Water stings up the small boy's nose and his chest aches in agony; the dense ache ricochets up his
spine as he loses all oxygen – he is going to drown.
"Daddy?" Lofty asked sweetly, looking up from his colouring – Miss Freeman had given him a Disney colouring book she'd found when clearing out the supply cupboard and he was avidly colouring a picture of Rory the racing car. David looked up from his newspaper and pushed his glasses up his head to look at the young boy sitting at the other end of the table.
"Yes, my boy?"
"When will Daddy be home?"
"I'm sure he'll be home shortly" David replied, "He had a first aid meeting after school, shall we start dinner off, so he doesn't have to worry about it when he does get home?"
Lofty nodded, "do you like my picture?" he waved his colouring book in the air for David to see, who took it out his hand for a closer look.
"I think this could be the very best you've ever done" David replied with a warm smile "you just keep getting better don't you?"
"Thank you Daddy" Lofty beamed, tidying his colouring pencils into the pencil case Dylan had given him – Lofty did a lot of drawing and colouring, so he'd thought it only best he get his son something to keep his pencils in.
"Alright" said David, standing from his chair and folding his newspaper, "Fish fingers or pasta?"
"Pasta please!" Lofty answered, jumping from his seat, eager to help.
Suddenly his head thrusts upwards out of the water, his little legs kicking desperately as he remembers his father's words: "One, two, one, two – keep kicking that's it, you've got it!" He coughs and splutters, vomiting water into the canal and a sob shakes his body violently as oxygen finally hits his raw, empty lungs. He has to keep kicking – it's kick or die.
Dylan walked through the park, the primary school now out of sight, on his way to collect Dervla from Doggy Day Care. The session had overrun slightly since a woman had come in to recap how to use an epi-pen, and on injecting herself with the "pretend" one had realised she'd injected herself with the real one – and ironically enough, had an allergic reaction to the adrenaline inside the pen.
Dylan still had no idea how to use an epi-pen.
He was grateful for the walk anyway, ashamedly, that had been one of the main reasons for his getting a dog – he'd been unaware of just how good a companion she'd be on top of the incessant walking.
As he reached the entrance to the Doggy Day Care, he realised just how much he'd missed Lofty and silently vowed to spend the evening with his two favourite people (and his favourite dog of course).
He's reached the edge of the jetty and his palms sting as he digs his nails into the wood; his little body is tugged back into the deep water by the force of the tide. He coughs and splutters, throat raw with panic as he tugs himself closer, his muscles strain in desperate attempt to escape the cloying depths .He is fuelled by nothing but adrenaline.
There was a knocking at the door and Lofty hopped down from the stool he'd been sitting at by the work surface – he was too little to reach the top of the counter, so David had sat him there while he chopped tomatoes, and had promised to let him help once he was done.
"Daddy's home!" Lofty squealed excitedly, a wide grin smattered on his face.
"Lofty darling, could you answer the door for me please?" David asked "I need to keep an eye on this; he gestured towards the pan of bubbling water and Lofty nodded, hopping and skipping out the kitchen and into the corridor.
David smiled in his son's wake, shaking his head softly at the warm feeling that burned inside his chest; it was so warm – truth be told, it reminded him of Ollie a lot, before he… no.
A heavy boot slams into his ribs, throwing him back into the depths of the canal. There's no chance for him now; he's too little. He is too weak.
"Come on girl" Dylan called, followed by a sharp whistle, finally catching Dervla's attention; they continued back through the park, the dog bouncing through the trees and then back to Dylan again, constantly bringing him stick after stick, before finding a "better one".
The autumn leaves crunched beneath his feet, a sweet November aroma creeping up through the chill; it was well and truly dark now and he quickened his pace a little, the leaves generating more noise than before; Dervla loved this time of year with all the leaf piles to jump in. Thinking of which, so did Lofty. Lofty loved them.
He stops thrashing as his muscles grow heavy and he lies still. The man doesn't realise he is lying flat, floating.
Lofty reached up to the door handle and swung it open, jumping a little when he saw the man before him. He remembered a photo that had been in Dylan's wallet before he'd taken it out and burnt it, but didn't know who it was. "Daddy?" he called softly, nervous at the glare that slashed across the man's face.
