adults look directly up to see the small frame of a young boy hanging upside down from the enormous black walnut tree dangling above them. "Dad...I can go to school. It's okay."
"Skylar! Get your butt down from there, right now!" A female voice softly intsructs from the now open front door.
"Yes momma." the boy obediently replies as he closes his eyes and limply drops, sending all the nearby adults instinctivly reaching  towards him. They are all surprised and relieved as he lands firmly on his tiny bare feet. "Dad is gonna let me go to school, momma!" He excitedly proclaims. Her eyebrows raise as she forms an apathetic smile. She appears to be in her late 20s with strikingly dark brown eyes and long wavy brown hair midway down her back, crossing her arms over her light pink bath robe. "Oh he is, is he?" she stares adoringly at her little boy as he approaches her, letting her dust a leaf from his short brown hair. "Well you better get inside and bathe up or the other kids'll pick on you."
He walks up the few steps before she stops him. "Syrus, baby, go say bye bye to Officer Bates and the nice lady, don't be rude."
"Yes momma." Within seconds the boy is standing by his father who wraps one arm around his shoulder. Art lets out a barely audible 'hmm' as he recounts the speed in which the boy ran. He gives his dad's leg a big hug, allowing Art to finally get a good veiw of him. He was 3 foot tall with short thick hair like his father's but in a dark shade of brown like his mother's. His face was young and round with a feirce gaze that seemed to be what Greggory's eyes would look like if he had his wife, Pam's, eyes. Aside from those few mixed features, the boy look remarkably like his father. "Bye bye Captain Bates and Miss Haddit." He politely waves to the two silent adults as Art's smile finally escapes.
"It isn't Captain yet, lil buddy, but thank you." Art chuckles as he squats down to look him in the eyes.
"Now." Miss Haddox regains her professional composure and looks Greggory in the eyes. "Tomorrow is friday, so please go in and enroll little Skylar and that'll give you the weekend to get some school supplies. If that'll be a problem then you can call the numbers on this flyer and get some school clothes and supplies." She steps closer to Greggory and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. "He'll be safe, I promise. You're doing the right thing for him. Have a goodnight." She turns and walks towards her car, removing keys from her purse.
"Mr. Graham." Art stands up again to face the man. "Your boy will be under adult supervision the entire time and I'll be watching traffic at the end of your road, which is also where the bus will drop him off. You have nothing to worry about."
Greggory doesn't look to Art, instead he runs his hand through his son's hair as if he was petting his dog one last time before it gets put down. Art and Miss Haddox leave the family and return to their jobs and Skylar returns inside with his mother...leaving Greggory Graham to watch the last sliver of sunlight dissappear over the western skyline by himself.

His first quarter of kindergarden went of without a hitch and Skylar seemed more than ready for the work the teachers had given him and everyday Art was watching the bus stop as little Skylar got on and off the bus. Things started to seem fairly melancholy and Art felt that the small family may have finally found a safe place to call home. That didn't stop Arthor from keeping a watchful eye on them.
One week into December, snow made an early debut and caused a little of a stir in the small town's populace. It was a light coat of fluff, however, and not enough to close schools yet. Setting at his home, Art was absorbed in a particularly scary book about a graveyard that brings things buried there back to life when his phone rang and caused him to jolt. He paused, laughed at himself, and placed a book mark in his book before answering.
"Hello?" He says as he rubs fatigue from his eyes.
"Arthor?" A hushed voice relplies. "This is Carl Gillingham."
"Oh Mr. Inspector man. How are you-"
"Art they don't worship demons!" He says in a panicked voice.
"Well I could of told you that, Carl. Hahaha."
"ART! Pay attention to me very carefully! They don't worship demons! They ARE demons!"
"Carl, what the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm serious! These people are the real deal!"
"Oh? Well spit it out! What led you to this discovery? Reading that book?"
"No, I took the book to a guy I know so he could help me translate the last few pages, because they are in some weird language."
"And the book said they are demons?" Art says with a hint of irritation.
"No! I don't have it anymore because I left it with him to look at over the night! When I went back the next day, his shop was a crime scene and my friend was presumed dead because he was the only one who lived there and there was...there was..."
"Carl....what happened?" Art asked calmly, sensing that something was bothering the investigator. He would be right.
"There was hardly anything left to try to identify...the police said that they could only label carnivorous animals as the culprit because there is no fingerprints, nothing stolen, and no forced entry...but an animal wouldn't walk into the middle of a small city of 30 thousand people just to bust into a book store, pass up the fridge and pantry to rip a grown man to shreds and eat 60% of his body?"
"What the hell?!" Art shouted, nearly dropping the phone. "Well not to be the devil's advocate, but what makes you think it was a demon?"
"It wasn't a damn bear, because after the police did a check of his stock using his records, they found nothing missing...except I know something that is missing that wasn't in his records."
"The book..." Art freezes with a look of concern on his face.
"Art...I did research into each of the families I could...I kept all my notes in that book..."
"No no no, Carl please tell me....You didn't..."
