This child is mine. His beautiful golden hair reflects mine perfectly. But the rest of him… he's all his mother. His happy, curious, bright blue eyes rival the sky; even the finest sapphires are outdone by his eyes. He is happy, always, and brightens every day I spend with him with his giggles and bubbly personality. He makes my life worth living. I love him with all of my heart. My Alfred couldn't be any more perfect.

So why are these people in my home? I don't know them, much less do I know their reasons for being here. They don't look like normal everyday men… more official, in their matching dark blue and black suits. They look at me, judgment in their piercing dark eyes. It's almost unsettling, but not quite. Their attempts at intimidation don't affect me in the least.

"Mister Kirkland, we have a few questions for you." The graying man says, stepping towards me. I would dare call it arrogance. I haven't done anything wrong, nor will I go to them. Why should I leave my cup of afternoon for these intruders? My afternoon tea and scones will not be interrupted by strangers with so called 'questions'. I set down my elegantly decorated tea cup and a sigh of obvious annoyance passes my lips.

"Yes, yes, take a seat. You mustn't take too long though, I am a busy man."

The men in suits look stiff. The one confronting me from before sits down across from me, dragging the chair backwards and emitting a horrible screeching sound from the contact of wood on wood. That wouldn't bother me too much, Alfred does that all the time; but that is Alfred's seat. This man's aging, scruffy face doesn't deserve to share a chair with my youthful child. Yet I do not speak further with this man. I feel that if I do, my own well-being will be at risk. I clear my throat, prompting the old man to continue.

"Ah, yes, sorry. It has been brought to our attention that you have been seeing a child."

"Yes, every day for the past six years. Why is that of your concern?"

The man hesitates. I take this moment to observe him further. Black and gray hairs scatter over his wide chin and up his jawline. His tie, black to match his suit, is crooked on his neck. His suit jacket has a button dangling by a mere thread. The top button, I might add. And, his white shirt underneath is anything but crisp and clean. A smudge of brown discolors the fold of his collar, and pink dusts further down his chest. These discolorations are accompanied by wrinkles, and many of them. Far too many to count. I would never allow my own wardrobe to reach such a state of disgrace.

"Has anyone else ever seen this child?"

Of course they have. I'm not understanding where he is trying to go with this. His voice… it's that stern but forcefully calm tone that people use when they're nervous. I lift my tea again. I'm getting annoyed already. I have a lot of patience, mind you. It comes with practice. I have a six year old son; patience is important, as imagination and cognitive thinking are.

"Yes, of course. My wife, though deceased, being one. She did birth him, you know." I explain calmly. I close my eyes and take a long sip of my Earl Grey. Tea calms me, and has become essential to my everyday life. The man says nothing, so I blink at him and raise an eyebrow.

"Has anyone else seen the child, besides her?"

"Yes."

"Would you mind telling me who?"

I roll my eyes, setting my tea cup on the matching saucer. They aren't going to believe me; no one ever does. I am in touch with magic, and while it's a blessing it can also be quite the nuisance. Like now, for instance, and other times when I must explain things of this sort.

"Friends. They help me raise him." This is completely true, even if I am leaving much out. The Fae not only keep my gardens prosperous, but aid me in raising my beautiful son. They keep him occupied when I have work to be done, or need some down time. Alfred loves them like family, and they return this love of his. I don't know what I'd do without these majestic beings.

"Could you name them for us?"

"I'm sure they would be upset with me if I revealed them to complete strangers." I reply carefully, but honestly. The Fae and other magical garden dwellers are very secretive. They prefer to stay to themselves and the few who acknowledge their existence. I cross my arms stubbornly, raising an eyebrow. The man sighs, obviously as annoyed as I am now.

"Fine. I hope you understand out concern. Mind if we return on Friday for closer research?"

Why would they want to come back? More so, what the hell are researching in my home? If Francis is just trying to get into my house, I am going to commit a crime so unthinkable these idiots will be back in no time. But, and I have no idea why, I nod. I nod, giving them permission to my home and life. Again, I have no idea why. I have only ever let four people into my home since the accident that killed my beautiful Claire.

"Thank you, Mister Kirkland. We'll see you on Friday." I nod again, and sigh in relief as they finally leave my only sanctuary. When I hear the cars pull out, I catch the sound of a light tapping as well. I turn and see Alfred's fearful face poised at the back door. I stand up and open the sliding glass door. His eyes are shiny and wet, and his face is flushed. I can't see my baby cry. I kneel down onto one knee and pull him into my arms. I run my fingers soothingly through his downy soft hair.

"Who were they, Daddy?" His voice is shaky. It breaks my heart. I kiss the top of his head.

"Don't worry, love. They only asked me some questions, okay?" I assure him, forcing a smile. I only want him to be happy again.

