He was breathing heavily. Not because he’d been exercising, but rather because he was nervous. The anxiety crept through him as a cold chill ran across his body. Today was the day.
It started like any other day: go in to work, smiling at the familiar faces, and slip hastily into his office. But today would be different; he knew that. What he didn’t know was whether his plan would work. He’d spent the past year trying to fathom what’d happened. How did he lose his only son?
Surely he wasn’t there when it occurred. He’d left him with a trusted companion; one who’d promised to watch over and protect him. She’d let him down, much like anyone else had. Why hadn’t he been surprised when he returned home to an empty house and a note?
“There was an accident,” it read, “on my way to the hospital with Calvin.”
It must not be too serious, he thought. She’d had enough time to leave a message, but why hadn’t she called him? He would spend the next year creating scenarios in his head, each with a potential solution to what had gone wrong.
They say Calvin had been running out by the pool, unsupervised, and when he slipped, he splashed into the water, striking his head on the concrete. There was no way of knowing what had truly caused his death, there’d been too many factors that came into play.
Calvin’s father knew better. He knew there’d been a reason this had happened and he’d been determined to find the cause. He never did, though, and this caused him even more anguish. He became friends with the shadows, hoping their company would distract him from the pain. But the desire for revenge strengthened in the darkness, and today it overwhelmed him.