Lofty wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, so when he got no response from David, he turned back to the man at the door. "Wait here please mister, I'll get my Daddy" he said with a friendly smile, before turning and making his way back into the kitchen.
"Daddy, there's a man at the door" Lofty informed David, who picked the small boy up and went back to the door. What they hadn't expected was the man to be holding a shiny black pistol, the paint chipped slightly around the barrel, the moon glinting off the edge of the trigger.
The boy shakes as tears stream down his face. He knows how to float, but he's cold and he doesn't know what's going to happen to him. What if the choppy waters of the canal get fiercer? He's already being tugged around the surface of the water – what if he drowns? What then? He stays floating and shaking; it's the most he can do.
Dylan could smell the canal a little now, the green smell he knew so well being picked up by the wind that was now growing more rapid. As someone who had lived on the water for seventeen years now, he knew how to tell what the weather was going to do; it smelt like a storm was brewing if the way the wind picked up was anything to go by.
Once again he began to daydream about being back on the boat, as he clipped Dervla's lead back to her collar once more and flicked on his dynamo torch. He'd reach the boat and lock the door behind him, make some dinner and they'd sit together for it. The maybe they'd watch a Disney movie or play a game. He had to admit, adoption was the best thing he'd ever done; before now, he would have gone home to sit alone with Dervla by his feet and do some marking or just think. It was so much better now.
The cold burns his body and his eyes can't focus on the stars anymore. He's grateful he's so cold; he's numb to the pain he'd felt before.
"Ben, run." David hissed, all but throwing the young boy from his arms behind him. Lofty ran backwards into the living room as David slammed the door shut; his fingers fumbling in panic as he slotted the chain into place. He grabbed the phone and dialled 999, before spinning in his attempt to find his son as he heard the echoed shatter of a broken window.
As he turned to run into the boot, a pain in his back nearly swept him off his feet; he gasped and held back the cry of pain as his knees buckled beneath him – the only possible explanation of the sudden pain that now ached and soared up his spine was that the trigger must've been pulled as he turned. Through the keyhole? He twisted his neck, surprised when it didn't jar, and spotted the wood around the spyhole shattered from the impact of the bullet. Just at back height…
"Fuck fuck fuck" he muttered under his breath as he found Lofty, crouched under the kitchen worktop he'd been sitting on top of before. The fear in the small boy's eyes made David want to cry, but the image of Ollie before him was erased as the sound of another window breaking screamed throughout the boat.
Tears began to roll down Lofty's face silently as he gripped David's arm. It was so difficult – David couldn't concentrate on what was happening as he whispered down the phone to the woman at the other end. All he could see was Ollie and what had happened to his poor son the year before.
The windows kept breaking, yet Lofty's eyes stayed dry; a skill learnt from five years spent with his mother. David took his hand and looked into his eyes -
His shaky breaths become more even as the world turns white.
Dylan walked down the jetty and Dervla began to bark. Loudly.
"What is it Dervla?" he asked, stopping and putting his hands on his hips. Then he noticed the door windows of the boat – there wasn't a light on in the other boat moored and the windows of his boat were smashed, only it was evident there must be some sort of intruder – they were broken inwards.
"Oh God no" he whispered, dropping the lead that his dog was so urgently tugging on and grabbing his hair in both hands; he made a slow movement towards the boat, and then thought. He had to be rational about this: if he ran all guns blazing into his boat to save his partner and son, he could get hurt and then wouldn't be able to help anyone. However, if he ran to get the police, he might be able to help a little bit at least. He stood for a moment, reconsidering. All he wanted was to know that they were safe, but he knew standing and panicking wouldn't help anyone.
It was with a heavy heart that he turned away.
His little body floats atop the ragged waters of the canal, fingers slowly turning blue against the cold.
"Lofty, you need to do as I say darling" he instructed – black pixels were beginning to form at the edges of his vision and he knew he had, but precious minutes of consciousness remaining. One hand pressed a tea towel against the top of his back where the bullet had hit; his breathing was laboured, but from what he could tell through the fog of his mangled thoughts, he'd got off lucky.
