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Writer's pictureTim Huber

Child of Mine


Shaun flicked his eyes up at the rearview mirror. James was seated, buckled, and looking out the window. So far, it had been a quiet morning, Shaun could only hope it would be until his son was safely at school. Safe as in out of his hands. Who knew what he actually did at school. Shaun rarely heard about it, so it couldn’t be that bad, not like at home. Unfortunately—although it was fortunate in some ways—James was an entirely different person when it was just the two of them. Shaun was certain he still felt and thought the same when they were in public, but he never acted on his instincts in public.

Shaun glanced up again. This time, James was staring back at him. Shaun held his gaze, searching his eyes for some hint as to what he might be thinking. If his fears were even remotely accurate, it wouldn’t be good.

“Hey buddy,” Shaun said, trying to sound relaxed. “How’s it going?”

James said nothing, but put one hand to the door on his left.

“Are you excited for school?” Shaun asked, trying to turn the thirteen-year-old mind away from whatever it was brewing. “Are you—”

In that moment, just as a car was passing them from the opposite direction, James opened his door. Shaun drove his foot into the brake, but it was too late. James backed away from the door—fully aware of what was about to happen. The oncoming car tried to swerve but violently clipped the opened door. It slammed back shut and the car swerved to the side of the road.

“James!” Shaun shouted as he stopped, completely lost to the heat of the moment. “Stay in the car!” he growled. James’ eyes were glued on him, watching eagerly as the desired reaction unfolded. Before exiting, Shaun removed the keys and turned on the child lock.

Shaun saw a woman—a mother—leaping out of the car James had struck with his door.

“What is wrong with you?!” she was screaming, looking at her shattered headlight before charging at Shaun.

“I’m so sorry,” Shaun began, his stomach dropping as he prepared an explanation. “My kid, he—”

“I don’t give a care what’s wrong with your kid!” she shouted. A young girl glanced out the window of her car. “My kid could’ve gotten hurt!”

“I know, and I am terribly sorry, I—”

“You’re ‘sorry’ would’ve done us a lot of good if either one of us had gotten hurt!”

Shaun listened and bore the full defense of the angered mother. He couldn’t blame her for the most part. He knew he would have been furious if some kid had opened a door and wrecked his headlight. He waited patiently as she told him what a horrible parent and human being he was, to let this kind of behavior develop. Shaun listened, agreeing with her while knowing he could do nothing to change or prevent this sort of situation. He could be a little quicker with the locks, maybe, but he couldn’t stop James from doing what he seemed so bent on doing. It just wasn’t possible, every psychologist and doctor had assured him of that.

After she was finished and he had given her information to bill him with, Shaun walked back to the car. He did his best to prepare himself, to fight the fury that was building. It’s what he wants to see, he kept reminding himself. Don’t give him what he wants. The dented door didn’t help things.

By the time he sat down in the car, he was breathing heavily. He placed both hands on the wheel and sighed.

“James?” he began, his voice stern but not volatile. He was hesitant to look up into the mirror. He knew what he’d see: two eyes staring expectantly back at him. “You cannot do that,” he continued. “You could have seriously hurt that woman and her child. Do you understand me?”

Silence.

Shaun clenched his jaw. All he wanted was some kind of acknowledgement, a ‘yes’ or ‘I’m sorry’ that would assure him he could trust James not to do anything so spiteful again.

“James you answer me,” he said, his tone becoming louder and less patient. He was trying, by God he was trying, but all he could see was the little girl in the other car. He glanced up at the mirror. There, as he’d expected, was James, waiting as eagerly and innocently as if he hadn’t done anything. “James!” Shaun shouted, his face scrunched in anger. “You answer me! I want you to promise me that you won’t do anything like this again!”

He knew it was futile, that his son was beyond listening, but Shaun couldn’t let it go. If he didn’t try, he was afraid he’d be exactly what the woman had called him.

After James had received enough of Shaun’s temper to satisfy his morbid taste, he turned away and cast his eyes lazily on the world outside.

Shaun shook his head and began muttering under his breath.

The rest of the trip to school was quiet, much quieter than the beginning had been. As they passed houses and local businesses, Shaun had time to think about what had happened. He knew his son’s condition—not what it was, but what it made him do. He knew that the primal urge to bring out his anger and hate had surfaced, he knew it hadn’t been James. It had never been James, not really. James was a sweet boy, a beautiful boy. Deep down, he didn’t hate anyone and would never do the things he so constantly did. Yet, he did do them. They were what had sent his mother away. She was usually what brought Shaun around to see the hard truth of things. He couldn’t give in to his anger, not like she had—he had to do the most difficult thing possible when it came to dealing with James. He had to deny his anger, refuse to give it to the disturbed child. Some days Shaun succeeded, but other days he couldn’t help but shout or break down and storm off. But he never hit James. He couldn’t, not after Maura had.

When they reached the school, James opened the damaged door and stepped out. His expression was bland, a blank space looking for something to paint it.

