papa, is that you?
His voice, can you hear him? Please, let me near him. Reach out my hand to grab his own.
Life was funny.
Not in the comical way. It was more like it took a blender, shovedseveral people in it and forgot to close the lid when it pressedstart.
Hank, wide-eyed, gripped the wheel white. It was his birthdaytoday, fifty-three years old, and he thought it was too early towitness his son materialize across the road and into the burgeoningmist.
A smart Hank would have fucking flooredit. Shoved his foot on the accelerator and peeled off in smokedrubber. He wasn’t about to be the dumbass in the movie with his dickout and his pants cuffing his ankles.
However, whatever sense ofself-preservation the Lieutenant had, hightailed, because he found himself haphazardly out of the car with Gavin lefthanging on the line. It wouldn’t take long before Reed followed him. He’d descend into the heavy thicket and wander into the town.
Somehow, he lost sight ofthe road and found his way into the halls of a catholic school.
Questions grilled his mind as he went aboutscavenging the drawers in the principle’s office, finding a ring ofkeys for unknown locks and a particular red colored key tucked in thethird drawer after the flashlight, the match box and the screwdriver hepocketed. It looked important and Hank thought why not? It was notlike anyone would miss it.
In fact, noone fucking lived here.
Negligence secreted filth and age rusted the wallsand swathed the office in a sheet of dust.
The crayon drawings pinned on the bulletin broad and thesize of the desks confirmed elementary school children once made upmost of the demographic.
The atmosphere was creepy as all hell and it was theripe reason he decided he wouldn’t linger long.
Navigating around strewn folders and documents, hefound a map with a specific set of coordinates. Each one warranted his scrutiny. Scattered across the map were symbols. Symbols he had seen before etched on the doors of the neighborhood toward theeast side of the town.
Vandalism was what he thought then, but now, itseemed sinister.
A knock at the door snapped him from his stupor andHank whipped his pistol out and around.Silence ensued and though the knock echoed like a distant memory,Hank wouldn’t let it pass and jabbed a mental thumb on repeat. Thisplace was fucking empty. There should be no one at the door.
Except anyone could hide in the fog. What were thechances someone, a squatter, a stranger, followed him and kept quietenough for him not to notice? It gave him all the more reason tokeep his gun up.
Until afamiliar voice took his heart right out of his chest and into histhroat. Guilt is what he felt when he hadn’t recognized who it was at first. It had been so long. His son, his boy,his voice, muddled by the thickness of the wood, spoke. Suddenlyanxiety tightened the skin on his chest and another bout of guilt rose like acidcrawling up his throat. This time for a different reason. He had thought to leave his kid behind whenhe clearly had seen him on the road.
He thought about abandoning his child. He loved his boy. He-
He buriedhis son.
‘Papa’ it insisted.
Hank,a voice warned, yourboy is dead.
Whatstruck him the most like silver knife to the gut was Cole soundedhappy.
‘Papa,what cha doin’ in there?’
Colewasn’t there though. This was a manifestation of guilt. His son wasburied six feet deep under Detroit soil with a Maisto Freshthunderbird sitting on his tombstone. Anger prickled and vitriolbrimmed the edges of his throat, Hank was ready to give this trick apiece of his mind, but the flare faded and any ounce of defiance fledwith it. He didn’t want the thunderous echo of his own voice. Real ornot, he never wanted to yell at Cole.
Withhands trembling he holstered the gun and pressed a hand against thedoor when he felt his world sway. The voice seemed to cease andsilence rung in his ears.
You’re losing it, Hank.He rested his clammy brow against the door. You’re fuckingbatshit.
Suddenly,something dragged itself along the wall outside the office. It rodealong in long strokes. The noise growing closer and louder and Hank’seyes dilated and followed before it settled below him. His heart thumpedheavily, his pulsed hiked and his ears strained for anything.
He felt it then, a vibration, as the sound moved. It reached at theheight of his hips but he felt it faintly travel across his brow as if therewas someone out there in the hall.
Jerkingaway, Hank gripped the knob and threw open the door in desperation.
He found no one. Not his boy nor his stalker. It could be said, however, the sight before him was just as terrifying, if not, more so. It drained all the color of his face and sunk a slab of cold into the pits of his stomach.
It was there, in the middle of an empty hall, where he witnessed a familiar blue toy car that stood four hours away from Cole’s grave.