Lofty nodded, squeezing David's other hand, his eyes still surprisingly devoid of tears.
"Call 999. Ask for an ambulance to our address. Do-do you?"
"Daddy I know our address" Lofty spoke quickly and quietly, very aware of what was happening to David, despite his best efforts to shield the small boy from realisation.
"Okay, good boy, you're a good boy"
Lofty nodded, desperate to remember these last few minutes. What if David died? Dylan would be sad and he was sure he wasn't enough.
"Right, m' gonn' be okay Ben - remember with you-your mum" David's words were barely a drawl now and he paused and winced, pushing harder on the wound as Lofty handed him another tea towel, accidentally pulling the pan of pasta sauce onto the floor; the small boy whimpered and covered his head, clearly panicking now David's words were beginning to falter.
"Y-you need to pretend, pretend she's here. Pretend you're hiding from her okay?"
"Okay Daddy" Lofty leant forwards, hugging David as he called an ambulance and quickly blurted out the address, shockingly managing to keep his voice at a low level, despite the evident anxiety rising in him.
"Ben" David wheezed, his voice truly thinning out to a hoarse whisper, "I – love - you" Lofty hugged him again as his eyes began to fall shut.
"I promise Daddy, and you can't never break a promise. I'll be quiet as a mouse, except no squeaking even if it's really scary" He left his Daddy where he lay on the blood soaked kitchen floor, tears pushing at his eyes, but he wouldn't allow them to escape; he had to pretend mummy was there, she didn't like tears.
There are screams in the distance: he can't decipher the voices and he wishes they'd just go away, it's too cold to concentrate and his limbs are stiff – he lies immobile and calm.
As Dylan ran along the paving away from the jetty, he realised Dervla had taken off in the other direction; he couldn't go back for her now, it was either save two people or save one dog. He knew sacrifices had to be made somewhere, though it hurt. Maybe Dervla would be okay, he had to give his partner and son a chance too though – it had clearly been a break in.
As he turned the corner to the road leading up past the park towards the police station, he grabbed his mobile from his pocket, catching it as it nearly slipped through his fingers with the pace at which he was running. Crap, the battery was dead.
He stopped for a second: sirens wailed in the distance and he turned on himself, mentally stabbing out the part of his brain urging him to continue – they were headed in the direction he'd just come from, maybe there was some hope they were headed to the boat. Dylan's shoes crunched as he shuffled them in the gravel for a moment, the adrenaline still flooding through him and he breathed a sigh of – was it relief? As the police car pulled onto the jetty. He quickly returned to his previous pace, running slightly behind the ambulance that followed the car, still running his hands through his hair with stress.
If he is to die he decides, through a cloud somewhat covering his brain, he wants it to be when he prises his heavy eyelids open, looking at the stars and remembering his Dad, he was probably dead now; a sob rises in his throat at this thought.
Lofty ran through to his Daddy's bedroom, remembering the wooden cabinet where they used to keep books – Dylan had shown him a little box where he used to keep his old dog's things, should he ever need a full-proof hiding place when he played hide-and-seek with David. Niftily, he stuck one leg over the edge of the box, before a hand grabbed his other leg, yanking him out so he smacked his face on the floor.
Immediately, the copper taste of blood filled his mouth as he spat out a tooth, yet still suppressing the sobs; if there was one thing he was going to do, it would be this. He had to protect David.
"Look at me, you little shit!" the man's rough hands groped at Lofty's collar, and he cringed at the touch, biting his lip to save from crying out. He was dragged up off the floor and pinned against the wall, where Brian held the small boy; stunned.
"You pathetic faggot" he sneered, kneeing the small boy in the groin. "We're gonna have some fun" he laughed, watching as Lofty writhed around on the floor, now with tears pouring down his face. A swift kick was targeted at his ribs and he groaned, holding back vomit. His throat ached with silent tears and he braced himself for another kick that never came.
There was a scuffle and Brian yelled out; Lofty lay still, pretending he was dead despite the tears still free-flowing through closed eyes.
His breaths come as pants as he loses consciousness to the cold.