“Hey,” Shaun called out through his window as James began to walk toward the building. “I love you, James,” he called. James didn’t acknowledge him. “I do love him,” Shaun reminded himself.

Once the school was out of sight, Shaun breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Now he could rest, now—although he was going to work—he could feel peace for several hours. He knew that his son could and likely would cause fresh disturbances at school, but they were usually minor and didn’t require his constant attention. Further, he knew how to handle those better than the ones committed against him. If there was one way to deal with James, Shaun knew it was by sending him to his room. James would never express it of course, but there he couldn’t observe. He could still wreak considerable havoc, but only to his room. That was something Shaun could handle better than instances like the drive to school. What Shaun truly dreaded was the fact that James—like any other child—would grow. In time he would be able to cause more damage, his methods could become much more hurtful and financially exhausting. He still hadn’t decided what to do when James turned sixteen and wanted to drive. Shaun could see him now, driving his car into the side of the house for no reason other than to see his father furious. Shaun had done his best to avoid creating situations that would lead to potential outbursts. That being the case, he had learned to do without a lot of things. Shaun had discovered that his son could do the least amount of harm when he wasn't distracted by other things. Therefore, television, expensive hobbies or toys, anything that he would be angry to lose, had been done away with. Everything he had learned to enjoy required very little cost and time and could be done with his son. Whether James wanted to do these things was another subject. Rarely did James ask to do anything with his father, therefore Shaun had to be incredibly intentional about it. He took advantage of the times when he could jump in beside his son and continually offered his son to join him in his activities. But, even when James did join him, he expressed no interest or enjoyment. He hardly spoke and hardly did whatever it was they were doing. Instead, he listened and watched as always. Shaun had grown to accept his silence and was simply grateful that his son was not causing harm during these times.

Shaun pulled up to the office, where he could focus on something other than his son for a portion of the day. His work wasn’t exciting, it didn't make him jump eagerly out of bed in the morning. He could have moved up in the company, take a position that interested him more, but it wasn’t the sort of thing he had allowed himself to become obsessed with. Shaun knew better than to give his son an opportunity to destroy. But it was a release for Shaun, a way to simply do something without thinking so carefully. He could stay in his work and not worry about James until he had to pick him up—unless he got a call from school, of course. But that wasn’t quite as common.

“Morning Shaun,” his boss said as he brushed past his desk.

“Morning Eric,” Shaun replied, taking his seat.

“Oh, Shaun,” Eric stopped mid-stride and turned on his heels. “Company party, this Friday,” he nodded, “whole office is invited.”

Shaun was about to raise a hand in protest, but Eric continued in his loud and dominant tone.

“Going to get a local brewery to cater,” his brows made a short hop in interest, “families are invited too.”

“I might have something going,” Shaun said, an apologetic working its way into his expression.

“Family?” Eric raised one brow, a hint of understanding forming in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Shaun nodded.

“Alright,” Eric nodded and put his hands in his pockets, “don't come in on Friday, I don't plan to be here.”

“I won't,” Shaun nodded and then turned back to his desk as Eric left.

As he started, he couldn't help but wonder what the party would be like. He knew the whole office would be there, he knew that everyone would be looser than they were at work. It would be a great time to bond and form memories and relationships that brought him out socially.

“You're not going?” Ben, the man across from him asked.

“No,” Shaun shrugged. “Family stuff, like I said.”

“Must be serious stuff,” he continued. “Somebody die?”

“No,” Shaun chuckled lightly, “nothing like that.”

“Somebody getting married?” Ben continued.

Shaun hesitated. Ben was new, he didn't know about James like some of the other employees did. Shaun wasn't sure he wanted to tell him. Every time he told someone, a feeling of guilt started to set in. He didn't feel guilty that his son was such a problem that he couldn't take the night off, he felt guilty for the perception he knew would form of his son. He didn't want people to look at him and pity him for having a son like James. As much pain as he caused, Shaun couldn't justify betraying him like that.

“No, I'd just already made plans with my family this weekend,” Shaun answered, looking to the papers on his desk. He made it as clear as possible that he was done with the subject and hoped Ben would take his hint.

“Well, I don't have any plans,” Ben said as he leaned back, “and I plan on having a good time.”

Shaun felt a slight prick, the temptation to give in to bitterness. He quickly looked up from his work and directly at Ben's grinning expression.

“I'm happy for you, Ben,” he said, smiling through gritted teeth. “I hope you have a great time.”

“I will,” Ben nodded eagerly. “Sorry you got stuck with your family stuff,” he added.

Shaun didn't answer. He sighed inwardly and tried to put off all thoughts connected to the company party. Instead, he tried to come up with things he and James might do. He knew they would most likely get ignored or destroyed, but he could dream that they would turn into some kind of meaningful connection.

