The Missing Piece

Prologue

The man scoffs into the phone as he holds it to his ear, standing in the centre of his living room in the dark. It's after midnight, the exact time unknown, but he doesn't care about any of that.

"You wouldn't dare, Andrews. If I go down, you know damn well I'm bringing you with me," he states, voice hard.

Andrews, on the other end of the line, remains quiet for a moment before speaking in a steady, calm voice, low in volume. "I know. But the anniversary is coming up and I can't — I can't handle seeing his face all over the news again knowing what I know. I'm handing myself in tonight, George —"

"What the fuck? No, no, don't. Listen, I can send you something, anything. How much do you want? I've got —"

"I don't want your money this time. It's — there's no point, I've made up my mind. I can't...I can't keep hiding it. We abducted a kid, man. You abducted a kid and I went along with it, and I'm done protecting you."

George paces, shaking his head, trying to act calm despite the thudding of his heart inside of his chest. "Andrews, I swear to God, asshole. We saved him. We fucking saved him. Why now, huh? It's been five years. Five fucking years. He's my kid —"

"No, George. He's not. He was never yours to take. You're crazy, man. This — this is it. The police are gonna be there tonight."

"Andrews —"

The line goes dead, George throws the phone across the room and sends it exploding into a million shards of shattered glass. "Fuck!" He yells, voice reverberating around the empty room. He kicks the coffee table and sends it toppling onto its side with a dull thud. "Fuck! Andrews, that piece of shit. I swear, I'll — I'm gonna — fuck!"

"Daddy?"

He halts suddenly, turning around mid-pace to the small figure in the doorway. He lets out a sigh and walks over to the eight year old, dropping to his knees in front of him to look him in the eyes, taking him by the arms gently and peering at his wide blue eyes.

"Hey, Ni," he says softly, clearing his throat and glancing over his shoulder at the mess he made. "Hey. Whatcha doin' outta bed? Did you have another one of those dreams?"

The boy shakes his head, lifting a hand to rub tiredly at one of his eyes. "No. I — I heard you yellin'. Why's the livin' room all messy?" He asks, glancing behind his father and then back at him.

George pauses, letting out a long breath. He rubs his hands up and down his son's arms. "Sorry bud, Daddy just got a little angry. Nothin' for you to be worryin' yourself about, alright? How's abouts we put you back to bed, hm?"

"Wanna stay with you," the boy says, holding his arms out. George manages a smile at that despite himself, pushing himself up with a groan and hooking his hands beneath the child's arms, lifting his small body up onto his hip and allowing him to wrap his arms around his neck and nuzzle his cheek into his shoulder. He lifts and hand to brush his fingers through his light blond hair.

"Alright, champ, let's camp out on the couch tonight then, huh? You — you got an early start tomorrow. Ms Jennifer's coming over early for your maths lesson," he says, and Niall whines.

"Does she have to?"

George chuckles, settling down on the couch with his boy on his lap, keeping his arms wrapped firmly around him. "Yeah, buddy. I'm afraid she does. She tells me you've been getting on pretty good," he states.

Niall continues to grumble even as he cuddles further into George, eyes fluttering closed. "Wish I could jus' go to work with you instead. Can — can I go outside tomorrow?"

George freezes, letting out a sigh. "You know you can't, buddy. It's been snowing all week, you'll freeze up in the garden. You don't want another chest infection this winter, do you?"

The boy huffs. "No, Daddy...what about when the snow melts?"

"Maybe," is all the man says, before rubbing a hand up and down the eight year old boy's back. "Go to sleep, bud. Early start," he repeats.

"Hmmm, 'kay. G'night," he mumbles.

George closes his eyes and continues to shelter himself from the panic that's become embedded within him. "Goodnight, son," he responds.

When Niall is asleep, he stares down at him. He takes in the darkening roots of his bleached blond hair, the soft curve of his nose, his parted lips and the way his eyes roll beneath their lids. He watches him for a long time, a fierce sense of protectiveness and paternalism swelling within him.

But he knows what he has to do. He has to take care of himself, he has to go before the police get here. He's less likely to be caught if he goes on the run alone than if he has a little boy with him.

And so he gently pries the child's hand off of his shirt and presses a kiss to his forehead, standing up and then lowering him back down to the couch. He shushes the boy as he whines at the loss of contact, tugging the throw from the back of the couch and tucking it around him.

The phone in the corner is shattered to the extent where he knows it'll be useless, so he leaves it behind as he heads down the hall of their one floored home, slips into the bedroom he shares with the boy and grabs the first clothes he lands his hands upon, shovelling them into a battered gym bag. His photo album and his laptop follow, then the paper bag beneath the mattress with his money in it. His cigarettes and the photograph of him and his son settle on the top before he zips it shut and pulls it over one shoulder.

He stops in the living room on his way out, staring at the sleeping boy curled into a ball on the couch from afar for a second before stepping over in two large strides. He crouches down and pushes Niall's hair away from his forehead, leaning in to press a kiss there.

"I'll come back for you, my boy," he whispers. "I'll throw the police off my back and then I'll come back for you," he assures him in his sleep, thumb brushing over his cheek before the sound of sirens in the near distances startle him.

He jumps up, stares at the curtained windows with wide eyes as the room is suddenly bathed in flashing red and blue lights. And then, he turns on his heels and runs out the back door, hopping the fence at the end of the small garden. By the time the first officer bangs on the door, he's gone.

NOTE
ahh ive had the first couple chapters of this story typed up for agesss and i'm so glad i finally got around to posting it! i hope you enjoyed ;)

updates will be up every friday for now, but i'll let you all know of that changes.

let me know your first thoughts in the comments <3