First time

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Nothing from Andrew's behaviour the following days let room for suspicions he was the boy at the edge of the forest. Had Ferry mistaken him? Was the tiredness of that day making him see things? But then, who were the two persons in the forest and what were they up to?

At home, no matter how much he tried, things couldn't get back to normal. He thought that, for everyone's sake, he should accept Andrew as a Donovan and got on with his life. But something was always stopping him. Small things, seemingly unimportant which wouldn't let him at peace. Like the strange sensation that someone was watching him wherever he was; like a cold breath in the back of his head.

Yet it wasn't just that. For a while, he's been noticing things in his room changing their places. For instance, a small statue, the shape of a bird, placed on the first shelf of his bookcase was now on the second shelf. Or a book which was not in line with the others. The flowerpot in the window. Or the small carpet in front of the bed, moved a few inches from its place. Or the bet pushed closer to the wall. He asked his mother if she had cleaned his room that day and she said no. So he decided to leave marks — small pieces of paper to keep his wardrobe's door shut, and chalk marks on the floor in front of his bedposts.

That day, when he came home from school, he found the pieces of papers on the floor, a sign somebody had been searching in his wardrobe. His bed was moved from its place again. He hotheadedly went out of his room in search of Andrew. He found him in his father's workshop. The two were laughing as they were working on a shelf for the pantry.

"Have you been to my room?" Ferry asked Andrew as soon as he entered the workshop.

"No..." he answered, frowning. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't know," Ferry replied, furious of Andrew's calmness, "maybe because you are looking for something," he said, and he took a step closer. The two boys were now face to face.

"Why would I need something from your room?" he laughed, throwing a meaningful glance at Peter as if Ferry was out of his mind. Meanwhile, he was playing with the iron chisel right under Ferry's nose.

"I don't know..." said Ferry, feeling he was lacking the air. "I don't know what your intentions are, but you are up to something..."

It was now Peter's turn to interfere, "Listen, boy, I don't know what you're implying, but whatever that is, you're wrong. All Andrew ever did was treating you nice ever since he's come here. And I'm asking you to behave when it's about him. Or else..."

Ferry didn't wait for his father to finish. He stormed out the workshop breathing heavily.

The next day was Saturday. Ferry overslept which it wasn't in his nature. For whatever reason, he was oversleeping lately, waking up even more tired than before. When he came down to breakfast, he noticed everyone was already awoken.

Peter looked nervous.

"Your father misplaced some money," his mother explained to him.

"There isn't just some money," he roared. "They are my life savings!"

The Lost Son | Ferry's Tale # 2Where stories live. Discover now