Thought: Hi, it's me. I watch a lot of E! and this came out of a different idea i had while watching one of those murder mystery shows.

Logan Mitchell never really knew his father.

He'd met the man a few times in his life, but he knew nothing about him. He wasn't raised by his father. He didn't know his father's middle name, birthday, or favorite color. He knew nothing about him. However, the man that helped his mother raise him, he knew a lot about. He knew his name was Roberto Maurice Garcia, that his birthday was July 15th, and that his favorite color was green. He also knew that Roberto was a criminal.

He wasn't a thief, he wasn't addicted to drugs. He didn't have road rage, and he didn't drink and drive, and he didn't beat people up. He was a slayer. He found enjoyment out of murdering people.

Logan's mother, Nettie, met Rob right before Logan was born. Logan didn't have a time where Rob wasn't in his life, to him, that was his father. Except, Logan wasn't a Garcia. And, despite the fact that the man left, Logan admired his father, and he was proud to be a Mitchell. Logan was happy as a kid, you know? Like, he didn't get abused regularly, he was fed and clothed and taken care of, and he even had younger siblings, Carlos, Joseph, Sophia and Isabella to grow up with him. Things were looking good.

Logan was ten, Carlos almost eight, when it happened, when Rob spilled. It was January; it was snowing on top of 3 feet of snow and Nettie stopped at the store on her way home from work for some essentials. Rob was fidgeting.

Joseph, Sophia and Isabella were much younger than Logan and Carlos, being four and two and six months. The two toddlers were on the floor playing with blocks and Isabella was crying in her basinet in the living room. Logan was sitting on the couch next to Rob, and Carlos was on the floor in front of them.

Logan couldn't help but notice the uneasiness of his step-father. The man seemed rather nervous, annoyed, frustrated and angry. "I've done it before," he said, looking at Logan. "I really have."

"Daddy," two-year-old Sophia said, "Mommy's baby grill is crying again."

"Shut the fuck up, Sophia!" the annoyed man bellowed. "I know!"

"But she's hungry," said the informative toddler.

"I don't care!" He screamed.

Logan watched him warily. He was the oldest; he was supposed to make sure this all ended okay. He was nervous, though. He'd seen Rob get angry. He'd been hurt by the man before, and he'd watched the man hurt his siblings. He didn't want to see this happen anymore, but, in all actuality, what the hell was he supposed to do? He was ten, and his seven year old brother was bigger than he was. Granted, he'd just turned ten, and Carlos was almost eight, but still. He would never be a match for Rob in a situation where he needed to stand up for himself or his siblings.

And that night was the worst night of Logan's life.

Because Rob broke.

"I'VE DONE IT BEFORE. I DON'T NEED THIS!" He hollered and went into the kitchen. When he returned, he went over to the basinet and picked up the crying infant. Logan watched him slit his newborn sister's throat and throw her across the room, blood quickly elapsing from her small, fragile, lifeless body.

When the other children noticed what had just happened right before them, they began to cry. Carlos, crying hard, jumped up on the couch next to Logan, who was frozen solid in his spot, completely stunned and utterly shocked by what just happened, and the younger boy gripped his older brother for dear life, praying to God that he wouldn't allow their father to do this to him, too.

Logan couldn't believe this. He couldn't comprehend what was happening, and before he knew it, he was watching Rob stab Sophia; her body jolting every time the kitchen knife went into her body. Blood was everywhere; all over the basinet, the blocks, the walls, the carpet, the couch. It splattered on Logan and Carlos. Not too long after Sophia was dead, the man had successfully killed Joseph. He worked too quickly and Logan couldn't react. He didn't get his mind back before it was too late. Three out of four of his siblings were murdered in a span of about two minutes.

And Roberto Garcia had done it before.

He looked at the remaining two on the couch, and finally, the oldest brother registered. Something clicked in his mind that he was in serious danger, that Carlos was in serious danger, and that Joseph, Sophia and Isabella had just been murdered in front of him. He looked into the raging chocolate eyes of his dad, the man that was supposed to raise them and love them. Would he really kill them? Who was to say he wouldn't have? He'd just killed three babies, one after the other, gone, dropped like flies. Three innocent babies. Logan's siblings.

Dead.

Logan could have sworn Carlos was next, then him. The way the man looked at them…it was so sadistic, twisted and evil and full of hatred. Logan had never seen this look on anyone before in his life. He'd never seen anyone murder, and he'd never expect his dad…

The man lashed at the boys, clearly aiming for the younger, but Logan stood up and stood in front of him. He couldn't lose another sibling, he couldn't let this happen, he couldn't lose another sibling, he couldn't, he just couldn't…

Logan didn't scream when he felt the knife that killed his three siblings slide hard across the right side of his face; but he was protecting Carlos at all costs. Rob kept screaming, and Carlos was screaming, and Logan was doing all he could to prevent another death that night.