"I'm tedious and meticulous, Art! I write everything down! EVERYTHING! Locations to several of the still living families..." Art slowly stood from his chair and placed his hand over his eyes. "Art I'm sorry! I didn't know how crazy this is, I mean come on! DEMONS? How did they even know where the book was?"
"Carl.....Were the Graham's in the book?"
"I'm sorry Art. I was just cataloging and keeping track of-"
"CARL!" Arthor's voice rose enough to get the neighbor's dog barking.
"Y-yes....they know...they took the book a week ago. I would of told you sooner but I was waiting for it to be released from evidence only to have them say that there was no book found."
"Where are you now? Where was it taken from?"
"Peculular, 7 hours northeast of Peck."
Without a reply, Arthor hung up the phone and headed for his walkie. He turned a few knobs and then pressed the button. "Attention all highway patrol units, does anyone have eyes on Dunn, over?" a few seconds pass before a female voice beeps in.
"Copy, all is quiet and the families in their homes, over." Responded Officer Pierce, a familiar voice to Art.
"Copy, hold that position for me and radio when you want to rotate watch, over."
"Copy." A moment of silence passes as Art shifts uneasily in his skin."Pierce, radio if anything at all looks suspicious, over."
"I will Bates, go to bed, Gramps, over." Her response forced a smile across his reluctant face. He decided that he'd take over tomorrow and keep a tighter watch and with that went to bed. Not that he'd get any sleep.
Arthor pulled up to the usual stake out spot and let his cup of coffee warm his hands as he surveyed the street. Sipping at the dark roasted brew as the clock approached 7:00 AM, he waited for little Skylar to walk out down the road as he normally did around 7:15 to catch the bus sometime between 7:20 and 7:30. As the clock neared 7:25, the bus arrived and picked up the two siblings that live in the trailer at the front of the street but no sign of Graham's boy.
Art began to feel uneasy and was about to pull his car out to go to the house when a light tapping on his passenger window alerted him to Skylar's location. Art, confused and worried, unlocked and opened the door and the young boy hurriedly hopped in.
"Missed the bus, buddy?" Art smiled and sighed in relief.
"Dad is wanting to move again." He said softly. "It's not safe here anymore."
Art, surprised, put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're dad is just worried about you and your mom...if he thinks that moving will keep you safe then it's probably for the best."
"He isn't sure if it's a good idea right now, cuz the Bissles were seen at the gas station yesterday." His gaze lowers to his feet, which he starts to kick lightly.
"Bissles? Skylar, what is a Bissle?" Art asked as his mind suddenly realized he was mispronouncing Abyssal.
"They are people, but not really...they steal your soul and wear your body like a glove!" He said with a little bite as if Art should have already known. "They take some people's bodies when they die and use them to find more people to steal souls from."
"Skylar, you need to be at school right now and you know that."
"The cleaner guy at school was sick all last week but he was back yesterday and in a really good mood."
"Well that's good news! No one likes to be sick."
"He was always mean and walked with a limp, but he didn't limp at all yesterday." He looked Art in the face. "I'll show you him."


Art pulled up into a visitor parking place and walked with Skylar to the front door. Walking through the double doors, Art noticed a horrible, stagnant stench.
"Cliff, that mop water needs to be changed." An odd voiced person said with frustration in their voice. "You have worked here 2 years, you should know that by now!" Art finally passes the hallway, decorated with a flower and field theme to indicate the kindergarden classrooms. "You've been cleaning this area for the last 20 minutes! Move on somewhere else." The voice is coming from a scrawny man in a pair of brown slacks, a blue dress shirt, and wild colored suspenders. His balding head facing Art and Skylar, turns to them briefly then back to the victim of the tongue lashing. A very large man who is noticably taller than the bald man, Cliff is definatly the janitor and doesn't look out of ordinary to anyone else, but Art could swear that something about the man was off. He had a greasy head of black hair combed back with a navy blue, full body coverall and black shoes. His eyes turn from the angry little man to Skylar, who he looked dead in the eyes for a while before looking up to Art, who stared fiercely back. The two men are obscured from view as Art and Skylar round the corner.
"Skylar." Art says in a hushed voice as he spins around and looks the boy in the eyes, his hands on his shoulders. "I'm going to take you home to your parents. Okay?" The boy stares back into the man's eyes and nods.
"We can't let them get mom." He said without hesitation. "It's too soon." His statement puzzled the aged police officer, but he felt the timing for questions was not now. The two of them quickly made their way back to the car before arousing any suspition, which, ironically, upset Arthor when he wasn't met with even the slightest confrontation. They pulled out of the parking lot and turned east onto HWY 74. Once they had put a little distance between them and the school, Art felt it was okay to ask the young boy a few questions.
"Skylar, buddy..." He started, glancing at the boy, who had his full attention focused on Art, causing him to look back to the road. "I know that you and your family have been running from these guys for a while..."
"How?" The boy asked, surprised.
"I was wondering why your dad was so...silly. So I looked into him and found that you have been on the move your entire life."
"I was born in a van."
"Haha, well that's interesting, but I was wondering if you knew why these people are chasing you?"