Dylan strained against the hold from the paramedic, trying to get into the boat, and then to attack his "father" as he was hauled out the boat by two police officers.
"He can't get away without feeling pain!" Dylan screamed as he watched two other paramedics carefully lift David out on a stretcher. Dylan flopped down onto the floor upon seeing his partner in that way, going woozy at the sight of all the blood. However, his attention was snapped back when Lofty failed to emerge from the boat. His heart caught in his chest and he tore himself out of the grip of the other two paramedics and gunned into the boat. He needed to see his son!
He ran until he found his son, curled up in a ball on the floor, sobbing as though his life depended on it. Beside him was a police officer, trying to get the child to move – Dylan leant forward to talk to his son, before realising the sheer amount of blood pouring from his face.
Only as Dylan managed to process the extent of Lofty's injuries, did the two paramedics catch up with him.
"Ben darling, it's me" Dylan muttered, with a forceful glare towards the various authorities. They took a step back and the police officer stood, walking to the door to watch. "Ben you're very hurt and we need to get you to hospital okay?"
"Pwease don't let him get me" Lofty whimpered through his sobs that then softened as Dylan placed his hand on the small boy's back.
"No one's ever going to lay a hand on you again, I promise" Dylan assured the small boy. "I'm going to pick you up okay?"
He scooped up the small boy, gagging at the pool of blood left where his head had been, and held him protectively, carrying him out to the second ambulance as the paramedics watched in surprise. All attempts at moving the small boy before had been futile, due to the strong flinching every time they went near him.
Funnily enough, thought Dylan, he couldn't handle the sight of his son being hurt, despite having been the one to find out about the poor boy's home life in the first place; it made him feel sick now.
"David!" Lofty shouted as they got into the ambulance, before bursting into fresh tears, "David got hit!"
"Shhhh, it's okay David's at the get-better-place darling" Dylan whispered, holding Lofty's head gently as the paramedic cleaned the blood from the injuries on the small boy's face.
"You're being really brave" said the one paramedic, introducing himself as Jez, "we're gon' get ya to hospital an' then you'll get all better"
Lofty fell limp against his Dad with exhaustion and Dylan held him in place as Jez examined Lofty's body, noting the bruising around his ribs and legs. "E's a little small to 'ave all these scars ain't he?" he asked, gesturing towards the scars from the wounds on the small boy's back.
"Be-Lofty was abused by his mother as a young child" Dylan announced into the heavy silence of the ambulance – he paused, noting the light intake of breath coming from the front of the ambulance before continuing, "I'm his maths teacher and it was me who found out. I then adopted him".
Jez looked at Dylan with a softer expression than before, "y'know" he began, "it gives me faith that people like you exist", he laced a hospital gown around him gently and Dylan laid his son down on the stretcher, fearing both for his safety in Dylan's arms and for his own arms ability to move
"Poor sod" Jez sighed, sitting down and taking Lofty's pulse.
"He copes" Dylan said, in reference to his son, "he copes so well".
Strong arms fix around the body of the small boy; he hangs limp and icy, the ends of his extremities tinged blue. The man holding him feels for a pulse and breath, but neither come back to him. The boy's eyes are open, clear as glass, as the man lies him down on the jetty. He looks to the stars and cries out with the pain of his loss at it strikes him like a bullet from a gun. The wound tears through him as he holds the lifeless body of his son; this will be that last time he ever feels the soft skin upon his.
David awoke, surprised by the numbness of his back and looked around. His head felt empty and he could correlate his thoughts; it was far different to how it was in the kitchen.
Kitchen.
"Lofty?" he tried to call, but was stopped by a heavy hand clamped over his mouth. Liquid was pouring down his throat and he couldn't breathe – he tried to struggle, but felt nothing but a heavy black weight pushing down on his wiry frame.
"Wake up daddy!" came a persistent cry in the distance. David prised his eyes open and felt a lightness to his body that he'd never felt before.
Am I dreaming? He thought.
"Daddy, I'm here. We can be together now"
He turned on his heel and spotted a black dot in amongst the white. Wait – what if he'd died? He had to run!
The black dot was receding into the distance, he couldn't lose it.
