“Mother, I don’t understand why I have to meet with him.”

“He will be your friend. After all, Brandon didn’t work out, did he? And besides, James, it is your 11th birthday…” Rebecca bent down to kiss her son on the forehead. “Remember, you want to be strong like Mother, right, sweetie?”

“Yes, mommy- I - I mean mother…” James squeezed his arms in anticipation. 

"He lives down the street from Kevin. I've sent your maid to pick him up. They will both be arriving shortly."

James barely had time to wonder why his mother didn’t mention this kid’s parents before a black Volkswagen puttered up the lengthy driveway. A familiar face came out of the small car.

“Sally!” James shouted. “You’re back!” 

His mother had a different approach. “Sallia, I have told you to not not let him call you that. You are an authority figure, and he will respect you. Do you have the child? We can’t risk it being here after the sun rises.”

“Yes, ma’am, sorry, ma’am. He’s in the backseat. I gave him the…sunglasses…though I don’t get why-”

“My eyes are sensitive, miss. Have some compassion.” The person sitting in the back had cranked down the window to peer out at the mother and her son. “Is that James? Is he ready?”

“James, introduce yourself. Respect him. He comes from a powerful…family. Don’t be foolish.” Rebecca grasped James’s shoulder and pushed him forwards.

The boy had a stiff build. He had dark, long, neat hair tied back in a ponytail. The sunglasses obstructed his eyes, even though James and his mother had the feeling that he could absolutely see them both. He had pale skin, almost exactly matching James’s tone, but less like flesh and more like bone. The kid was wearing a clearly expensive leather coat with real fur lining the hood. He smirked as James stepped up to him.

“My - my name is James. It’s my birthday today. I’m eleven years old. What do you want to do today, s-sir?” James stuttered, not daring to look at the other child’s face.

“You don’t have to call me sir. I’m gonna be your best friend now. So call me by my name.” The boy scoffed as Sallia tried to open his door. “I can get it myself, miss. Go make yourself useful somewhere else.”

“Wh-what’s your name, sorry?” James gingerly rested an arm on the open window frame. It was almost as if he was looking at a cracked mirror.

The boy placed his cold hand on James’s arm, sending a chill down his spine. “My name is Ronald Amsel,” he grinned, his voice brushed with a hint of German descent. “Why don’t you show me around?”