Connor My Dear Boy (FINISHED)

24

Haytham felt like he was answering the same question over and over and over again. Yes, he had been gone for most of the day. No, he hadn't seen Connor at all since he had left for the hospital. Yes, he had spoken to him over the phone.

After the police arrived, Haytham, Achilles, and Desmond had moved back to the former's house. Haytham had made himself and Achilles a cup of tea to help him calm down; it was a habit he had picked up from his mother when he was a teenager that he had never really gotten rid of. He had also warmed up a small cup of milk for Desmond,

All things considered, however, Achilles looked like he wanted to go home and was not at all happy to be in Haytham's house, continually complaining that he needed to take the pain medicine for his knee, even all the while the police interviewed him and Haytham.

"Alright, Mr. Kenway," said a man who called himself 'Officer Rogers,' "We have sent several officers to search the general area. We sent them the image of the picture you have provided us with so they know exactly what they're looking for. We have also sent out an Amber Alert with the same image to all of the local news and radio stations and to people's cell phones."

Haytham swallowed and nodded; he had given them a copy of the picture that had come with Connor's file.

"Try not to worry overly much," Officer Asquith said. "It won't help Connor and it won't help you."

"Get some rest," suggested Officer Rogers. "Go to sleep and we will call you if there are any updates."

"I can't yet," Haytham sighed miserably. "I have to wait for Connor's social worker. She said that she would come…"

"Well, rest as much as you can," Officer Asquith insisted. She put her hand gently on Haytham's shoulder and added, "Call if there is any update on your end."

Haytham nodded dumbly and continued to sit on the couch, staring at nothing as he sipped his tea, while the police made their way out the front door. He glanced at Desmond, who was asleep near his feet. Silently, Haytham tried to picture Connor when he was that young and innocent. Waves of guilt washed over him.

"I have to get home too," said Achilles abruptly. "And get Desmond to bed."

Haytham nodded and said absently, "Sure."

Achilles moved to scoop up Desmond. The child did not stir and instead nestled into his babysitter's shoulder. Once again, Haytham tried to picture Connor in that way.

The old man shifted from foot to foot awkwardly like he wanted to say something. "Good luck," said Achilles eventually, limping towards the front door and letting himself out.

Haytham sat in silence, his mind swirling. He stayed where he was on the couch, frozen, waiting for the police to call, but they never did. He stared off into space, every now and then taking a sip of his tea which had long gone cold.

Haytham found himself thinking hard about what Connor was like when he was younger. Again. What was he like before Ziio died? Happier, Haytham imagined. Not as quiet. More willing to talk. Other than that, Haytham had absolutely no idea. The thought depressed him and he desperately wished that he had been there for both his son and Ziio. If he had been there, would he have been able to help them? Maybe even save her?

"No," Haytham told himself sharply, "It's no good to think that way."

The phone rang and Haytham scrambled over to it in what he was sure was a very undignified manner. "Hello?" he asked eagerly, thinking that it might have been the police with an update of Connor's whereabouts.