Brütal • Mötley Crüe •

Seventeen • The Devil Within

Warnings: Language, Drug Use, Graphic Violence, Child Abuse

Part Two

Halston didn't figure out that she was different until the coldest night of 1976, four days after she'd turned thirteen.

San Quentin never got too cold, but forty-three degrees might as well be subzero when you're used to a sunny eighty-five year round.

Halston didn't mind it, though.

Winter was her favorite time of the year because the sun went down before dinner and she had more hours in the day to disappear into the darkness.

The sun hadn't been out at all that Sunday and a misty drizzle had been falling from swollen rain clouds since she woke up, allowing her to maintain a relatively good mood.

She liked Sundays in general because it was her day of rest; the only day she was allowed to take a moment and lick the wounds she acquired during weekend fights. It was the only day her siblings were smart enough to give her space and it was the only day her father was generous enough to leave her alone- for the most part.

So, she was confused when he invited her on a trip to the store as she was cleaning up dinner. She knew they didn't have any money to buy groceries because she'd been coming up with random, mismatched meals all week and fight earnings were never to be spent on something as essential as food.

But she agreed because she knew she didn't really have a choice, and maybe he'd done some odd jobs that she just didn't know about.

Their battered 1965 Chevy Nova had no heat so she grabbed the only jacket she owned, tiny holes littering the fabric that was two sizes too small.

She kept her mouth shut for the entire ride, even when she realized that their normal store was twenty miles in the opposite direction. She tried her best to make sense of it, but she really had no idea why they were going so far out of the way just for some milk and bread.

But she wouldn't dare ask. She was no stranger to his reaction to being questioned and she already had one black eye and two bruised ribs, she didn't need anymore.

She was no stranger to the 9mm Winchester pistol he laid in her lap when he finally stopped the car, either.

Her hands meshed with every fissure and groove in the worn steel because she'd been shooting it since she was only five years old, and by eight she could take it apart and clean it with her eyes closed.

She knew how to load the clip and she knew how to look over the notch in the top to aim and she knew how to curve her thumb over the back strap to control the recoil.

She wasn't exactly sure why he was handing it over to her in front of Chuspy's Stop and Shop but, again, she wouldn't dare question his intentions.

"You see that register on the counter in there?" He grumbled, half a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he flicked his finger toward the store.

She turned to her side and squinted, struggling to see through the water-spotted windows of the car.

"Um. Yeah?" She replied as her sight landed on the silver chunk of tin sitting on the front counter.