"They want my mom cuz she is related to Sesstruss. She is special and can kill them."
His words cause him to furrow his brow in confusion.
"Kill them? Why not tell someone?"
"Dad says that they have lots of friends, lots of money, and if that don't work, lots of muscle." Art opens his mouth just as his radio blares beeps to life.
"Officer Arthor, do you have a copy, over?" Art recognizes Officer Pierce's voice and quickly responds.
"Yeah go ahead. Over." An uneasy feeling swelled in his gut as he awaited her response.
"Graham has been brought into custody and is currently being detained. Over." She said matter of factly. "Assault, over." Skylar looked up and met Arthor's gaze with heartbroken confusion.
"Pierce, what did he do? Over."
"A Jehovas Witness showed up at his home and he started at her with a knife but was luckily restrained before she was badly injured. He cut her up good, Art. Over."
"Where is his wife? Over." Art glanced at the boy who seemed to act as if he was preparing for a fight, rolling up his sleeves and popping his knuckles.
"She was the victim. Over."
"NO!" Skylar screamed at Art as if to protest with Peirce, who clearly couldn't hear her. "She's lying, Art!" Tears started to form in his little, angry eyes.
"I'm on my way to the station, over." Art said with urgency in his voice.
"Officer Bates? This is Chief Gates, do you have a copy? over?" The deep voice of Art's commanding officer was undeniable.
"Copy." Art replied, confused.
"We'll need you to bring Skylar Price by the station, Mrs. Vera Haddox is here to help with putting the boy into the foster system." Art's voice escaped him as he struggled to find the right words. "Arthor, did you get that? over" Art's mind bounced around in a panic before he noticed something.
"Sir, who is Skylar Price? over." He held his breath and waited.
"Gavin Graham and Pamela Price's son. Vera has told me that you have met the boy yourself. He should be in school right now. over."
"Yes sir, over." Art says, annoyed.
"NO! Art it's a TRAP!" Skylar's little voice trembles as he yells.
"I am not gonna do it. I have another Idea." Art assures the boy.


The station was energetic as the Cheif, slightly obese with a bushy mustache and balding hair all the same color gray, sat across from the attractive Miss Haddox and patiently waited for Arthor to walk in with the boy.
"I'm sorry Mrs. Haddox, he should be in at any moment." He assured her as he watched the clock tick closer to noon.
"I am beginning to worry, if I can be honest with you, Cheif Gates." She looked up from her paperwork and into his eyes, her stern and irritated behind a pair of half rimmed reading glasses. "It's been 3 hours since we've heard from Officer Bates. Perhaps you should check his progress?" The Cheif nods and grabs his radio from the corner of his desk just to discover that the batteries had gone dead.
"Crap." He says to himself as he hobbles from his wheeled chair. "I'll be back in a moment." He smiles to reassure her but she just continues thumbing through papers and doesn't respond. He closes his office door behind him and makes his way down the hall and into the locker room. He reaches up on a shelf and pulls a battery pack from it's resting place on top of it's charger. Smiling in a small silent celebration, The Cheif turned around to find a man standing in the doorway. He appeared to be a little under 6 foot tall, with almost shoulder length bright blonde hair underneathe a black fedora. His clothing would be considered professional attire, slacks, dress shoes, dress shirt with sleeves rolled up and the collar popped, and a suit vest...if not for the odd colors that defined them. The dress shirt a grape purple, his vest red with a rose pattern, and his black slacks with a stripe of the same color red going down his right leg, from belt to bottom. He remained still, staring down at his shoes, as if examining them.
"Sir, you can't be back here." The Chief asks the man as he points towards the front office. "You're gonna have to leave."
"Funny." The man says as he looks up at the chief, his eyes an unnatural deep red. "You say it as though it were impossible, yet here I am."
"Sir, I-" The Chief began.
"Beal." The man interrupted. "My name is Beal."
"Mr. Beal." The Chief corrected. "You need to leave, you don't belong here."
"I get that alot." He chuckled as he started advancing towards the confused man.
"Beal?" A female voice sounds, halting the young man. The men turn to see Miss Haddox leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed in a scowl. "You wouldn't be interupting the Chief from his duties, would you?" His eyes show a hint of irritation at her interuption.
"Of course not, Vera, dear." He says as he turns to smile at the confused chief, reaching up to tighten his tie before patting him, warmly on the shoulder and turning to walk out the door.
"Sorry, Chief. He was supposed to wait in the front office." She smiled sweetly.
"You know him?" His question ground on her nerves with it's obvious stupidity, but she merely smiled.
"He's my bodyguard." She responds after a little delay to allow the Chief to walk past her and towards his office.
"I wasn't aware that your job required you to have a bodyguard." He stated with a bit of annoyance.
"Usually no, but, with cases like Graham, you couldn't be too careful." She follows him through his office door and sits back in her chair. "You'd be surprised how violent some parents will get when you try to take their babies from them."


Three cells lined the north wall of the jail wing of the Charles County PD, it's bars surrounding 3 sides of each of them aside from the last, which had only 2 walls of bars and cement walls bordering their backsides. It was the last cell that contained a panicked and weakened Greggory Graham, pacing briskly back and forth.
