Edgar sat on a worn bench, his gaze fixed on Ethan as the boy pushed himself higher on the swings. He cleaned the fog out of his glasses and readjusted them on his plump, balding head. The day had been cloudy and rainy, and Edgar was once again out on one of his evening excursions with his son—an eager boy, full of boundless energy. 

“Look at me, dad! Look how high I can go!” said Ethan, his laughter music to Edgar’s ears. 

Edgar approached the swingset, his smile wide and full of excitement. “How about we go get some dinner? Maybe a little ice cream too?”

“Ice cream?” asked Ethan, curiosity dancing in his eyes. “I love ice cream.”

Edgar was acutely aware the park was too quiet for this time of day, yet appreciated the calm as it helped him keep his thoughts straight—it didn’t let his mind wander like it usually did. He looked over his shoulder for watchful eyes. The mud in the grass and puddles on the concrete looked rife for injury or wet socks. He squeezed his thumb in his fist. 

“Of course you do. Ice cream makes everything better.” 

Ethan noticed an unnerving look in Edgar’s eyes, the kind that housed a lifetime of strangeness and hurt, but his smile was still warm and friendly. For a moment the world was serene and quiet. It was just the two of them. They were going for dinner and ice cream. Edgar never got ice cream as a child, he only got—

“I know a good place—” 

“I’ll tell you a better one,” Edgar interrupted. “It’s about a twenty-minute drive and they’ve got milkshakes too, in the big glasses with cherries on top!” Ethan pondered this for a moment, but agreed at the thought of those big milkshakes like the ones in Disney World. 

He’s special, my son. My little Ethan, I want to take him somewhere special.

They strolled along the gravel path toward Edgar’s car. Ethan chattered about his school and friends and his father listened intently. Edgar nodded and encouraged him with short, enthusiastic responses, Ethan’s laughter wrapping around him like a blanket. The rain picked up harder and they rushed to the car, slamming the doors behind them as they jumped in. 

Ethan looked around the car and noticed it was messy—the small space was scattered with empty coffee cups, clothes in the back seat and a thick layer of dust over the dashboard. 

“Your car is kinda dirty. You should clean it.”

“It’s just a little dust, Ethan,” Edgar chuckled, but there was an edge to his laughter. “Besides, it reminds me of things come and gone. Everything in here has a story.” The weight of his words hung in the air and Ethan shifted in his seat, unsure how to respond. Sometimes Ethan would push the limits, testing boundaries, but Edgar always set him straight; in the end, his son always listened.

That’s what parents are for. 

***

The diner was quiet save for the faint hum of the jukebox in the corner. The lighting was dim and the bar lamp flickered intermittently revealing the dust along the liquor rack when it would linger for longer than a couple of seconds. The only table occupied was by a couple of older gentlemen in the back corner, heads down in their bottles, murmuring privately in their drunkenness. Edgar and Ethan were greeted with a smile by the waitress, a younger woman with a name tag Katie stuck to her chest.

“Just for two?” she asked. “Right this way.” 

The diner was four miles from any civilization and sat just above a hill at the top of town. Fog was beginning to roll down the mountain above and soon enough the view across the road would be barely visible. The waitress sat the boys down at a table by the window.

“What can I get you two?” Katie asked. 

Edgar stared at her a moment too long and responded with slow deliberation. “We’ll get two cheeseburgers with fries and two milkshakes—chocolate for the little man here.” 

Katie scribbled into her notepad and noticed Ethan fiddling with his napkin. “Anything else we can get you?”

“No, that’ll be everything,” Edgar mumbled. “Just make sure the food is fresh.”

“Of course,” she said. “Fresh is what we do best!”

Edgar leaned closer to the waitress, his eyes suddenly intense. “There’s something about good service,” he trailed, taking a more personal edge, “finding people who are detail-oriented. It’s so rare, isn’t it?”

She seemed slightly taken aback but smiled politely. “We try our best!”

“Good,” said Edgar, and his gaze lingered on Katie longer than necessary as she walked away before turning his attention back to Ethan. 

“She’s good, isn’t she?” asked Edgar. 

“I guess so.” 

A silence consumed the table and the light fixture above their heads seemed to illuminate them like stars in a play. Edgar’s mind began to wander, now blissfully unaware of his surroundings, stuck under this light with his boy, this child who was the perfect embodiment of what he wasn’t and who he never could be, a boy with a parent all other parents should be jealous of, yes, he was sure— 

not like what i had Ethan not like what I had at all and if for one second you’re not grateful i

“Two cheeseburgers and two milkshakes! Anything else I can grab you?” asked Katie, but she couldn’t help feeling as if she was interrupting something.