The large man had slashed his son across the face, several times on his back and arms, twice on his leg as he tried to get him while chasing him around. He beat the little boy the best of his abilities, but really, he just wanted to kill him. Logan held him off to the best of his abilities, making sure his brother got out without so much a scratch on his body. The intention had been to kill him. Him and Carlos; and then Nettie, and Rob would get away with it because he knew how. He had, after all, done it before.

Logan was bleeding severely and bruised harshly, about to be stabbed through the heart with the kitchen knife that had just been used to murder three kids, when the phone rang. Rob stopped and stared at the two boys before narrowing his eyes. "Don't. Move," he instructed firmly, clearly finding it very important to take this phone call. He seized what he was doing and proceeded into the kitchen before finding the phone.

Logan made sure he and Carlos were visible when Rob glanced at them from the kitchen, but the second, and no later than a second, his bloody hand grabbed his little Latino brother's hand and quickly, quietly, swiftly, ran out the front door, stepping over the dead bodies of his siblings, and closing it as quietly as possible.

For the first time in his life, Logan Mitchell hadn't listened to an adult. It was the first time he defied someone with authority, and to him, everyone had authority over him. He went next door to his neighbors and they looked horror-stricken at Logan; but the boy quickly apologized, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said, "I don't know what to do…please help me, don't…please, don't let him get up, please, please…I'm sorry, just please." he wasn't crying; how could he cry? Carlos certainly was, and he had to show Carlos it was okay. Even though it wasn't. Carlos had watched his brother find strength in this moment of weakness.

"What happened!" asked Olivia Auden, thirty seven, mother of one, ushering the children inside, locking the doors behind her, trying to protect them from whatever it was that had caused the bleeding and bruised and crying children. "Andy, call 9-1-1, and tell them to send an ambulance and police officers immediately!" she ordered her son.

"M-my dad," said Logan, "he just…he just…" he couldn't say it. He couldn't say what had just been done, what dirty deed had just occurred. Because he still couldn't believe it. He was numb; his emotions were numb, his entire body was numb. It's a good thing, in a way, because if he could feel anything right now, he'd really be hurting.

"What'd he do, Logan?" asked Mr. John Auden, a thirty eight year old businessman. "Logan…Liv, go get a white towel and try to calm Carlos down, okay?" he instructed skillfully. His wife immediately obeyed, and listened as Andy, her sixteen year old son, shouted that they were on the way.

Mr. Auden wiped the blood off of Logan and tried to stop as much bleeding as possible. The worst was on his back where five diagonal lines in a row, looking almost like the cut of a razor, except, they were large, sickening slices. They started from his right shoulder and went to the middle of his back. One on his right shoulder. Two on the back of his left leg, right on top of each other, horizontally. Three small ones on the inside of his left arm, there mistakenly while Rob was punching Logan with his free hand, looking like the letter K. Another small accidental one, slightly deeper than the K, was on his left backhand; looking like a moon crest. Then was the one on his face.

It was bleeding more intensely in the middle of his cheek than anywhere else. Mr. Auden had ordered his son to fetch more towels and to help him with Logan till the paramedics got there. The slice on the ten year old's face started towards the left of his left eye, on the zygomatic bone, through the cheek, maxillae, and stopping right before his lips.

"Are you okay?" Mr. Auden asked the small boy.

Logan nodded, but said nothing. He was losing a lot of blood, and his pale face was paler than usual. He was shocked and he was panicked. "Carlos," was all he said, and immediately the crying boy was by his side, holding him tight, and Logan holding him back just the same. "…are you okay?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. "Did he hurt you?"

Logan was full of relief when Carlos shook his head. "I-I'm oh-kay."

"Logan, Carlos," Mr. Auden said seriously, "You need to tell me what happened! Did your dad do this to you?"

Both boys nodded.

"Where's your mom?"

"Store," Logan said simply, his voice dull, as if this didn't happen. As if nothing happened. As if he were numb.

"Where are the babies?"

Carlos cried harder and Logan, again, didn't allow himself to. His heart raced hard in his chest and with a small hesitation, he said, "…killed."

Imagine the horror that went through Antonia Lucas when police cars, ambulances, and a crowd of people surrounded her house. In a panic, she put the car in park, leaving it on, jumping out and running up to the house. "Ma'am," said a police officer, stopping her, "you can't go in there."

"That's my house!" she informed.

The policeman froze immediately; he didn't want to have to be the one to tell this woman that her children had been murdered. "Mrs. Lucas?" he questioned.

