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Small fingers tugged excitedly at the end of his thick winter coat, a wide grin beamed across the child's lips. Booted feet leap up and down, hair dampened by the snow bouncing with each ragged breath.
They'd made their way inside the mall a while ago, and while sweat slicked the father's brow, the cold still kissed Sean's cheeks, flushed in his fever. "I thought mom was going to pick me up from the doctor?" the boy chitters, nearly slipping before a strong hand is planted firmly against his back.
"So many questions, do you not want to see Santa with me?" Kneeling carefully, he adjusts the small boy's coat around his trembling frame. He'd grown since Lark had last seen the boy, and what a spitting image of his father he'd become. It soothes the tightness binding his chest, swallowing dryly as he offers a smile to an onlooking couple, swooning at the interaction between father and son.
A bead of sweat trickles down his face, seeping into the faint lines time carved above his brow. As he carefully stands, body stiff, trembling hands grasp around the heavy winter jacket, feet dragging as they move in line for their picture with Santa. He'd never been a fan of crowds, and as he reaches to fidget with his ring, his hands come up empty. Cold eyes rest on the tan line of his finger for only a moment before a ding has him rummaging through heavy pockets.
AMBER ALERT
5 YEAR OLD SEAN LABAN.
WHITE MALE. BLUE COAT.
SUSPECT, FATHER, 27 YEAR OLD LARK LABAN.
1989 BLUE BUICK CENTURY. LAST SEEN LUCK, WISCONSIN.
"Daddy? What's wrong?"
A symphony of chimes, dings and buzzes sing through the crowded mall space, and one by one the illuminated faces of the crowd stare at Lark, wide eyed, and he suspects it is not in awe.
"Just nervous about meeting Santa, that's all buddy"
As the phone slides back into the pocket of his blue winter coat, Lark's bleary gaze overlooks the crowd, sliding the detonator into his palm.
"Do you want to hold my hand?"
Tears brim his eyes, squeezing shut as he nods feebly. He wouldn't let anything take Sean from him. Not sickness, not lawyers, not psychologists, society would not keep them apart. They would become one, undistinguishable, inseparable, and today, today they would all pay.
He leans, pressing a kiss to his son's clammy forehead before offering his hand.
"Yeah-- squeeze as tight as you can, for daddies' sake"
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