Tommy is screaming. There are no words coming from his mouth. Only sound, an unending cry of anguish. The night gives no answer.

Kathy watches him flail about in the soft moonlight with her fingers clenched around the steering wheel. And then she relaxes. Opens the car door and walks quietly over to him. He thrashes for a bit, but the violence is seeping out of him, resembling a child who's trying to wake from a terrible dream, but can't.

He slows. Then his resistance stops. And he turns around and hugs her, so tightly it almost hurts. She hugs him back and they sink to the earth.

She is aware, vaguely, of the fact that he's whimpering.

"Tommy," she says.

He sniffles. There's snot on her jacket but she doesn't mind it.

"I don't want to do this anymore," he says finally.

"Do what?"

"This," he says, hugging her tighter. "Any of it. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to let them win anymore."

"I'm sorry, Tommy."

"I want to go away," he mumbles.

"Where are we going to go?"

"I dunno. Anywhere." His eyes are red and watery.

"They'll know," she says quietly.

"No, they won't. They'll never know. Not if we—" He coughs once, twice, a third time, then a fourth. Shudders. He shouldn't exert himself. "—not if we make sure they can't.

Kathy thinks she understands.

"We can't, Tommy."

"Yes, we can," he says fiercely. "We can. And if they find us, there's a lake down there, a-and we can just drive off, and no one will know, no one has to know anything—"

"Tommy, you're being hysterical."

"No, I'm not," he shrieks, grabbing her shoulders. "You don't get it, do you? We don't have to do this anymore. We can lie to them like they lied to us."

She stares at him in shock. His face crumbles again. He looks down.

"Please. I don't want it to be them."

"I'm sorry, Tommy," she says. "I'm sorry. I can't."

"Then let me drive!" he cries, desperately. No anger subsists in his voice, only terror. "Please, Kathy, let me drive, let me do it. I—" He hiccups. "—wanna go away with you."

She doesn't move for a very long time.

She thinks about it. About Ruth.

And then she says: "Okay."

A/N: Don't mind me, I'm just venting.