When quitting time rolled in and it was time to collect James, Shaun sat a moment at his desk, doing what he could to prepare himself. One of the methods he employed was to think of the worst possible thing his son could have done and expect it. Although his son excelled at surprising him, Shaun was often able to scale down his reaction by expecting something beyond James' capability. Sometimes, Shaun envisioned the school in flames, James standing outside eager to climb in the car and watch his father’s response. Other times, he saw a classmate beaten and bruised, another attempt to rile his father. Whatever it was, it was usually enough to endure whatever his son had actually done.

When he pulled up, he was relieved to see that the old school was still standing. Kids were pouring out, climbing onto buses or searching for their parents' cars. Shaun saw James exit the school and make his way through the crowd. He had no bruises, no signs of a fight, which brought Shaun more relief. While he didn't have any true friends, he didn't have any enemies either.

“Hey James,” he said as his son opened the door. “Good day at school?”

Rather than respond with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, James let out a short burst of explicit verbiage.

“Hey,” Shaun said sharply, “you don’t need to use that kind of language!”

Another barrage flew from the thirteen-year-old’s lips. This kind of language was unfortunately common at school, Shaun knew that. But hearing it from James made it seem worse somehow. It felt dirtier and more aggressive, each word becoming a venomous weapon.

Of course, Shaun quickly understood what was happening. He could hear the bite in his tone, he could feel his son’s eyes on his. He knew what he wanted, he knew that the actual words meant nothing to his son. He began to pull out of the lot and onto the road.

“I had an okay day,” Shaun said as curses and profanities spilled out, “not good or bad. Just another day at the office.”

Shaun bit his tongue to keep from trying to silence his son. He knew that the best way to keep him from using this sort of language in public was to pretend it didn’t upset him. The idea of James blurting any one of the words he’d just used anywhere in public horrified Shaun. In order to prevent that—a situation in which someone else would be offended—he shouldered the vulgarities.

Eventually, seeing that his efforts were fruitless, James turned his language directly toward Shaun. The coarse language was applied to hateful sentences, things would infuriate and wound any father. It encouraged the belief that his son truly did hate him, that there was not an ounce of good thought toward Shaun.

“I love you buddy,” Shaun said, his voice soft and quiet compared to the vehement flow of verbal fire. “I love you all the way to the moon and back.” Shaun fought the tears that were forming, fought the urge to show the weakness that was waiting to expose itself whenever James acted. He had to be strong, strong enough to outlast his son's outburst.

Shaun repeated thoughts of affirmation-both toward himself and James-all the way home. Only when the ten-minute drive was ended did James close his mouth. As abruptly and indifferently as it had all begun, he unbuckled and opened his door. It was as if he was a machine, switching off of his assault the moment another objective was required. Or perhaps, being switched off by something else, something out of his control. That was what Shaun forced himself to believe.

James left the car and made his way to the house, giving Shaun a moment to express himself.

“Oh God,” he breathed shakily. He gripped the wheel and put his forehead to it. His jaw clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut as he repeated the words “I love my son.” Over and over he said them, until his tears had dried and he was ready to leave the car. There wasn't much time left in the day, that was his only solace. Shaun hoped that in sleep he could find a margin of rest.

During dinner, as the two ate, Shaun realized he had forgotten the appointment scheduled during the week. He hadn’t necessarily forgotten it, but he’d forgotten to tell James that it was scheduled. Things usually went better if James knew beforehand, and, seeing as he'd already gotten one outburst from the day, Shaun thought it best to tell him before he could plan out another.

“Hey, uh,” Shaun pushed his empty plate aside, “I was looking at the calendar and it looks like you’ve got an appointment on Thursday.”

James looked up from his food, a rare and helpless emotion lighting in his eyes.

“Sorry I forgot to tell you, I got a little distracted I guess,” Shaun shrugged. He knew how James felt about his sessions, the questions and exercises the psychologists made him do were some of the few things he expressed distaste for.

“How did you get distracted?” James asked, quietly but with a demanding tone.

Shaun shrugged again but could feel the tension rising.

“I don’t know, I—”

“How?” James repeated, “was it work?”

“No,” Shaun said, doing his best to remain calm and confident, “I wouldn’t have seen it if not for my work calendar.” He paused and then quickly added, “it might’ve been that stunt you pulled this morning.”

James’ rising temper cooled a moment, or perhaps stalled—Shaun wondered if he regretted what he’d done. He doubted he believed him. For a thirteen-year-old, he was incredibly quick and perceptive.

“Don’t get distracted again,” James said sternly before glaring hatefully at Shaun.

Shaun could feel a fatherly instinct rise. He remembered his own father, what he would have said if Shaun had ever spoken to him in such a disrespectful way. I am your father, you show me some respect! Shaun held his words in, knowing that speaking would only give his son something to use against him. He couldn’t parent like his father and mother had. Temper was met with clever manipulation, and punishment was warmly accepted and practically sought after. Attempting to do anything like the examples he'd had would only make things worse.