"Ah, there you are!" Beal proclaims playfully as he enters the room. "Now are you SURE you don't want a copy of the Watchtower?"
"Where is Pam, you sonofabitch!" Greggory threw himself against the bars as close to Beal as physically possible, from his cell. "If you touch her, I swear to God I'll-" His threat was cut short as he is sent slamming against the back wall of the cell. Beal stood outside of the cell with his arm outstretched, his attack sudden and unhindered by the cell bars. Greggory heaves over and vomits the contents of his stomach along with a good amount of blood before inhaling deeply.
"I'm gonna level with you, Glove. I've already killed every police officer in the building...asside from the Chief...but he's on the list, so don't bump your name up the list." Beal plainly speaks, all nuances of amusement completely absent. "I am not here to interreggate you, bargain with you, or give you an ultimatum. You have me confused with another Eno'beht." He withdraws his arm and turns to a black briefcase setting in a plastic chair by the door.
"E-*COUGH* Eno-what?" Greggory barely manages the word as he struggles to his feet, using the far corner for balance.
"What?" Beal feigns surprise as he flips the bag's flap open and reaches in for the contents. "Did you think we call ourselves 'demons' or 'Abyssals'? Please!" He pulls a book from the briefcase and begins flipping through the pages. It was bigger than most books, about 14 inches long, 10 inches wide, and around 3 inches thick, with a tattered edge but otherwise securely intact. "Where I come from, we are called Eno'beht...and there are lots and lots of us...of all shapes and sizes." He slides the chair over until it is facing Greggory's cell from about 3 feet away. "Enough about them, they are there, and we are here, and YOU were just about to scare me senseless. Your plan is flawed from the start, you see, because I am not now...nor will I ever be afraid of a human."
"Then why not kill us all, oh so powerful Eno-blah?" Greg chuckles and spits a blood filled loogie in Beals  direction. "I think it's because we do scare you...you can't control us and it has you shaking in your evil little boots."
"Gavin, don't be so mean." Beal feigns sadness. "You'll hurt my feelings." He laughs loudly as he stands up and returns the book to it's briefcase. "I don't know why I'm talking with a dead man, when I need to find a boy."
"No.." Greggory drops to his knees, all color leaving his face. "No!"
"Yes, yes, Gav'. I need him." Beal said with his arms outstretched, as if he felt sorry for Greggory. "I have to find him for my boss and I can't have you messin it up. Hey, but don't be blue, I let you live! You can fight another day....assuming you find a way out of this building before it burns to the ground....and lets face it. That is leaning more towards slim chance." Beal chuckles briefly before he turns to see Art standing in the doorway, wearing casual clothing, blue jeans, green flannel, and brown and black coat, his eyes fierce.
"Who the hell are you?" Beal asks, genuinely surprised, since he killed all the other Officers aside from the Chief.
"Slim Chance." Art replies before firing a 9mm round through Beals skull, dropping him limply to the floor, with a loud crack as his skull slams hard against the marble. Art then looks to the bewildered Greggory, standing speechless and slack jawwed with astonishment and confusion. "I've always wanted to use a one liner like that...I thought it would feel more fulfilling."
"What?! What the hell are you doing here?" Greggory shouts as Art grabs the cell key and puts it in the lock.
"You're welcome..." Art says humorously annoyed. "I'm here to take you to your boy, Greg. Now follow me."  The cell door swings open, freeing Greggory, who promptly runs to Beal's body and grabs his briefcase.
"We need to find my wife." Greggory says as he pushes through the door.
"She's dead, Greggory." Art coldly announces after a brief moment of silence. Greggory stops in his place momentarily frozen before whipping around to look Art in the face. His eyes pleading Art to tell him he heard wrong. "I was informed earlier by my partner, Pierce. She is with your son at a secure location."
"Officer Bates...why are you helping me?" Greggory asks suspiciously.
"Come on. Years of running from enemies and hiding and the one time you gain a few allies, you ask 'why?'" Art shakes his head, smiling, before tossing a 9mm handgun which he catches, examines, and then places in his right hand. He looks to Art, nods, and smiles before turning to the door.
"So, Mr. Bates, do you have a plan? We don't have much time til he wakes up." He claims as he procedes down the hallway towards the front room.
"Him?" Art gestures towards the cell block. "I splattered his brain across the floor!"
"Hopefully we won't be here long enough to see a demonstration." The two men pass a few random rooms, evidence room, questioning room, break room, all of them vacant.
"Where are all the officers?" Art states as he finally notices how oddly easy this rescue mission has been.
"The snappy dresser you just shot just told me he killed them all except the Chief." Greggory's words sadden the officer. They were his friends and coworkers. "Is there an armory around here? Handguns just piss them off."
"Yeah, round the next corner." Art turns the corner to find a police officer's body laying on it's stomach with a crimson river flowing from where his head used to be. "Oh god..." Art locks up and needs to be shook by Greggory to regain his senses.
