The warehouse building stood, isolated and unused, next to a silent stretch of road. It was late in the afternoon, and the hot, dry air shimmered above the asphalt parking lot surrounding it. There were no trees nearby, and no birds to break the silence.

A small, brown car worked its way down the road. It turned in at the warehouse and with deliberate carefulness parked in the slot next to a grimy blue pickup truck. There were no other cars in the parking lot.

As soon as the car's engine fell silent, the passenger door opened. Out stepped a woman. She kept the gun in her hand pointed at the car as she walked around the front to the driver's side. She opened the door, stepped back, and said. "Out."

A young, blond man stepped gingerly out from behind the steering wheel, taking pains to keep his hands up in the air, and to not make any sudden movements. Now that he was no longer driving, he could see the woman more clearly. Her clothes were mud-stained and wrinkled. Her long, black hair hung in limp, greasy tangles. And her bloodshot eyes carried large gray-brown bags underneath.

"You look like hell," he said.

The woman ignored this. "Go into the warehouse."

"Look, you look like you need some help. Maybe I can help you. My name's David; what's yours?"

The woman thrust the gun forward, pointing it directly at the center of his face. In a steel voice she replied, "Shut up and get moving."

David cringed involuntarily and began walking. The door to the warehouse looked strangely small, set in such a long wall. He saw that the padlock on the door had been cut through, leaving it to hang limp and askew on the latch.

"Inside," said the voice behind him.

"Look, just take my wallet. Take my car. I won't go to the police. Just take them and go." There was no response. "I did you a favor when I gave you a lift; can't you do me a favor now?"

"I'm not going to repeat myself again. Get inside."

David released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Carefully he reached down with one hand and opened the door.

The warehouse air was cool, and smelled vaguely of salt. As David's eyes adjusted, he saw that the space was empty. The concrete floor was stained and worn smooth. Directly ahead of him, about twenty feet away, was a young boy, standing motionless. He appeared to be no older than ten, but he stared at them with a steady expression. His hair was also tangled, though neatly trimmed, and his clothes were badly stained.

From behind him came the sound of the door closing, and then the woman's voice. "Put your hands on your head."

"What's going on? Please don't do this to me."

"Hands on your head."

David placed his hands on his head, elbows pointing out.

"Walk forward."

David looked directly ahead. "Towards the boy you mean?"

"Yes. Towards the boy."

David swallowed reflexively. He took one step forward, then another. There was a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. Without turning his head, David glanced to the right, hoping to find somebody there, somebody who might be able to intervene. But no: it was just his shadow, thrown forward by the low sun coming through the dusty window near the door. He watched the impossibly long silhouette lurch forward yet again. And then he saw the shadow next to it stretch forth its arms, pointing a gun at the back of his head.

David felt a stab of fear, which suddenly transformed into action. Without thinking he flung his right hand backward, turning smoothly at the waist. His palm touched cold metal and his fingers immediately grabbed hold of the gun's barrel and yanked. It came directly out of her hands. Finishing his turn, David fumbled the gun around until it was pointed at her, dancing backward a couple of steps to stay out of her reach.

They stood still again, watching each other intently. David suddenly found himself gasping for breath, as adrenaline poured into his bloodstream. His muscles were quivering but he did his best to hold the gun steady.

The woman looked stunned for a moment, and then suddenly her knees buckled. She crumpled into a sitting position on the floor, and her face looked like she was about to cry. "Please," she said carefully, "You have to help me."

"Help you?!"

Now her words came fast. "Oh please, just go. You can leave, I won't stop you. Just leave me the gun. Please, I can't do this without a gun."

"You're insane."

She held a hand out to him. "Wait. Just listen to me. Just get in your car and you can throw the gun out of the window once you're on the road! By the time I can get to it, you'll be long gone! You'll be safe, see?"

David shook his head in disbelief. "Okay," he said. "Fine. See ya later." But as he attempted to walk past her to the door, she suddenly threw herself forward and clapsed him around the legs. "No, you have to promise me you'll really do it. I can't let you take my gun!"

David lurched forward, just barely managing to keep his balance. White anger suddenly tore through him, anger at the pathetic display of this woman who had only a minute ago had him at her mercy. He kicked at her, not caring where he hit her, until his legs were free. Stepping away, he pointed the gun directly toward her and screamed, "Get away from me! You crazy loon! You were going to kill me!"

The woman huddled on the floor, crying. She made no move other than to cover her face with her hands. David's anger slowly drained away. He began to feel foolish for feeling scared of someone who now appeared so plainly helpless. He doubted she could even see clearly, she was crying so hard. Of course he didn't trust her, but it was hard to think of her as dangerous.

The woman lowered her hands. Through her tears she said, "My son. He's dying. He's being eaten alive in there."

David looked quickly over at the boy; in the struggle he had completely forgotten he was there. But the boy hadn't moved from where he stood.

The woman said, "He drowned last month. In the ocean. We were at the beach and he was swimming. Harold was holding him up, out where the water was deep. I was watching from the sand when the wave hit them."

David stared at the boy. The boy stared directly back at him, his face impassive.

"They went under just like that. I ran out after them, trying to reach them. Trying to find them. There was nothing there but the water, pulling at my legs like it wanted me too. I prayed to God to please spare my son. I screamed it aloud as I staggered into the waves: please let my son live."

David looked back at the woman. Her voice had turned quiet. She was still sitting in a heap on the floor, but she was now looking at the boy instead of him, and her face seemed to drain of expression.

"I shouldn't have been praying while I was in the water. I should have prayed back on the sand." She shook her head slowly. "Because it wasn't my god that heard me."

The boy still had not moved, but now his eyes were on the woman.

"Instead they heard me down there. In the ocean. They found my son and sent him back to me. Only he's not alone in there."

As David watched, the boy's eyes darted back to him. David felt a sudden chill, and again he caught a whiff of saltiness in the air.

"The — the other keeps him alive." The woman turned to face him again. "But it feeds on souls. I have to keep feeding it, or else it starts consuming his soul." She began to cry anew. "There isn't that much of my son left now. I have to keep it fed."

David avoided looking at the boy. Clearly the woman's madness was affecting him. There was no reason for him to remain here.

David gestured with the gun at the woman and said, "You're right about one thing. You need help. But you're beyond any help I could give you. So you know what? I'm going to go get help. You are going to stay here, got that? You're going to stay right here, and as soon as I can find a phone, I'm going to send some nice people round here, who can help you."

The woman shook her head slowly. "Please," she whispered. "Don't do this. Don't do this to me."

David felt himself losing patience. He waggled the gun at the woman. "Look, when the people come here, you know what the first thing they're going to do is? They're going take that little boy away from you. Then the monster inside of him won't be able to hurt you anymore. You'll be safe, see? You'll be safe, and he'll be safe, and they'll help both of you to get better."

The woman hung her head in defeat. "Please," was all she managed to say. David stepped carefully away from her. He was only a few feet away from the door now, and he turned away from her, to find the doorknob with his free hand.

There was a sound like a whip crack, and suddenly David was sprawled out on the floor, face first. The gun fell out of his hand and skidded forward across the smooth concrete. He tried to stand, but he couldn't feel his legs. And then he was being dragged slowly backwards, away from the door.

As he was dragged past the woman, he saw her face. Her expression had turned to one of fear and revulsion. She was looking not at him but at what was behind him. He continued to slide backwards, away from her. The woman wiped roughly at her eyes, got to her feet, and ran over to the door. As she picked up the gun he could hear her calling out, "Wait sweetie, let mommy shoot him first so he doesn't feel any pain." And David couldn't help but feel grateful.