"Yes!" She huffed, her entire body encumbered with fear. She knew in her heart that something terrible had happened. Someone was missing; one of her children, missing…she was already crying.

"Mrs. Lucas…I'm sorry, but um…this is the scene of a horrendous, disgusting…Mrs. Lucas, approximately thirty three minutes ago, your…Roberto Garcia killed three of your children…Joseph, Sophia and Isabella…I'm just…so sorry."

Grief stricken, and sobbing, screaming on the ground, Nettie looked up at the police officer, "Where - are - Logan - and - Carlos - ?" she questioned between sobs and cries of hysteria. Ping, pang, pong, she was shot in the heart three times over, it had been ripped and torn to shreds and nothing would ever help make this feeling go away and where the fuck were her sons?

"They were rushed to the hospital. I can bring you there right now," he offered.

She tried to compose herself and stand up, but it was heavy. She felt heavy because the world was on her shoulders. How could this happen to her? How could this happen to her babies? Why were her children murdered? How could she have let this happen?

She didn't know what to expect when she went to the hospital, but she knew that she had to stop crying, because she was the adult. She was a mess, the boys didn't need to see her like that, and she did her best to compose herself before entering the hospital with the police officer.

The man took charge, telling the receptionist who this woman was and where she needed to be. The nurse obliged to her duties and led the heartbroken woman to a back room where she saw Carlos sitting with a nurse, and crying.

The little Latino jumped into his mothers arms upon seeing her. Nettie scooped him up and rubbed the back of his head as he cried into her shoulder.

"Shh," she hushed her baby, "It's okay, mommy's got you, mommy's here now."

"Logie's hurt," was the response she heard in a soft, small voice. The normally energetic child had cried himself to exhaustion and feeling safe in the comforting, familiar arms of his mother made him even more drowsy.

Nettie turned to the nurse who gave a subtle nod and sighed. "Logan's in the back getting stitches; he was beaten pretty badly." The mother felt another pang in her heart. Her baby was hurting and it was because of her lack of judgment. You live with someone for ten and a half years and you think you know them. But even though he did it before, Nettie had no idea that Roberto Garcia was a cold blooded killer.

The nurse told them that Logan's doctor would come in and bring them to Logan when they were ready; she told them where they could find her if they needed anything, anything at all, and she bid her sympathy before leaving.

Nettie rocked her baby back and forth, telling him it was okay; telling herself it was okay. She didn't know how it would be okay, but she had Carlos, and she'd have Logan soon. The boys that would never leave her or hurt her.

When the doctor came and introduced himself, his heart ached because he never wanted to feel what this woman must have been feeling; nor did he want to tell her the news of her son. "Logan suffered multiple knife wounds, several slices along his back required stitches; his shoulder, legs, and …face. He has sixty seven stitches, four large bruises and several small cuts. He lost a lot of blood so we started him on a transfusion; he's got an IV line. He'll have scars for the rest of his life…"

Nettie tried her hardest to fight back tears and it was honestly the hardest thing she ever had to do. She put Carlos down and took his hand, keeping him as close as possible as they silently followed the doctor to Logan's room.

Logan was okay; he wasn't hurting because the doctor had given him stuff to make him numb again; after being separated from Carlos the small pale boy had panicked and the doctor immediately calmed him down.

Nettie didn't leave her son's sides for at least forty eight hours. She was obsessed with seeing them. She, of course, had a lot to be dealing with. The police wanted information, but she wanted them to leave her boys alone. She didn't want them to be any more involved than what they were, anymore hurt than what they were, and she definitely didn't want them to have to relive that fucking day.

She requested to see Rob. She was disgusted by him; the very thought of him made her sick to her stomach, yet, this had to be done. She stared at him on the other side of the phone booths. "You're going to go down anyway," she said to him, "You killed three of your kids; don't put these boys through anything else. Admit what you've done so your sons don't have to be involved."

So, Roberto Garcia admitted to what he did. He admitted what he'd done; and that's when he admitted to eight other unsolved murdered and how he did them. He kept a still face as he did it, and he expected to be put to death. The death penalty in New York is not allowed, as of 2007. Robert Garcia was to sit alone in a jail cell and rot till he died. If, at any given time, the warden of the jail thought necessary, the murderer would be transported to a different state confinement, a state which allowed the penalty of death, and he would be electrocuted till death.

Until then, he was rotting in jail.

And to get away from it all, Nettie moved to Minnesota where she grew up, where her mom was. But the pain of what happened never left any of them. And every night in the dreams of the two young boys, it was hard to erase the images of their father murdering their siblings. How would they possibly get through something like this?

Note: yeah. so. whatcha think? yay, nay? i just want a story where Carlos and Logan are brothers. yeah. so thanks for reading(: