Fathers and Sons

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"Who are you?" Declan's question rung out in the night.

The person behind him stepped closer; he could hear them, the faint rustling of fabric, like a cloak being dragged over the ground.

"Edgar."

Declan stiffened. They knew his real name. Who knew his real name?

Closer, the stranger came. "Edgar. My boy. You've grown."

"Look, this isn't funny!" Declan exploded. "I don't know who you think you are or what you're trying to pull; I am just looking for my son-!"

He turned, and staggered back in surprise, the words dying on his lips. What he saw standing behind him was a man- a man who looked so very much like him. Dressed in all black, he had the same dark hair, same eyes, same sharp facial bones; quite a bit taller than he was, and near translucently pale.

Declan floundered for words, a strange feeling rising in his chest. Then, stumbling and nearly pitching himself over as he went, he turned and ran.

***

The street was quiet as Declan ran down the pavement, slowing gradually into a jog; his feet echoing loudly on the tarmac. Above, the street lights flickered. Not a sound or a soul was around; no spectral whispering or shadows in the dark. His skin was smeared with dirt; grass worming its way inside his clothes, his hair disheveled and hanging over his eyes.

As his house came into view, lit in a warm halo by the outside light, he saw a lone figure standing on his drive, a large bundle held gently in his arms.

Upon the sight, Declan sped up. "Billy? Billy!"

It was Billy, safe and sound and fast asleep, held in the arms of Mark.

Upon running up, Declan took Billy from his arms; practically sobbing whilst grinning like an idiot all the while. "Oh, Billy! Don't you ever do this to me again!" Billy stirred slightly in his arms as he was passed over; his small face dusted in mud from his clearly numerous adventures and green leaves tangled in his hair.

Holding his boy close, Declan swooped in and sized Marks hand, shaking it with vigorous enthusiasm. "You brilliant, marvelous man."

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