"It's horrible, I know, but we need to move, Mr. Bates." Greggory says, trying not to sound insensitive to Art's mourning. "Is this the door?" Art turns to him, nods, and procedes to unlock the door and head inside. In the room the men find a few weapon racks, mostly empty aside from a few cases of ammo, a shotgun, a few handguns, and flashlights. After searching through a few more drawers they find a few flashbang grenades, ammo clips, and handcuffs.
"Wow, I expected more for some reason." Greggory says, annoyed, as he loads a few shells into the shotgun.
"Funny thing is, so did I." Art grabs a riot shield from it's hiding place behind a rack and hands it to Greggory, who looks at him, confused. "No way, buddy. I get the shotgun. You need the shield more than I do if you want to see your boy again." Greggory pauses, then nods as he trades him his 12-gauge for the clear, bulletproof shield. "You'll have to leave the briefcase, because you can't hold it and your gun." Greggory looks him in the eyes before stuffing the gun and two flashbangs in his belt line. A few more moments of hustled silence passes before Arthor caves to his angry curiosity and pauses to stare Greggory in the face.
"What's on your mind?" Greggory asks without pausing.
"Did you really attack your wife with a knife when a Jehovas witness knocked at your door?" Art's question doesn't slow Graham down.
"No." He says matter of factly as he wraps his chest with a kevlar vest. "The Jehovas witness is currently taking a knap after you shot him in the head...he cut her up."
"Wait...HE was the Jehovas witness?" Art responds, bewildered. "But he didn't-"
"Yeah he didn't look like one, because he wasn't one, Arthor." Graham finally stops and looks Arthor in the eyes, saying his first name for the first time. "These things are not human, despite what you think they look like. I heard that jackass call them Eno'coco or something like that, but the name doesn't matter to me. They are here for some random reason that I am unsure about. When Pamela was a little girl, living next door to me in South Carolina, I remember her having family reunions with hundreds of people showing up, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to tell that they were not all related."
"What does that have to do with John Doe in there?" Art asks, getting impatient.
"They got together to discuss the future of their children...their future as demonslayers." Greggory nodded as Art's face warped to disbelief. "I know...it's crazy, but it's true. Pammy and those other families were decendents of a very old bloodline that spans back to the dark ages. They predicted that the plague would return again this generation...and out of the blue, no contact between the families, no mention of their calling, no information on how to kill them." Greggory lifts the breifcase. "In here is the key to fixing this whole thing."
"What's in there?"
"A book." Greggory answers simply but Art instantly thinks back to the investigator's words. "This book is full of all the hoops needed to create the perfect demonslayer...and I'm going to teach my son, Syrus."
"I thought your boy's name was Skylar." Art asks confused.
"It is, but I am reminded of my grandpa everytime I see him, so I have made it his lil nickname. His great gramps was a really tough and smart guy...I miss him." He takes a moment to himself before Art points out.
"Your boy is waiting, Greggory." Art places his hand on his shoulder as he nods and smiles.
"How's the weather out there? I was unconscious when they brought me here." Greggory asks, changing the subject.
"Snow. Lots of snow." Art replies with a hint of disdain. "You can make it to the car without freezing to death I think. It's only 1:30 PM after all."
"I hate snow." Greggory sighs. "Well let's get out of here, we are more than equipped to walk out a building with no guards." Art nods in agreement, heading to the door.
"Stay close to me." Art instructs Greggory before opening the door and proceding down the hallway they came from. From there they could turn left, go a couple hundred feet until they reach the doubledoors into the lobby. Art spends a moment in confusion as the door refuses to open. "What the...?" Art reaches into his pocket and retrieves his small keyring and begins thumbing through them.
"You guys sure like your locks." Greggory scoffs as he turns to watch their flank.
"It wasn't locked when I came through earlier." Art points out as he puts his key in the hole and turns it. The door opens to reveal Miss Haddox and Chief Gates with two fellow officers. They all stare at each other for a good moment before the Chief speaks.
"Arthor? Where is the-? Wait! Is that-?!" He pauses, confused. "Arthor...why is Graham out of his cell?"
"I told you I heard a gunshot!" She shouts as she hides behind the Chief. "He did that to Officer Barton! I just know it!" Her words prompt the Chief to angrily reach for his pistol, which Art takes as his que. He pulls up his shotgun and aims it at the Chief before his pistol could leave it's holster. The Chief releases the grip of his pistol but hovers his hand over it, ready to draw.
"Get out of the way, Chief." Art politely demands. "I don't want to shoot you, but you better believe I will."
"Arthor...Officer Bates, this guy is-" Art cocks his shotgun and secures the butt against his right shoulder.
"With all do respect, sir. I didn't ask to be brought up to speed on what his crimes are." Art's voice now growing more angry. "I told you to move out of the way before I shoot you." His words cause the Chief to quickly back against the wall to Art's left. "All of you!" With his instruction, all 4 of them walk to the wall. "Drop your weapons." They reluctantly do as he says.
"I expected more from you, Bates." The Chief muttered.
"And I, from you. Kick them over here." Art gestures to the floor in front of him and the officers follow obediently. "Graham, remove the magazines. It's the tiny button at the top of the handle." He does so, tucking each of them in his pockets, leaving his jeans looking bulky. "Now, pull back on each of their chambers, please." Art intructs without looking away from the three officers. Graham pulls each of the chambers which sends 3 bullets flying out to bounce harmlessly on the floor. "Don't follow me, Chief." With a flustered and condecending look on the Chief's face, the two men back out of the front door into the cold, snowy parking lot.

From his hiding place in Art's old station wagon, Skylar watched Art make his way inside the police station through the increasing snowfall. He played the last words from the old man in his head, over and over, finding comfort in his reassurance. "I won't be gone long."
"He'll be okay, buddy." Officer Pierce reassured him from her spot in the drivier's seat. "He is a smart old guy who has handled some pretty heavy stuff." Her hand on his shoulder made him miss his mother. Then a floodgate of emotions overtook the poor boy as he replays Pierces words from maybe 80 minutes prior. She told him and Art that she was cut by a very sharp knife but the cuts were shallow. She lost consciousness and then passed 10 minutes later, with no disernable cause. His eyes swelled up with tears which he quickly wiped from his angry eyes. "Need a hug?" She politely offers, arms open and mouth a sweet smile. She was a young lady, younger than his mother was, with a beautiful face that showed signs of hispanic decent. Her hair and eyes very dark and her skin a health caramel color.
"No thank you, ma'am." He replied politely, but with a hint of annoyance. "I want to hug my dad." She stops smiling, remembering it was her who told Art and the little man that Greggory was responsible and that he might have a little problem warming up to her.
"Buddy, I-" She begins but is cut short as the driver's side door is yanked open and she gets thrown from the car by a very powerful arm, leaving her skidding to a stop 15 feet from the car. Skylar jumps in the back seat as he makes out the face of Cliff, the janitor from his school, from underneathe a yellow rubber rain poncho.
"Boy." The large man says, once he sees Skylar in the back seat. He then climbs in the front and attempts to reach for the boy, but fails as Skylar escapes out the back passenger door and begins running towards the grove of evergreen trees just across a small field of snow. He doesn't get far before his left leg is grabbed from underneath him by the lumbering janitor.
"Let me go!" He screams as he is slowly lifted upside down by his leg. The big brute ignores him and begins laughing to himself. The two of them pause as a gunshot is heard from inside the police station. After a few seconds the brute goes back to chuckling which just leaves Skylar starring him in the face. "What is wrong with you?" The brute stops laughing and looks at the boy. "You don't act normal...nothing like the other demons." Cliff opens his mouth to reveal a nasty set of sharp pointed teeth. "That is definatly not normal. You're really scary." Skylar says calmly, as a plan unfolds behind the janitor. "I don't think I could run from you...you just need to take me to your masters, huh?" The savage man looks down and then over towards the police station. "Okay, you talked me into it...I can not run from you...you are too big and scary, so I'll just be a good boy and walk inside with you. Don't hurt me." The big man looks puzzled at first but sets the boy on his feet beside him and pushes him onto the snow in the direcition of the station. "I'm going, I'm going." He says as he smiles to himself. He stands up and flings a good scoop of snow in his face. The man angrily shakes the snow free and clears his eyes to see the boy running away.
With a guteral shout, the goliath lunges forward only to find himself face first in snow. He glances at his feet to find his shoes had been tied together. Furious, the beast glares at the boy and reaches forward to grab him, but is stopped when Art's stationwagon slams into him, creating a splat of blood across the white snow. At the driver's seat sat Pierce who then backs over Cliff and into their previous parking place, before jumping out of the car and running to Skylar. The boy sat, staring at Cliff's body like he might start poking it with a stick.
"No no, sweetie, don't look at it." She shouts as she slides to him and imbraces him, shielding his eyes with her body. "I'm sorry I took so long, I lost my gun when he threw me...." The words slowly slide off her tongue as she ponders his physical capabilities. "He really, friggin' threw me, didn't he?!" Skylar pulls his face from her embrace to look at her astonished face. "I mean..that was like...30 feet or something!"
"With one arm, too." Skylar clarified.
"Yeah!....with one arm." She releases the boy to turn and look at him, unsure if a car would do enough damage to count him out.
"He's not a person anymore, he's a demon. Look at his teeth." She looks at the boy, almost as if to scold him, but then turns to the motionless body.
"Honey, he's just a crazy person." She says to calm herself as much as Skylar. She reaches down and parts his lips with her index and middle fingers. She withdrawls with a panicked gasp when she finds Skylar's claim to be correct. "What in the name of God is that?! What kind of person does that? Is he from some weird asian country or somethin?!" Skylar just shakes his head, letting her make her assumptions. "I think I saw a movie where a guy filed his teeth like that....well lets just get into the car, the snow is getting pretty serious. Maybe it'll cover him up for us." She picks the 5 year old up and hurrys towards the stationwagon, but freezes in her tracks when she thinks she hears a voice. Her body starts to tremble beneath Skylar's touch as a series of large cracks and groans are heard. The boy positions himself to where he could look over her shoulder and swallows hard when his fears are confirmed. She turns slowly, eyes wide, to see Cliff staggering to his feet. "How?" She whispers as she watches the man twist his leg into it's proper place. It fixes itself with a loud crack that can be heard through the heavy snow, which has muffled most sounds. He bends his leg a few times, letting out a few more sickly cracks before he stands up and regains his balance.
