We drove out to a rural field and pulled off to the side of the road. It was unlikely that anyone would bother us, people who live off busy roads tend to recognize a tired traveler and leave them be.

As the light began to disappear from the sky I got to work taping the oven mitts around his hands so he wouldn't be able to claw anything. Then I leaned the seat back until he was comfortable and began winding the rope around him.

He laid still, allowing me to subdue him to the best of my ability. I taped his ankles together and put the mask over his nose and mouth so he couldn't bite.

When I felt he was sufficiently tied down I crawled back into the driver's seat and leaned it back so that I was eye level with him.

He turned his head to me and said, "I'm sorry about this."

I chuckled, "it's not your fault."

"Yes, it is. None of this would have happened if I wasn't here." All I could really see were his eyes, but they were sad enough. It hurt to watch him like this. He was such a happy person, he deserved to always be that way.

"You didn't kill those people."

"I might as well have." I could see him beginning to drift off. He looked so tired.

"It's them," I said, desperate to break him from this train of thought, "It's not you. They're the killers."

His eyes drifted shut for a second, and then flew open, pitch black.

"I could be a killer too." His voice was low and rumbling, a deep sound that caused the hairs on my arms to stick up. But a second later he shook his head back and forth wildly, and when he turned back around his eyes were the familiar milky blue, "I'm so tired Bo."

My heart sank, "I know, just go to sleep."

He shook his head again, "I can't."

I propped myself up on an elbow and grabbed his chin, forcing his face in my direction, "Listen. I'm not afraid of you, okay? I'm not afraid. Go to sleep."

I let go and he just looked at me for a moment ad I settled back down. But I watched him give in to the tiredness.

For a moment, I saw the stress and sadness melt off his face. He relaxed into the seat and his breathing slowed.

But as soon as he'd stilled he was back up again. With an animalistic squall, he began fighting the restraints. But he was still in the lanky boy's body, so it didn't do much.

After I was sure he wouldn't be escaping I reached up behind myself and clicked the locks shut, which made him roar.

I knew I wouldn't be sleeping, not with him throwing a fit like that.

So I just sat there, and all I could think of was the note in my pocket.

The devil lives in him