"Daddy no! Daddy please!" the screaming got further away as he ran towards the black area which was growing larger as he ran towards it – he could hear a heart monitor.
Beep.
Beep.
Breath.
Beep.
The sound disappeared and the screaming intensified to the point he could no longer ignore it.
"Daddy save me, Daddy please don't leave me, Daddy I'm scared, Daddy I can see you, please"
David turned again, trying to source the cries. They sounded like…no. They couldn't be.
The man stands at a pew at the front of the church. He's never been one for religion, but his wife has always been a Christian. His wife who couldn't be fucked coming to her own son's funeral. He will never forgive her, rage burns behind his eyes at the thought, but he has to control it today. Today, he has to be there for Ollie.
Lofty sat, curled up in Dylan's arms. He touched his head against his Dad's and hummed softly under his breath.
"What are you doing eh?" Dylan asked softly, looking down at the peculiar expression on his son's face.
"Sending you happy thoughts" Lofty replied with a soft smile. Smiling was difficult due to the stitches in his face and it hurt a bit, but he was desperate to make his Dad happy.
"I think they worked" Dylan whispered, cracking a cheeky grin just so Lofty could see; "Look I'm all happy now"
"Me too" Lofty said, leaning in and snuggling up against Dylan's chest as his breathing got heavier. He was asleep within minutes, and Dylan cradled him, being careful not to drop off himself for fear of dropping the small boy.
"I will always be here for you" he wept, leaning over his son's grave. He traced the lettering with one finger, wishing to hear the familiar laughter just once more.
Suddenly, David was yanked away from the black area and into the white even further – there he saw Ollie.
His son, lost of three years, stood before him and held out a hand, nails peachy – the same warm smile David had always remembered formed on Ollie's face and David stepped forward, taking his son's hand.
"Where am I? Am I dreaming? Oh Ollie, I love you I wish I could have saved you"
"Daddy, you're in heaven now. You was shot by a bad man, you're safe now" Ollie's brown eyes glinted as a rosy glow washed over his freckled cheeks. Then a tear rolled down his face. "I missed you daddy"
"Come here my boy" David laughed, lifting his son up and hugging him close. How he'd missed being able to run his hands through his feathery hair and feel his gentle weight in his arms, how he'd craved to hear his son laugh, and cry and speak. And now he had it all at once.
"Lofty and Dylan are safe daddy" Ollie whispered, "Once you truly believe you're in heaven, you can see them"
David looked around him and realised the blank void had been replaced by miles of meadowland, dotted with flowers and as he looked down, he could see them. Lofty slept against Dylan's chest and Dylan looked up at what was presumably the ceiling.
Just the ability to see the crystal blue of his partner's eyes made it so hard for David not to cry.
"I know it hurts daddy" Ollie offered, pulling down out of David's arms. "But you'll see them again, and then live forever together once they're dead"
Hearing that made it seem not so awful from David's perspective, but he was still pained at the thought of his newfound disability.
Never would he be able to see Lofty grow up, he wouldn't see him get his first boyfriend, he'd never be able to marry Dylan – there were so many nevers involved, it hurt his head to think of them.
"It's okay daddy" Ollie whispered, and David looked down at his son. He had to be there for him.
He closes his eyes and rests his head against the grave. A single tear rolls down his face.
A doctor walked through the doors to the relative's room where Dylan and Lofty sat alone, Lofty's soft breaths soothing the worry in Dylan's mind as he tapped his coffee cup, careful not to tap it four times in a row without taking two breaths between each set.
The face of the doctor was ashen and Dylan told himself it was because he'd had a long day. The sad look in his eyes was personal, nothing to do with them. The way he rubbed his eyes was as a cause of too much caffeine. The nervous flitting of his eyes was an anxiety disorder.
Bad news couldn't happen. He'd made sure not to tap four times – hadn't he?
He collapses against the grave and looks to the sky. He hopes his son can see him somehow, though the sky is grey.
David turned from the gap in the grass and lifted Ollie onto his back, as he had done ever since he was little. He still was little… As he walked from the hole, he noted the ages of all the people around him, and that every single one of them was smiling. Different races, genders, religions – all were at harmony at last.
Nothing will ever be the same again.