He wouldn’t lose his composure, he wouldn’t let his temper get the better of him—he would never strike his child. That day Maura had chosen to leave, what she'd done in a fit of rage, Shaun never forgot it. It kept him from leaving James.

“I really wish you didn’t have to go,” Shaun said. He added a bit of anger to his tone, just enough to cause James’ ears to perk up. “It makes me sad.” It was a trick he’d used in the past, one he didn’t like but one he allowed on certain occasions. If he could get his son to believe that going to see the psychologist was hurting his father—the only desire he seemed to have—he could do a bit of acting.

But no further encouragement was needed. Shaun's careful wording had resonated and created the intended effect. Yet it wasn't as focused as usual. This was one of the most complex situations James experienced. Shaun could see it in his eyes. There was genuine hate for the psychologists and their need to understand him, but also an uncontrollable desire to get to his father. The two fought, leaving James uncertain whether to resist going or eagerly comply.

His brows were lowered and his eyes darted back and forth, as if he wasn't sure which side of himself to give into. Shaun wanted to speak, wanted to do something to ease the inner conflict, but he knew he couldn't. He could only watch and learn from the struggle.

During these times, when he could see these two sides so clearly, Shaun knew that his son didn’t hate him. He could see that there was something wrong, the side that hated the psychologists—that was his son. The other part, the urge to agitate and antagonize, was what the psychologists were working to understand. This all made it a little easier for Shaun to love his son.

James made no further comments on the scheduled appointment, but quickly finished and left the table. Shaun cleaned and then sat in the kitchen a moment, grateful for the silence. He knew the evening would be quiet. James was too confused with himself to focus on antagonizing and would stay in his room until he went to bed. Shaun hated that his son had to suffer between these two sides of himself, but knew that giving in to one would result only in further harm for them both. So Shaun took a moment to enjoy himself and recharge, reading a novel for an hour before going to bed.

The next several days passed quickly, and without any major disturbances. With the appointment on the horizon, James had very little spare thought for his father. His trips to school were spent in dreary silence, his eyes gazing thoughtfully out the window. Shaun was careful not to disrupt the peaceful silence, but made efforts here and there to give positive comments. These were of course wasted on his son, but Shaun made them anyway. He stuck to the belief that there was a subconscious part of his son that heard and retained all that he said. If it were true, no good word was wasted.

Shaun did try to keep up a negative attitude toward the psychologists, however. It helped maintain the balance of conflict in James and ensured that they would make it to their appointment. When the day came, James entered the car gloomily and the two set off.

“Alright, we’re going to go in, talk to the psychologists, and get out,” Shaun said. They were in the parking lot, and Shaun was making one last attempt to get his son through the appointment. “I hate this place just as much as you, but we have to go.”

James said nothing, but his brows were lowered and his absorbing eyes were wide. He truly did hate the place. But, until an answer was found, Shaun was committed to bringing him to it, even if he didn't go willingly. This was his last hope, the only thing he was holding onto. Once they found something, medication or surgery—anything—their struggles could be over. He and James could lead relatively normal lives. That was what Shaun needed to happen sooner or later.

“Welcome back James,” the clerk at the front said as the two approached. “So glad you showed up, Dr. Lyst is all set up and waiting for you.” She smiled wide—Shaun had noticed how positive everyone within the psychology ward attempted to be. He doubted it had any affect on his son, but he appreciated it.

“Thank you,” Shaun said and then led his son down the hall.

He knew the route well, he and James had made their way past walls decorated by plaques and documents of approval. As far as their choice in psychologists went, Dr. Lyst was the absolute best they could afford.

“Let’s get this over with,” Shaun sighed as they reached the door. He patted his son’s shoulder, a gesture that went unnoticed, and then knocked.

As if he'd been standing there for hours, Lyst swung the door wide, almost leaping back to let them in.

“Come in, come in!” he exclaimed, his eyes moving first and foremost to James. “Welcome Mr. Anderson,” he said, reaching for James’ hand.

James offered a loathing scowl and moved toward his seat. “Welcome, senior Mr. Anderson,” Lyst said less expressively as he nodded to Shaun.

Once they were both seated, the man sat down in front of them. Although it was in the back corner of the room, he never sat behind his desk. He always chose to have their two chairs facing his with nothing between them. This allowed a very clear view of the scrawny old man. He was almost bald, with two tufts of frizzy white hair on either side of his head. He had no facial hair other than a strawish moustache, and his eyes were large and always moving. Whenever someone spoke, he was not just looking at their eyes, he was looking at their mouth, their nose, their ears—everything. He watched as closely as James did, soaking up every detail in a quest for understanding. If he wasn't so light and perky, Shaun might have been concerned.

