9

 

The man glared at the TV for several long seconds, and then threw his coffee cup against the wall. The shattered pieces of glass tinkled as they hit the bare wood floor.

The woman fought back a sob, grateful her son wasn’t dead. He hadn’t killed him. Maybe, one day she’d be able to find him. Give him the life he deserved. Make him understand how much she loved him.

The man pointed a finger her. “You better hope that’s the last time we see his face on TV. If this becomes a big problem, I’ll take care of it. And you won’t like that, will you?”

“What did you expect was going to happen?”

Very slowly, very deliberately, he turned towards her. His eyes were cold with anger. He raised his hand as if to strike her.

She cowered.

“Are you back-talking me?”

She wiped away her tears. “No, no. Of course not. I just meant that you had to expect a little boy being found alone would have to make the news. They’ll try to find his family. It’s what they do.”

“So, now you’re saying I’m stupid.” His fist smashed against her stomach.

She doubled over in pain, but didn’t make a sound. It would only make him angrier and prolong the situation. His fist smashed down against her back.

Through her gasps of pain, she managed to say, “Of course, you’re not stupid. You’re the smartest man I know.”

He stood above her. “I know that, but I need to make sure you know that.”

She looked up at him. “How could I not know that? Only a genius could do what you’ve been doing and get away with it.”

He smiled, apparently satisfied with her answer. “I am a genius. I did know they’d be looking for him. Sort of like when girls go missing, huh? Not that it matters. They’ll never trace him back to us. I made sure of that.”