HERO

8 / Sins of the Father

As he turned the corner to his street, Thomas could see his father in the window of their apartment. The man was on his phone and was, as Thomas had guessed, pacing.

Spurred on by the man's obvious panic, plus the hope to get the reprimand over with so he could concentrate on the fruits of his visit to the Fixer, Thomas ran the rest of the way. He sprinted up the stairs, the lift being out of bounds, taking the first lot two at a time. By the last, he was no longer running, but he was still hurrying.

He stopped with his hand on the door handle, listening. He could hear his father speaking to someone. The conversation was animated, but Thomas couldn't make out the words. He heard what could have been his name a couple of times but that was all.

The door was too thick. Too reinforced. Its job of keeping undesirables out was done well enough, but if someone with a certain power set and enough determination would make short work of it. The door's defences were more psychological than actual. Iain knew, in reality, it wouldn't hold under most onslaughts, but it looked as if it could. That had to be enough for him.

Thomas gritted his teeth. He could turn away and come back later, but that would only delay, and increase, the punishment he would get. If he went in now, he'd have a chance to explain to a father who might be willing to listen. Give it a few hours and Iain was more likely to rant, punish and ground with the boy able to utter only a few words of platitude.

He had no choice.

He pushed the door open. It creaked loudly, something Thomas and his father were used to, as was most people. Hinges were made to deliberately make noise when they were used. It was the simplest early warning device they could come up with. If you were asleep and someone decided to break into your home, the sound was very likely to wake you. It put many a burglar off, deterred by the fact a robbery was not only difficult to carry out in silence, but you never knew what you were going to face. Several related crime statistics were reduced in this way. They were compensated by many more increasing.

Thomas's father, for the first time ever, didn't notice the door opening. He was too busy on his phone, concentrating on what the other person was saying. The boy took the opportunity to slip into his room and hide his purchase beneath his pillow. Luckily, it wasn't bulky, so it remained inconspicuous.

He thought about going out to let his father know he was home. He went as far as to walk to the doorway and put one foot out. He didn't have the courage, though. Yes, his father and he were close, but Thomas was still too late. And he'd stolen. He never stole, but this was too important.

He turned away and looked around his room for inspiration as to his next move.

He kept his bedroom tidy. Not fastidiously so – there was an empty Coke can on his desk and biscuit crumbs on the floor where he'd brushed them off his bed from a midnight snack he'd secreted the night before. He hadn't been able to sleep, knowing what today would bring. He was going over his meeting with the Fixer in his mind, with so many different conversations going on. In most, Oscar had refused his wish. He'd walked away with nothing apart from his injured pride and the realisation he would soon likely be Spotted.

The crumbs and mostly empty can of drink were rarities. He made his bed daily and usually cleared away his rubbish. His father had few reasons to get on at him for an untidy room. It meant, at that moment, he couldn't immediately see anything that would help him. His father would be finished soon and would find his son home - and be thankful for it, hopefully.

No, Iain would be thankful. The problem was that he'd also be furious. Thomas was very late and his father had been frantic. The anger would be part disciplinarian and part simple relief.

Under the bed, maybe? Hide and figure out how to approach the dilemma? His father would still be unaware of Thomas's presence, but it might give the son the chance to figure things out better with being there.

He took a step forward, but paused as his father began speaking again.

"I know... Yes... Yes... Yes, I know... I said that to you... No... Yes, as long as you promise... And you promise Thomas won't know anything?"

Thomas was confused. What was his father keeping from him? Was it, maybe, a surprise birthday party? That seemed unlikely, as it was still four months until he turned eleven. There were no other special occasions coming up. What if...?

He didn't finish the thought.

"Look, I know... Don't you think I haven't thought of that..? Yes, he's my fucking son. That's why I'm doing this... No... No... I don't want to do this, but it's the law. Yes, only a matter of time... No, he's still not got any powers... I don't like the word 'insane'... Yeah, I guess... You've definitely no doubt - he'll become a Nomad..? Ten, yes... Right... Well, let's just get this done... Just do it... I don't want to know when. Just do it... No, I don't think I'll watch The Spot ever again."

The Spot.

He... His... Thomas couldn't think. He could barely breath. His father hadn't even been wondering where his son was. He'd taken the opportunity of the late arrival home to plan... To plot the boy's - there was only one word for it - abduction. He'd reported Thomas to the authorities. There was no waiting for Nature to take her course and bring out whatever abilities she was going to bestow. It was only a couple of years late! There was still time, surely?

"No, not today. Please give me tonight with him... I know. Yes, without warning... I understand, but just one night... Yes, tomorrow... OK... OK, bye."

Tomorrow. They'd be coming for him some time tomorrrow. His father was handing him over and didn't even want to know when it was happening, outside of the fact it was tomorrow.

He carefully peeked around the doorway of his room to see where the traitor was. Looking out of the window. Good.

Thomas crept to the apartment door, opened it, then pushed it to let it slam shut. He saw his father jump before turning. On his face was a large, completely fake smile. His eyes, though, were watery pools that looked to be about to break their banks.

"Hi dad," said Thomas. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"Oh, don't worry about that, son. You're home now. Come on, you must be starving. Let's get a nice hot meal inside you."

Thomas nodded and walked into the lounge, intending on sitting down and figuring out how he could act normally. Iain stepped towards him and hugged him tightly.

"I love you Thomas. You know that, right?"

"Of course, dad."

But, really, Thomas didn't know. Not anymore.