“So, anything you feel like saying today?” he asked, putting his hands together and leaning toward James. With his legs spread wide and his elbows resting on his knees, he appeared engaging and eager to be there. This had a very strange effect on James, who was entirely in contrast. He could not decide what to feel toward the man, despite the hate Shaun knew was present. Shaun had guessed long ago that the psychologist understood his son’s condition much better than he did and behaved in a way that counteracted it. He caught the different tones and careful word choices, all things that implied measured intentionality on the doctor's part. He only wished he could replicate this ability better.

James had nothing to say, as usual, and Lyst quickly carried on.

“Gimme a run-down on your week,” he said leaning back. “What’s been happening, do anything fun?”

James again resisted answering.

“I bet school's been a real pain,” Lyst commented.

James averted his gaze.

“Can’t leave until I get something out of you,” Lyst nodded, “you know that.”

James sighed, and then he spoke.

“I hate you,” he said calmly.

“Ouch,” Lyst scoffed, “good thing I wore two layers today.”

Shaun opened his mouth to intervene, but Lyst quickly shifted his eyes, warning him to stand down.

“What else do you hate?” he shrugged. “I'm guessing I'm just one of the names on your list.”

James looked him in the eyes, watching and searching. But he got nothing from the vetted doctor, nothing to use against him.

“You hate Shaun?” Lyst asked, nodding toward Shaun. “You hate him?”

Without hesitation, James nodded.

“Thought so,” Lyst leaned back, “that one's pretty normal.”

“I don't want him to be here,” James said, as indifferently as if his father hadn’t even been present.

Lyst glanced at Shaun.

“I'm fine with that, he's not the one I'm interested in any way,” Lyst chuckled. “You'll talk to me better without him?”

James nodded.

“Shaun?” Lyst glanced at him, almost as indifferently as his son did. “Mind giving us a minute?”

Shaun nodded and rose, despite how firmly he wanted to plant himself and share his right to be present.

“Sure,” he said, “I’ll just be in the lobby, okay James?”

James made no response and Shaun left the two.

Once in the lobby, he put his head in his hands and sighed. He knew not to take these things personally. He knew that he couldn’t or he’d break, just like Maura had. But it didn’t mean he could simply brush them off and keep going. No matter how many times he told himself that what his son did didn't mean anything, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was wounded each time he did something. His wound was growing, and he wasn’t sure if he could keep it from killing him.

As the hours passed, he did what he could to distract himself. He thought of James’ youth, when things had been simpler. James had still caused problems, of course, but they were expected. Toddlers are supposed to do things to get attention, they're supposed to break things every now and then. Nothing he did at that age had felt so harmful. It hadn't been so harmful. Anything they didn't want him meddling in they could simply place out of his reach. But once he had learned to speak, once he understood what other people were saying, that was when he had begun to open new doors. Behind these doors was a world of senseless hurt. But Maura had still been there, the two had still leaned on each other.

Shaun almost chuckled at the realization that they'd been bullied by their four-year-old son. But, once he remembered how seriously they had been bullied, how real his words had been, Shaun returned to the grim reality. After Maura had left, things had only gotten more drastic, but Shaun had also become more cautious. He remembered forming strategies around James' antics. He had talked to dozens of counselors and read countless parenting books. He'd absorbed every shred of wisdom and applied it to his parenthood. But the lifeline that kept him from sinking was that he had sees something in James after Maura had left.

It had been a split second of emotion, hardly recognizable. But Shaun had caught it and he'd never forgotten it. Beneath whatever was happening, James was afraid of losing another parent. Everything he did to antagonize said otherwise, but Shaun knew that his son didn’t want to be alone. No one wanted to be alone. He needed attention, both medical and parental.

Shaun sat up as he heard Lyst's door open. He turned to see James walking out, eyes cold yet alert.

“Good talk James,” Lyst called as he stepped into the hall. “Why don't you wait in the lobby a moment, I gotta talk with your old man,” he then added, crossing his arms and nodding to Shaun.

“Wait here a minute, bud,” Shaun said as he rose. “I'll be right back.”

James made no attempt to respond, he turned and sat lifelessly in one of the beige lobby chairs. Shaun took his silence as confirmation and followed Lyst back into his office.

“Anything new?” Shaun asked, daring to be optimistic.

“Eh,” the doctor shrugged, taking his seat and folding his hands behind his head, “not really.”

Shaun would have been furious at the doctor’s lightness had he not known his personality. His carefree, sometimes childish nature did not relate to his ability, nor his interest. Despite his attitude, Dr. Lyst was incredibly invested in James’ case.

“I’ll be honest, buddy,” Lyst quipped, “as far your kid’s condition, I’ve never known much. What he’s got—” he sighed and chuckled a little, “it’s something new.” He nodded, as if Shaun should be proud that his son was so mysterious.

“Doc, you gotta help me out here,” Shaun sighed, realizing he wouldn’t get much sympathy. “What do you know? There’s got to be some new development or some kind of medication he take. Some kind of therapy. I mean—” Shaun scoffed, “you’ve been studying him for five years! Don't you have anything?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lyst nodded. “It's not so easy as you think, you can’t just throw some pills at him and hope your problem goes away.”