Francis paces his home, hands gripping his long wavy blonde hair. His eyes are wide, nervous, expectant. He couldn't believe he had done it. He couldn't believe he called the authorities. He was genuinely worried about Arthur though, and this child he kept mentioning. Francis had been to his house, quite often immediately following the accident. Arthur had been a mess upon receiving the phone reporting the tragedy, and he was his best friend. He had even lived with him for a month as he got Arthur back on his feet.

"I can't believe it… he's going to hate me…" Francis murmurs frantically to himself, tugging the ribbon free from his hair, allowing the locks to cascade to his shoulders. He runs his hands from the roots to the tips, letting out a heavy sigh. "I hope it's nothing… Oh, Lord help me…"

He stops, turning and racing for the phone as it emits a high pitched jingle. He answers it with shaking fingers. "Hello?" He listens intently as the gruff voice replies dryly. "Okay. Yes, please do. Okay, thank you… Please don't push it too much." He pleads before hanging up with a quiet sigh. This was not going to go well.

Friday comes before I know it. I'm eating breakfast when I hear a harsh, hesitating knock. It takes a moment for the realization to set in, and I stand up hurriedly with an exasperated sigh. I open the door reluctantly. I allow this new group of people into my home, noticing a certain increase in number from last time, as well as much more equipment. I remain silent as they hurry through my house. Luckily, I had sent Alfred to play outside. If he had seen all of these people, he would no doubt be in tears.

After a good two hours, they gather in my living room and face me. "What?" I demand, looking up from my newspaper.

"We found no fingerprints in your house other than yours."

I stare at them, an eyebrow raised. People are always telling me I have overly large brows. I disagree. But what was that supposed to mean? Obviously there should be prints from my baby as well. So why aren't there? I suspect that they did their job wrong. Either that, or they're not real detectives or whatever they claim to be. "That's impossible." I say bluntly.

"We found none. We are considering bringing in some experts on the supernatural. You have some people who are very concerned about you, you know."

Are they saying that Alfred is a ghost? No. These people are imbeciles. This is absolutely absurd. I turn, and there he is, staring at me through the back door with fear in his eyes. The poor child shouldn't be put through this. I also don't know want these people interacting with him. He's far too precious for their ignorant hands.

"It's time for you to leave." I say sternly, my jaw set. They won't be seeing my perfect boy. Not now, not ever. When they don't protest, I sigh in relief. But as the last stands in my doorway, he turns with a solemn expression, stating they would be returning in two weeks.

This is too much. What are they trying to say about me? About my Alfred? No. They're wrong. They're all wrong. I open the back door and take my child into my arms. I comfort him quietly, consoling his frightened heart. He shouldn't be put through this, and neither should I. I set out some biscuits and milk for him, but I know he won't touch them and will still be there hours from now. It didn't matter what I did, his food never left the plate.

Francis springs up from his plush couch at the sound of his telephone ringing. He answers it with rushed fingers, nearly missing the answer button. "Yes? What did you find? Oh… Okay. Yes, go ahead. Alright. Thank you, again…" he hangs up, dropping his forehead into his palm. Arthur really was going to hate him. But he had to do this… He worried about Arthur, and cared for him. Perhaps a bit too much.

As days go by, I spend as much time as I can with Alfred. I have to assure myself… I know he's alive. How would he have died? It's impossible. I would know about something like that. He is real, he is alive, he is with me. He is my blonde angel. I am getting him dressed for his daily play in the garden, when I hear my doorbell. I look at him with a surprised expression. "Who could that be?" he giggles in reply, and pushes me towards the door. "You head on outside, alright?" I tell him as we hurry down the stairs. He nods and rushes to the door, managing to slide it open. He had been getting better at that, but opening it from the outside was still quite the struggle.

I head to the front door, opening it slowly. "Hello- Who are you?" I demand, confusion crossing my features. More people? Had it really been two weeks already? I grumble profanities under my breath as I widen the door and step away. These people… they're more, how do I put it, strange? They walk with a sense of calm, their steps and expressions peaceful despite the amount of equipment in their hands. They all nod a hello to me and wait just inside the living room.

"Well?" I ask, crossing my arms after closing the large elegant door.

"We wish for your permission to search your house for spirits." A middle aged woman informs me. She's dressed in a sweater and jeans despite the intense summer heat. Even I had put on lighter clothing today, straying from my usual sweater vest. But she looks kind, and looks like she wants to help not only invade.

"As you wish. I don't know that you'll find anything, though." I say with a sigh and sit down on a sofa. I watch them as they turn on their numerous equipment. They looked stupid, like poorly made children's playthings. They were like walkie talkies, some of them, with added lights that blink and glow different colors. The group holds some of them up, glancing at each other before looking at the woman who addressed me.

"You don't have to come with us, but if there is any room or area where you have experienced anything strange, please, don't be shy. We won't disturb anything in your home." She informs me gently. I shrug, waving a hand at them. They take that as a signal to get going, and they hurry off deeper into my home. I am really getting sick of this.