“That will be all,” Edgar said curtly.

Ethan picked at his fries and had a couple of bites of his burger, but his attention was mostly focused on his milkshake. Snapping out of his state, Edgar was now suspiciously aware of his surroundings, feeling that people were watching him from all corners when no one was. The diner was still. Edgar’s eyes drifted to the community bulletin board by the entrance filled with local job offers and community events. 

A poster.

Missing Child. Twelve years old. If you have any information regarding this child, please report it to the proper authorities. The picture resembled Ethan but the boy was slightly different than his son: longer hair, bigger nose, smaller ears. The town he was missing from was only a few hours away. Edgar’s hand froze halfway to his mouth. A chill slithered up his spine, spreading outward like icy fingers around his throat. His chest tightened. 

“It’s just a coincidence,” he muttered, but the sound was drowned by the rush of his pulse pounding in his ears. The boy’s face in the poster began to taunt him—scowling and screaming into his head so loudly he had to cover his ears.

“No, no, no, he’s mine,” he whispered. Edgar gripped the table so tightly that his knuckles went white. Then he saw the name of the boy: Neil Stewart.

Not mine, he thought. No, that was not his child at all. The weight on his chest loosened and he felt that he could breathe again. Not mine… 

“We have to go, Ethan,” he said, his voice sharp and fingers twitching. 

“But what about my milkshake?” he retorted. “I barely got to drink it.”

Edgar didn’t respond. He threw a crinkled twenty on the table and grabbed Ethan by the arm, almost dragging him out of the diner—the walls were closing in and the diner’s once warm atmosphere had turned into a dingy prison. The waitress called out to Edgar but he could not hear her. 

The boy on the poster was gone. Missing. But it wasn’t his boy. Ethan was safe. 

“How about I drive you home?”

***

Ethan had left for school and Edgar sat alone in his apartment. It was a cluttered mess of children’s drawings and toys—none of which had been played with—and a sink filled to the brim with dirty dishes. The quiet buzz of the refrigerator hummed through the space, but it couldn’t drown out the sound of Edgar’s muttering as he moved about the small kitchen. He adjusted the same placemat again and again, eyes darting nervously to the chair at the table. 

Ethan’s chair. 

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, glancing at the clock on the wall. Ethan would be out of school soon. Everything had to be just right. Two plates were set out along the dining room table with glasses and cutlery neatly placed beside them. The stillness of the apartment weighed on Edgar but in his mind he could already hear Ethan’s footsteps approaching in the hall. He paced the apartment and could barely make it anywhere without knocking something over; a stack of mail, a pile of toys, drawings, garbage. A cockroach darted from under his foot to a crack in the floorboard where it slithered away unscathed. 

Do you remember, Edgar? What I always told you and you never fucking listened? Edgar froze mid-step, the air around him thickening as the voice returned—clearer this time, louder, more biting. He could almost feel his father’s hand on his shoulder, that heavy, crushing grip that once left bruises. You’re useless. Always were. Edgar’s jaw tightened at the thought, that familiar surge of panic rising in his chest. Edgar shut his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands to his temple as if trying to physically block the sound.  

“Shut up,” he whispered, but no amount of force could stop his fathers voice. “Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” He thrashed violently, as if trying to escape his skin, and ran himself into the wall. Dazed, he grabbed a toy off the ground and crushed it with his hand, slamming it against his head, over and over, until blood streamed down his wrist and his screams buried the sound of his father lingering in the back of his skull. Edgar lay motionless on the floor, staring at the ceiling, tired and broken. Hours passed. Three o’clock, four, five o’clock. 

Where was Ethan? 

Edgar stood up and checked himself in the bathroom mirror, the fluorescent light flickering overhead. His glasses, thick-rimmed and smudged, magnified his tired eyes—deep-set and ringed with shadows as if sleep had long abandoned him. A rough stubble dusted his chin, uneven and coarse, and the skin around his jowls hung loose, pulling down at the corners of his mouth. Blood lined the wrinkles on Edgar’s face but he paid no mind. 

His mind was set on finding his boy. 

Ethan, oh Ethan, where are you?

***

Edgar’s car idled at the curb, the engine humming low as the sky darkened into twilight. His breath quickened, tight with a mixture of anticipation and frustration. He should be home by now, he thought, staring at the familiar house. Inside the lighting was warm and friendly and Edgar could hear, ever so faintly, the distinct sound of laughter from within. 

Ethan’s laughter. 