“Then what can I do, doc?” Shaun asked in a firm whisper. “What can I do with my problem? I told you what happened to his mom, how desperate she got.”

Lyst was silent, eyeing Shaun carefully.

“I told you I’m never gonna leave him, I can't,” Shaun continued. His tone was becoming unstable, desperate for something to hold onto. “But I’ve gotta have some hope, something to do when he throws a shoe at me or kills the cat.” Shaun put one hand to his forehead. “You’ve gotta give me something.”

Lyst nodded and then leaned forward. When he spoke, his tone was somewhat gentler, but still singed with his natural indifference.

“Like I said, there’s not much I can do. Half the time we talk I don’t know if he’s lying or not. If he is, everything I'm doing is pointless. Facing these things, thoughts and actions like this, it all starts with honesty. I mean—” he shrugged and made as sympathetic an expression as he could, “we can't even get a straight answer from his brainwaves! I’m sorry buddy. What he’s got, what’s going on up there in his head, I don’t think it’s something medicine can fix. It’s something he’s gotta live with. Something you gotta learn to live with.”

“How?!” Shaun suddenly asked, his desperation peeking as he clenched his teeth, “how am I supposed to live with it? How am I supposed to live with his hate? He'll never have friends, I've got no one to help me, all he does, all he devotes himself to is hating and hurting me! How am I supposed to keep loving him?”

Lyst was quiet. His eyes were no longer indifferent. They were a mixture of sympathy and anticipation. It was as if he was waiting for Shaun to make some sort of decision.

“I’m sorry,” Shaun sighed and put his head in his hands, “I just—I’m losing hope.”

“I understand,” Lyst said, nodding while keeping his eyes on the ground. “I—uh,” he paused, “I wish there was more I could do.”

Shaun nodded, head still down. He suddenly wanted to be far away, away from the psychologist and everything he represented. He wanted to be alone, really alone, without having to think about his son. But he forced himself to think about James sitting in the lobby with empty eyes. If he didn’t think about James, he would think about leaving him. And that was something he couldn't do. Shaun gritted his teeth. It was something he wouldn't do.

“Alright, see you next month,” Shaun said, clearing his throat and rising. He nodded to Lyst and then turned.

“Wait,” Lyst said, rising and moving to his desk. “There’s uh—” he rummaged through a drawer, “there’s someone else I could refer you to.”

“We’ve tried different doctors,” Shaun sighed, “you know that. You’re the best one we’ve found and if you can’t—”

“He’s not that kind of doctor,” Lyst said. There was something in the way he said it that caused Shaun to pause. He watched Lyst carefully as he removed a business card and studied it a moment. “He’s more than a specialist, he’s what you might call a last resort.” He pursed his lips and handed the card to Shaun.

“Dr. Conrad?” Shaun read the name and glanced at the number. The card was the simplest he'd seen and had no company connected to it.

“He’s a bit of a—” Lyst shrugged, either uncertain how to continue or hesitant to say what he meant.

“A bit of a what?” Shaun asked, lowering his brows.

“He’ll deal with your son, Shaun,” Lyst said sternly, “but it might be hard for you to see.”

“What does that mean?” Shaun asked, beginning to understand the doctor’s hesitance. “Are you trying to tell me that the only place for my son is in a mental asylum?”

“No,” Lyst quickly said, “what I’m saying—what I already said—is that there might not be any cure for him. And as James grows up, there’s no telling what he might do. Killing cats might be mild.”

Shaun paused. His spirit caught on what the doctor sad, what it meant. He knew that he was right, it was the same verdict all of the other doctors had come to—and Lyst was more highly recommended than any of them had been.

“This doctor, what would he do?” Shaun asked. “If he's not putting him in an asylum, what would happen to my son?”

“That I don’t know,” Lyst answered. “Like I said, the guy’s a last resort. He’s a bit of a mystery too, the kind of guy you only know about if you’re in the business. You know what I mean?”

“I think I do,” Shaun answered, his mind turning to the thirteen-year-old boy in the lobby. He’d seen one parent walk away, Shaun wouldn’t repeat the scene, especially not with some shadowy psychologist stepping in to fill his silhouette. “We’ll just have to make it on our own.” He handed the card back, “thanks for the recommendation.”

“I’m only tryna help,” Lyst said, putting his hands up.

Shaun turned to leave, moving swiftly toward the door.

“Shaun!” the doctor stopped him. “There is one thing I learned.”

Shaun turned to face him, his mind still surging with conflict but ready to be out of the office.

“James,” Lyst began, putting his hands in his pockets, “he needs you.”

Shaun didn’t move. He couldn’t.

“But there’s some kind of disconnect, some permanent block,” Lyst gestured to his head. “As you know he can’t control what he thinks all the time. But he does feel.” Lyst nodded, “and I worked it out of him today—he verbally said he needs you.”

