Emer was in the throes of a nightmare.

He was twelve years old again, and him and his parents had just been rudely awoken by them.

He didn't know what they wanted. He didn't know why they were yelling. He didn't know why they were dragging his mother out of her room, why one of them had pulled his pants down and Mom was screaming and sobbing and Dad was as well, but he was held back by two huge men.

He was curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth, trying to muffle his sobs, burying his face into his knees for he couldn't bear to look at the scene.

It seemed like an eternity before all the screaming died down, and he heard a satisfied voice say, "I think that's enough." A smack. "Shut up, you whiny bitch."

Mom's sobs quieted, but he could still hear her hiccupping, small whimpers escaping every now and then.

He hated it, hated it, hated it.

It was a dream. A nightmare, he convinced himself. He would wake up, and it would all be over. None of them would have happened.

He lifted his head, eyes puffy from crying, lips quivering, and what he saw -

A foot pulling back, and implanting itself in Mom's ribs.

A scream tore out of Mom, and Emer knew he should have tried to hide then, run away, maybe. They didn't know he was here.

From across the room, Dad's eyes caught his in the crack of the bedroom door. They were wide and frantic and filled with pain, Emer could tell even from a distance.

Dad mouthed something.

Emer was trying to figure out what he meant, but another cry from Mom stole his attention. And then another one - this time from Dad.

He had been punched in the gut.

Emer clapped his hands over his ears, the tears pouring down in a waterfall, breath hitching in his chest. He prayed, prayed for someone to stop this, stop hurting Mom and Dad, for them go away.

He should have torn his eyes away from the scene. But he couldn't.

Red, red, red. That was all he saw. Blood covering Mom. Blood soaking Dad. Both dripping with angry, red blood.

And finally - finally - everything stopped. A deathly silence fell over the place. Dad had slumped onto the floor, and Mom still lay on it. Both were unmoving.

Emer was quaking.

He couldn't stand it. Why weren't they moving? Why weren't they making a sound? Stop playing dead! Get up! he wanted to shout at them.

The silence was pressing in on him, deafening him; unbearable.

He screamed.