Again, the boy raised the rifle, turning it on David.

Brenda, trying to keep the terror out of her voice said: "Go, David! This is between me and my son!"

David hesitated, but one look at the boy's face convinced him. Hurriedly, he got out of the bed and pulled on his trousers, leaving his shirt and shoes where they lay.

"Listen, son…" he said, approaching Bobby.

"Get outta here, or I'll shoot!"

The hair prickled on the back of David's neck. He gave Brenda a forlorn look, spreading his fingers in a helpless gesture. Then he was gone.

Brenda wrapped the sheet around her and got out of the bed. "Bobby – listen to me…"

"Shut up, you whore!" He shook the gun at her, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Just you shut up?"

As soon as he heard David start his car and drive away, Bobby put the safety back on the rifle. He gave Brenda one last, hateful look and then ran out of her room and out of the house.

"Oh God, what have I done? What have I done?" Brenda cried miserably, fear and shame clutching at her breast.

Hurriedly, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweat shirt, shuddering as David's jizz flowed from her pussy out into the crotch of the jeans. Then she got in her car, hoping to track the boy down before he did something even more foolish.

For twenty minutes, she cruised the streets of Meadowbrook, frantically searching for her son, but the only people she saw were a couple of men hanging out in front of Casey's Bar and Grill on Main Street.

Defeated, she pulled the car over, pressed her face against the steering wheel and began to cry. Terrible possibilities presented themselves to her. Bobby lying in a ditch somewhere, Bobby making away with himself in some lonely dark corner.

And then it suddenly came to her. Ever since he was a very little boy, Bobby went to the old, deserted Craddock shack by the lake when he wanted to be alone.