Shaun felt tears rise up. The words echoed in his ears as Lyst began to blur. He put his hand over his eyes, his breath becoming shaky and quick.

“That’s why he doesn’t do it to other people. He’s focused on you more than anybody else in this world.”

Shaun closed out the world around him, he studied the answer. It was all he'd ever wanted to hear, everything he'd fought for in one sentence. It was almost too much to take, though it snatched his heart and sowed wings to it, equipping him for flight.

“Despite this, I don’t think he’s ever gonna not do what he does,” Lyst continued, “and that’s gonna make it very hard for you to take care of him. You might not be able to, which is why—”

“I’ll be able to,” Shaun said fiercely, lowering his hand and staring the doctor down. His eyes were red, lines with moisture, but he didn't care. “I have what I need to take care of him,” he concluded, nodding almost frantically. “Thank you doctor.”

Lyst nodded, although Shaun could see he didn’t understand, not really. Shaun knew he probably never would, but it didn’t matter. He understood, and as long as he did, he and James would be alright.

He left the office with power surging through him. But it was a gentle and graceful power, one that made him want to wrap his arms around the most violent creature he'd ever come across. That creature was a part of him, his child to take care of and carry forward in life.

“Hey buddy,” he said as he approached James, “let’s get out of here.” James rose quickly, eager to leave. He walked beside Shaun—not close but not behind him. Despite the lack of a solution, Shaun found encouragement in the fact that somewhere—whether or not it would ever be expressed—his son needed him. That gave him the strength he needed to take one more step.

 

Shaun woke to the sounds of glass shattering followed by thuds and violent thrashing. He swept his blanket back and swung his feet off the bed. But he quickly stopped himself, taking a moment to locate where the sound had come from.

Upstairs, James’ room.

Whatever he was breaking, whatever he was doing, he was doing it to attract anger or an explosive response. The thought that something was wrong crossed his mind. It stayed for several seconds, but was dismissed by memories of the times James had lied to get to him.

Shaun pulled himself back into bed. He decided he couldn’t react. If it meant losing a window and some furniture, he had to let it happen. So he lay back down and shut his eyes. With every clatter, every sound that echoed the destruction of his property, Shaun’s mind went to the doctor’s words.

“He needs me,” Shaun whispered softly. He knew it was true, Lyst had said it was. He had to hold onto that, no matter what happened.

As the sounds continued, a sobering thought entered. He remembered Maura's distraught collapse and wondered if she would have stayed had she heard the same encouragement. If she knew that James loved her, loved them both, she might have stayed. He rolled to one side, convincing himself that she would have.

Shaun was quick to wake, preparing for work and whatever the day would hold. Once he was ready, he did whatever he could to make his morning with James go smoother. He got his things ready for school, readied breakfast, did everything he could to show James that he was thinking about him. It was Shaun’s theory that these things would one day break through to him. By patiently showing love, he had a wild hope—one that defied Lyst’s science—that something would change. On that day, Shaun saw himself embracing James, and seeing a glimpse of positive emotion in his son's face. That was the dream he kept, the hope he held onto.

“James?” Shaun called up the stairs. At almost thirty minutes past James’ usual wake up time, Shaun was getting suspicious. “You got half an hour till school, buddy. If you want breakfast you’d better hurry up.”

Shaun refrained from mounting the stairs, recalling the previous night. Whatever he'd done, it had a purpose. By racing up to see it, Shaun knew he'd be stepping right into James' plan. So he waited in the kitchen, alternating between sips of coffee and anxious glances at the clock.

Another fifteen minutes passed and James had still not made an appearance. Somewhat reluctantly, Shaun stepped onto the staircase.

“James?”

Nothing, no response and no sound of movement. James began up the stairs

“Buddy?”

Shaun reached the second floor and stood in the hallway a moment. Looking at the other doors, he was reminded of the plans he and Maura had. Three kids evenly spaced, that was the amount they'd wanted. After James, future kids became a dream one remembers long after waking.

“Hey, you alright?” Shaun went to the door and knocked.

When he received no answer, he turned the knob. Easing the door open, he prepared himself for senseless destruction.

Shaun was perplexed to find a relatively normal room. James had never done much to decorate his room, and therefore didn't have much to make a mess out of, but he could have easily turned over his dressers, torn his pillows-Shaun could think of dozens of ways he could have vandalized the room. Shaun's eyes moved to the only disturbed feature of the room: the window. It was shattered, the wooden paneling ripped off. As he walked over to it, he noticed that there was a significant amount of glass inside the room. It was sprayed toward the center, as if it had exploded inward. When he reached the window he looked out it, down at the grass below. Not a trace of glass other than scarce sprinkles here and there.

As the pieces came together, Shaun turned pale. A horrible realization suddenly struck him followed by intense guilt.

“No,” he gasped, “no no no…”

He moved away from the window and pulled out his phone. With shaking hands, he selected James’ number and dialed it.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered as it rang.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

Eventually, a voicemail message started.