"They can't die." Skylar says quietly. "They just get slowed down...but this one is dumb."
"Dumb?" Pierce's panicked voice asks the 5 year old. "But he is also really really strong."
"Yeah...just act like-" Skylar pauses as his heart suddenly beats slower. "My book..."
"What? Act like your book?!" Pierce asks, panicking and confused. Skylar shakes the feeling from his head and continues.
"You're dressed like a cop. Just act like you are taking me inside to your master, act like his friend$ so you won't kill you." His idea rubs her wrong but she runs out of time to object as he finally notices them. Skylar takes this as his time to act and starts screaming and kicking in Pierce's arms. "NOO! LET ME GO! I DON'T WANT TO-"
"S-Shut up, you little brat!" She yells, trying to sound angry as the huge man cocks his head to the side. She then begins advancing towards the door, eventually coming about 10 feet from Cliff. "S-Sorry I hit you with the car, but I thought you were stealing him from master."
"Hrrrrrmm?" He growls in confusion.
"They will be happy that we got the boy. Very good job.." She briefly pauses.
"Cliff." Skylar whispers between screaming fits.
"..Cliff, right?" She smiles.
"Hit me in the head, but not too hard." Skylar instructs, testing her resolve to the plan. She then holds him in front of herself and close fisted punches him in the head hard enough to pop her middle knuckle. Skylar goes limp in her arms, making her feel ashamed that she may have really knocked out a 5 year old. "Hand me to him." She hears him say softly. She grasps the boy tightly as Cliff takes a few slow steps towards them. She finally caves and extends the boy towards the hulking man.
"Here, take him, he's too heavy for me." She forces the words from her lips, angry she trusted a 5 year old with the escape plan. Cliff steps forward and gently places Skylar over his shoulder before turning towards the door. Once his back is turned to her, she begins to unravel as she looks around for options. She didn't have to wait long for a little good luck to happen in their favor.

Greggory was the first to back out the door and nearly jumps out of his skin when he turns to find a 7 foot tall man in a bright yellow, hooded poncho standing, staring at him from about 10 feet away.
"Oh shit...Bates, we got another one!" He shouts as Arthor quickly uses a pair of handcuffs on the doubledoor's handles, locking in anyone wanting to follow them. Arthor then turns to see Cliff, who is noticably taller than he was just a few hours earlier.
"Oh...mr. janitor." Art says, lifting his shotgun to his shoulder. The brute then drops little Skylar by his feet.
"Syrus!?" Greggory yells. "If you hurt him, I swear to God I will make you wish you could die!"
"You will die." Cliff utters as his mouth opens into an angry growl, revealing his teeth.
"Holy mother of-! He has shark teeth!" Art exclaims as he unloads a shot into his chest with his shotgun, staggering him back but not downing him. He regains his balance and steps back towards the men only to have another 12 gauge send him back another few feet. Greggory takes one step towards Skylar before the boy unexpectedly jumps into his arms.
"Sy, are you hurt son?!" Greggory asks while checking for injuries.
"I'm fine, dad, but mom's...mom's.." The boy finally breaks down into tears, shoving his face into his father's chest. Greggory hugs the boy tightly as a tear makes it's way down his aged cheek. Arthor steps forward and unloads another blast, this time into Cliff's knee, which drops him down on top of it into a kneel. The doors behind them begin to rattle and voices are heard shouting as the Chief and co. struggle to get them open. Greggory runs to the door and jams the riot shield under the handles and wedges it's base into the snow. Arthor shoots another round into Cliff's already imaciated chest, flinging him onto his back where he lies, motionless.
"Warm the car up!" Art shouts as he steps closer to the grounded Cliff. The stationwagon comes to life and  pulls forward and towards the exit. Greggory grabs up Skylar and, staggering in the snow, makes his way towards the car. Arthor turns to follow suit and makes a few feet before being dropped, face first, into the snow, dropping his shotgun. Looking back he sees that, despite his injuries, Cliff had a firm hold on his boot, which he uses to pull Arthor closer to him. Arthor begins kicking and punching to no avail as Cliff positions himself over the old man and raises his large fist into the air. The sound that tears it's way from the man's maw, as he opens it and displays his teeth, is unlike any sound he'd ever heard. His mind had chosen to label these people as freaks of society that had taken to demon worshiping to make others afraid of them. He was a man the law who had seen many scary things, heard scary stories, and learned scary truths, but, as he looked into the it's eyes, he finally understood. This was no man. This was a monster, real, alive, and dominating. His mind went blank as he stopped resisting, believing his end was near. As time felt slower, Arthor knew his time had come, and there was no way to stop it.