I sit there for what feels like hours, occasionally glancing into the kitchen and out the back door to check on Alfred. I can't seem to find him though; he must be out of the view of the doors. The Fae did like to have a bit too much fun. I smile at the thought of my child playing with the mystic beings. Finally though, the woman and her entourage return with grim faces.

"We didn't find anything." She says simply, gently. I shrug. That's exactly what I had expected. I thank them for their time, and they exit the house. Alfred doesn't come to the door like he had when he heard the others. Maybe he could sense the peacefulness.

A day after the ghost whisperers and hunters visited Arthur, Francis receives another phone call. He was starting to get even more worried as more and more hypothesis came up false. What was this child that his friend was seeing? He had never seen it. He answers and waits for them to talk first. "I see. So now what? Yes, I know about the accident. You think that's it? Yes, I will be there… Yes. Thank you."

Francis hangs up the phone with tearful eyes. This was horrible. He supposed he should get to figuring out what to say.

After that, things were nice. They were normal again. I played games with Alfred as I had before, played with him and the Fae in my plentiful garden. Life had gone back to the way it was. Alfred's birthday was just around the corner. My baby boy was growing up so fast. Nearly seven years old, already. It has been almost three years since his mother passed away… Tomorrow is actually the anniversary. I realize this as I lay down in my bed, and I let out a choked sigh. My time for tears has passed. I will cry about it no more. I told myself that last year as well, but it didn't stop me. They come anyway, dripping slowly and silently down my cheeks into the pillow that had been hers. My darling Claire… How I miss her.

Francis came to my door later the next morning with breakfast. He always knew when to show up, and what to do. He was such a comfort in all of my times of need. He never got too close, but he stayed close enough always. He always had just the right words, and caring eyes. He is my best friend. Today, his look is solemn and sad, and he holds a bag and flowers. He steps into my house silently. Something was off. Usually on this day he came to me with a hug and comforting words.

"What's wrong?" I ask, worried. He takes my hand and sits me down on a sofa.

"Arthur… There's something I have to tell you."

I nod, giving his hands a squeeze as he drops the other items to the floor. He got pollen and flower petals all over my shiny wooden floors… That git. He was always doing things like this, dirtying my house as soon as he stepped in. But I say nothing, waiting for him to continue. This must be something terrible for him to actually come to me in person. He didn't even try to kiss my cheeks like the French freak he is.

"Go on." I prompt him, watching his expression. He stares at the floor, and doesn't make eye contact with me. Very strange indeed…

"I asked the police and investigators to come here."

That much I had assumed. Who else would worry so much about me? It's stupid how much he insists on keeping an eye on me outside of the office. I nod again. "I figured." I cross my arms and legs, leaning back against the sofa and waiting for him to continue.

"Arthur… About this child… Alfred, yes?"

"Yes, my son. What about him?" What is going on, and why is Alfred centered upon? He has done nothing wrong, and neither have I. We are a happy family, just the two of us, and we don't need to be spied on and have our lives intruded upon! I force myself to remain calm on the outside, though I'm sure I feel my eyebrow twitch. Francis looks uncomfortable. He reaches forward and rests his hand on my arm. I take the hint and allow him to slip his hands into mine.

"You see… He's passed, Arthur. He passed away with Claire three years ago. We think you might have schizophrenia." His voice is strangely calm, as are his eyes. It's freaking me out. I rip my hands away. What kind of sick joke is he trying to pull?

"You're sick, Francis. To think I thought you were here to comfort me… I guess I was wrong. I don't need this when I'm already grieving and weak. Just go." I spit my words at him, narrowing my eyes. All this talk of Alfred like he's not here, like he's…

"Arthur, please, listen to me! I care about you, I worry about your mental health-"

"Francis, go! Out!"

"But Arthur-"

I glare harder at him, my lip trembling. This couldn't be true. It couldn't be. I feel my eyes start to water. Is it because my brain knows it true? My heart refuses to accept it? Could it… could it actually be true? No. I can't accept it. It's not true. Nor am I schizophrenic. I am seeing everything correctly, I am hearing everything correctly. I'm not an idiot, I can decipher real life from fantasy. Suddenly, I feel Francis' arms around me. It only lasts a moment, then he produces a paper. He hands it to me.

It's a copy of the certificate of death for Claire- but as I read closer, I realize it isn't. It has Alfred's name… Christ… This is really not helping me… I feel my tears overflow, and trail slowly down my face, silent. "Oh God…" Francis' arms are back around me, surrounding me in his warm, comforting embrace. I just need a moment. Maybe… is that why he never ate? Never spoke? Things suddenly make so much more sense… I whimper, but I feel completely numb. My son… my beautiful, beautiful Alfred… is dead.