“Help me, dad,” James said. Shaun could hear emotion-true emotion in his voice. It was fear. “I'm kidnapped and they want a ransom—everything you have.” He paused, and Shaun thought he heard low whispers. “Meet us at Sunnyside Park, at that weird bench. Be there at 10:30 PM or—” a startled tone entered James’ voice, “come alone, or they’ll—”

The voicemail ended abruptly.

“James!” Shaun repeated his name, knowing full well he’d receive no answer. He stepped backward, glass crunching beneath his feet. The full scene suddenly became real. He could see them, masked men breaking the window in the dead of night. “I did this,” he murmured, “I let this happen.” He heard the sounds, remembered waking to them and considering running up the stairs. Shaun leaned against the wall and sank down to a sitting position. “Why didn't I go to him? What kind of father am I?” He lowered his head into his hands and sobbed.

 

He had arrived at the park plenty early, but was waiting to approach the rendezvous point. As much as he wanted to, Shaun didn’t dare show up too early. There was no telling what they would think if he was there long before 10:30. They might assume he had brought the police and believed they were waiting from hidden vantage points. Once they were suspicious, Shaun knew his chances of recovering James would decrease dramatically.

He glanced at the bag in the passenger seat. Every scrap of cash he could pull together. It wasn't a ridiculous sum, he and Maura had never been rich, but it was enough to leave him and James with nothing. He looked away, his mind turning to James. The money wouldn't be worth much if James was taken from him.

With five minutes to the appointed time, Shaun stepped out of his car. As if they'd been waiting, paranoia and fear immediately surrounded him. They followed closely as he crossed the road, clinging to his heels and climbing up his legs. His eyes absorbed every detail in the people he passed—eyes, mouth, expression, clothes, he took it all in the hopes of finding his son. But it wasn’t until the strange star-like bench came into view that he saw James.

He was alone, sitting on the bench slightly hunched forward. His feet were tapping rapidly and his eyes were fixed on the ground. Shaun forgot completely any sense of caution and began running.

“James!” he shouted, “I’m here James!”

James looked up, his eyes as large and observant as ever.

“I’m so sorry!” Shaun was already shouting, his arms spread wide as he reached his son. He dropped and embraced him, wrapping his arms tightly around him in the most meaningful gesture he’d been able to give in years. “It’ll be alright now,” he kept saying, both to himself and to James. “I’m here now.”

After a moment, Shaun pulled himself back and held his son by the shoulders.

“Are you okay?” he shook him slightly, a sniffle escaping him. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

James didn’t answer, but stared indifferently as always did.

“James, buddy,” Shaun raised his tone, “talk to me.” He smiled and moved his hand, daring to try and touch his son’s face. James saw his hand but didn’t make a move to stop him. Feeling suddenly empowered, Shaun touched his open hand to James’ cheek. James showed no response whatsoever, maintaining his fierce eye contact. James' cheek was cold, chilled from the night air.

“Oh James,” Shaun whispered, “I thought you were gone!” Tears welled in his eyes, and for once Shaun felt that it was alright for his son to see him cry. “I love you, I love you so much. You know that?”

James’ hand moved forward in a sharp gesture—a cold and precise pain followed.

Shaun pulled back, instinct taking over. His eyes moved to his stomach. His breath wavered as he saw a long razor of glass protruding and quickly becoming circled with blood.

“James,” Shaun stuttered, looking from the violent product to the hands that had created it.

James was watching, his eyes wider than Shaun had ever seen them. But, where indifference had always stolen his emotions, Shaun saw tears line James’ eyes. In that moment—though the pain had begun to swell and his head had begun to grow light, Shaun could only see his son. He could only feel James.

“My boy,” he mumbled as he moved closer. “My beautiful boy,” he wrapped his arms around his son and leaned forward heavily. “I’ll always love you,” he said in a broken voice. His tears had begun, and he knew he couldn't stop them.

James’ eyes continued to water, his tears continued to rise and collect until they were forced to spill over. But no other evidence of his emotion was seen. He didn’t sob, and his expression didn’t change—two small trails were the only roads Shaun could follow to reach his heart.

“Come on,” Shaun said, patting James’ back and then stepping backward, “let’s go home.”

James, in a moment that startled Shaun almost more than his violence had, took his father’s hand as they walked. Blood seeping from his stomach, Shaun and James made their way out of the park.

James looked at the wound and then at Shaun. His expression didn't change, but Shaun knew that he hadn't wanted to do it. This was the part of him that he couldn't control.

As they drove off, Shaun knew their future was bleak. He knew that a gash in his stomach would be one of his lesser scars by the end. But, for the hand that had reached up to clasp his, he knew that all his pain would be worth it. He knew that he and James were connected and that they could coexist. They had to. James was a part of Shaun, and he would be until one of them died.

 

Reviewed by The Translator

Hope Mixes

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