"SKYLAR WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Greggory's voice rang out, in Arthor's head before something unbelievable unfolded before his very eyes. Skylar's small frame was utterly dwarfed by the massive man, but when the boy's shin came colliding with Cliff's face, you'd swear it was reverse. Before Art could even begin to process what he saw, Cliff was already on his back, howling in pain and holding his face.
"Get up, Art!" The boy shouted to bring the amazed man to his senses. Art stood to his feet, staring into the boy's eyes with complete astonishment.
"Syrus...how did you do that?" He finally asks.
"You called me Syrus. Thanks! Now let's go!" The boy smiled before turning and running towards his father, who was rushing towards him as well. Arthor turned to see Cliff shambling to get to his feet and then falling back down to repeat the process. Art decides that time can't be wasted anymore and makes a mad dash for the car, a process made a little difficult by his previous leg injury. The three make it to the car, load up and speed off, putting as much distance between them and the station as they can, while a pair of eyes watch them from atop the station roof. Beal then drops from the roof and staggers around, still dizzy and disoriented from the headshot, and collapses next a snow covered police cruiser.
"Well damn...I did not see that coming." He sighs, just before the police station erupts into a huge explosion with Miss Haddox, The Chief, and the remaining officers still inside. The sight of the fire brings a smile to Beal's face. "I DID see that coming, though." He laughs to himself as he turns to his left. "Nice lil flame, eh, Jahzekzn?"
"Your last one was bigger." Responds a male voice as a young man crawls over on all fours and sits beside Beal. He is smaller than Beal and has quite a hunch that causes the tattered, dirty brown hood to cover most of his face. He flings the hood back to reveal bright, almost luminecent, green eyes that contrast his dark black hair and dark skin which was very dirty. His clothing was a tattered tan tunic and pants with brown mocasins, his hair long and unkept, covered alot of his face. Every exposed piece of skin showed scarring, cuts and burns that healed back a lighter shade than his Native American skin normally is. "Etarrakii, you let them escape. Master won't be happy." He looks to Beal with a sly smile.
"Pfft!" Beal scoffs. "I have no master."
"Ah. Masters don't take kindly to disloyalty." Jahzekzn with a hint of amusement.
"Don't even act like that." He says, dusting snow from his hat. "Play all you want, we didn't get summoned here, like a pawn...like that idiot over there!" He shakes his head, pointing to Cliff, who finally regained his composure and was staring, mesmerized by the bright flame. "You and I broke through ourselves, without a master."
"Yeah I know...but we need to keep a low profile. Pretending we're helping Fazenen until the others get through." Jahzekzn adds. "A few more years and we can stop this stupid collection of Kazenok and just kill them off...which we let get away..."
"I know...but I did get his father." Beal shrugged as the two make eye contact before chuckling to themselves. "Hahaha....ha....hmmm I guess we should kill that pawn."


They were a safe 40 miles south of Peck, Greggory behind the wheel, Arthor in the passenger seat, and Skylar inbetween, lying his head against his dad as the three of them sat in silence, until Arthor broke it.
"Pierce should be safe back home, right?" Art asks, concerned about his friend.
"Oh yeah, they want us and I doubt they'd expect us to drop her off." Greggory says, rubbing his chest. Arthor notices and reaches in his glove compartment to pull out a small container of antiacids and offers it to Greggory.
"No thank you, I don't have heart burn...I just...got this pain in my chest." His words don't reassure Art, but he moves on anyway.
"So what's next?" His words change Greggory's facial expression to a soft but lost look.
"Well I need to find a place to use that book and train Syrus..." He smiles when he says the nickname, proud. "He was pretty amazing...wasn't he?"
"I'll say." Arthor softly replies, patting the boy on the knee. "He saved my life..."
"Arthor..." Greggory started, as he slowly pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned it off, letting the car grow silent. The sky was already very dark and snow fell all around them in large flurries. Skylar looked up to his father, curious as to why they stopped. "Skylar....I love you buddy."
"Greg...is there something wrong?" Art asked, sitting up.
"I love you, too, dad." The boy says, hugging his torso tightly. Arthor finally gets a good view of Greggory Graham's face as a passing car illuminates his downcast view.
"Arthor...I'm very grateful for what you did for my family. I don't know if it was God, luck, fate, or whatever...all I know is that you have done so much for us...more than anyone I've met in 8 years."
"Is this what you're getting at? Greggory it's okay, you don't have to thank me for helping you...your son is a wonderful person, as is his father."
"No...I'm afraid that isn't all." Greggory starts as his head starts teetering limply, as if he were fighting sleep. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask you a big favor...please...you need.." His words start to become more feint as if growing weaker. "Arthor...please....teach him..."
"Greggory...buddy hang in there..." Arthor pleads as he begins to understand.
"Teach Syrus...the book...find the others.."His words, though feint, resonate through Art from that night forward. He doesn't speak after that, instead, Greggory Graham places his arm on Art's shoulder before leaning down and kissing his son one last time on the head. It was during this kiss that Gavin Greggory Graham left this world, his son listening closely as his father's heart struggled with the last pumps before stopping.
Arthor Bates and Skylar Syrus Graham would never forget this night.