He should be with me. Not these strangers. He turned off the engine and stepped out of the car, feeling the weight of the silence pressing in around him. He approached the walkway and each step felt like a momentous stride. He paused at the last step and raised his hand with a sweaty palm, prepared to knock. You worthless sack of shit do you see yourself? Scared. A nobody. You won’t do shit for your own blood. Edgar’s jaw tensed, the muscles rippling under his skin, stretching it wide, almost grotesque. The pressure building in his jaw clicked painfully yet he pushed it further, contorting his face in a desperate attempt to silence his father. 

Silence. Deep breaths. Breathe… 

He knocked softly at first, almost timidly. No answer. He knocked again louder, his hand shaking with impatience. The door opened just a crack revealing a man—someone Edgar had barely registered but saw as an intruder. 

“Can I help you?” the man asked, confused, looking Edgar up and down. 

Edgar swallowed hard, his voice catching in his throat. “I’m here for Ethan,” he said. His words were brittle and uneven. His gaze darted past the man and into the house. “He’s supposed to be with me.”

“Ethan?” the man asked. “Who the hell are you?” This time, the man’s voice was firm and his body tense, blocking the doorway. Edgar saw someone move in the kitchen inside. 

Edgar took a step closer, his voice rising with desperation. “Ethan! Get over here now, your dad’s here!” 

He’s slipping away now. You’re losing him.

“He’s my son. You don’t understand—he belongs with me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Before Edgar could respond, Ethan’s mother appeared in the hallway, holding Ethan’s hand.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice edged with concern.

Edgar’s breath hitched as he saw Ethan, but the moment he locked eyes with the boy, something inside him broke. He wasn’t looking at him the way he should. There was fear in his eyes. 

“Ethan!” he called. “It’s me. You know who I am.” The boy shrank back behind his mother.

Fear laced Ethan’s voice. “Mom?”

The sight of Ethan recoiling sent Edgar into a tailspin. He stepped forward again but the man blocked him—shoved him—his voice hard and final. “You need to leave now before I call the police.”

The threat hung in the air but Edgar barely registered it. 

You lost him you sick sonofabitch no good lousy piece of

He reached out and the man gave him a left hook to the gut, sending Edgar reeling and onto all fours. The world around him felt distant and muddled but his mind echoed with rage. You lost another one. You always lose them. One after the other. You gonna let this slide? I didn’t let it slide. Not with you, not with anyone. You’re a fuck up. 

“Get it out of here before I kick the shit out of you. He is not your son!” the man roared. 

Edgar looked up but something had changed. His teeth were clenched so tightly they felt like they might break and shatter in his mouth and his mind beckoned over and over as it seethed with rage, his past and present merging into a brilliant blinding blur.

Edgar reached into his coat pocket and lunged. 

***

I sit here, staring at the dull, gray walls. Time doesn’t feel real in here. It’s like the outside world has stopped moving, waiting for me to come back. For us to be together again. Me and Ethan. They said things. Terrible things. The guards, the doctors—they’re all liars. They don’t understand. They think I hurt those kids, but they don’t understand what it’s like to have someone who belongs to you. Someone who needs you. 

The cell door clanks open. I look up and it’s the same guard who’s been watching me for weeks. He looks at me like I’m already gone. 

“You ready?” he asks, like he’s talking about a trip to the grocery store.

 I nod, calm. I’m not sure what he thinks. I’m ready to see Ethan again. “He’s waiting for me, you know,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips. 

The guard looks at me, his expression hardening. “You don’t get it, do you? They found all of them. Every one of those kids you took. Found you crying in that family’s house. Covered in blood.”

I laugh softly. “No, not Ethan. He’s different. He’s out there, waiting for me.”

The guard shakes his head and his eyes narrow with something between pity and disgust. “You’re sick, Edgar. You killed him, just like the rest.” 

My chest tightens, but not from fear. He’s wrong. They’re all wrong. I stand up as they unlock the door, ready to lead me to that chair, to that room. I walk down the hall, escorted by the guard, and the chains on my legs and hands leave me walking in a slow shuffle. 

My father’s voice in my head has been quiet now. He doesn’t bother me anymore. Ever since I was a kid he treated me like a doormat. Walked all over me. Hit me. I still feel the bruises when things are quiet.

I guess that’s where it all started. The need to make something right, to fix what he broke. He wanted to mold me, shape me, but all he did was destroy. But I take care of what’s mine; I make sure my children stay perfect. 

The room is quiet and two guards stand on either end, the executioner solemn, holding his hands behind his back. They look at me in loathing. 

They sit me down now. Strap my arms to the chair. And the black hood approaches steadfast. I cannot stop this now. 

The world is dark. But I am smiling. 

Ethan is close.