You are all going to hate me for this. But I really plan to have the next chapter up soon so that you don't have to wait. Let me know what you're thinking as you read, and thanks for your reviews and follows!

Apparently it was true—those who believed in supernatural activity had done studies and found that younger children (and sometimes ones with disabilities) could see spirits that decided to appear to them, as confirmed by a visit with Doctor Rodolphus. Little Jonah could see Simon's spirit if it was making itself known to him. So Roger would listen in through the nursery door or whenever he thought Jonah was just babbling to himself.

He wasn't.

He was actually holding conversations with "Simon". He answered, asked questions, laughed, sang. This wasn't an imaginary friend like Roger had assumed it was—no, this was clearly influential on the little boy. And it went on for three years, almost constantly. Simon never got in the way of Jonah's life; when it was time to focus or do lessons or talk to someone else, he would without a fuss. In fact, Group and more…well…direct contact made his speech a little better over time. And noticeably too. He now used pronouns to refer to himself: I, me, my, etc. Roger was proud of his son. Even though the tantrums still existed, he was getting much better in his recovery.

The little teenager clung to his father's hand as they made their way around the city. It was incredibly busy—the Christmas holidays pushed everyone outside to do their shopping before the big day. Roger looked down, reaching over to pull the boy's small hat down over his ears. "Cold, baby?" he asked. Jonah shook his head. "I am warm." he replied. Roger guided him and Doggy into a small coffee shop, as he knew the next person on his "to-buy-for" list was Ralph and he needed all the coffee he could get as a teacher. "Mmmmm!" Jonah hummed upon entering. He was right—the warm store and the delicious smells wafting through the air definitely made everything more enjoyable. Roger grinned down at him. "Can you go sit on those chairs for me? Can you wait for Dada over there?" he asked after realizing the line was very long and his son would probably get tired of standing (which could accidentally cause a tantrum). Jonah nodded. "Ok." He picked up Doggy's leash and led him over to the circular couch area where several people were sipping cups of steaming beverages. He sat down amongst them. Doggy perched on the floor, but kept his head on Jonah's knee as always to remind him that being calm was just a pet or two away. Roger grabbed a few bags of coffee beans and waited in line to pay for the gifts. Occasionally he'd glance back at his little boy, and saw him sitting quietly, stroking Doggy's head, looking around the crowded shop.

A lady sitting across from her fiancé (presumably) looked down at the animal spread over Jonah's feet. She rolled her eyes discretely. "I think he is cold too," Jonah said aloud, which indicated that maybe he was talking to Simon, maybe he wasn't. There were times where he just sort of talked aloud anyway. He removed the green scarf from his neck, wrapping it gently around Doggy's instead. "I will make warm. Doggy is warm now." he said to his pet, placing a kiss between his eyes. The dog loyally let himself be dressed up, well-practiced in this field. Jonah was fascinated with making Doggy try on his shirts and pants and such at home. He thought it was the funniest thing. The woman cleared her throat. "I don't think pets should be allowed in public places where there is food being served." she announced. Her fiancé pretended he didn't hear. Although a few people did look up. Jonah certainly didn't care—he never even realized she was talking, nonetheless about him. He swung his feet and hummed quietly to himself. Doggy let out a yawn. Apparently, this further disgusted the loud woman.

The elderly woman in front of Roger dropped her whole coinpurse, sending all of her money scattering across the floor. Roger took one last glance back at his good little boy before bending down to help her pick them up.

The woman sitting near Jonah leaned over to him and his dog. "Little boy," she said, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Puppies aren't allowed in restaurants." But the boy didn't look up at her. He just kept stroking his pet. "Doggy is help dog. Doggy help me. Dada say it's ok." he replied. It made sense to him. But apparently not to her. "I just talked to your father," she lied. "And...he asked me to tell you to go wait outside for him with the dog. He wants you to go sit on the steps outside and hold its leash and he'll be out in a few minutes."

"Dada say me not to talk to strange people…"

"No, I'm not a stranger. Because I talked to your father. I'm just giving you a message from him."

"…Ok…"

"So go sit out on the steps with the filthy—I mean, with your dog and he'll be out to get you soon. Run along now."

Jonah stood up, taking Doggy's leash in his hand. But Doggy wouldn't stand up. He looked at Jonah almost sternly, not complying with the leash tugging that came along with the boy's task. "Come on, Doggy." the tiny thirteen-year-old encouraged. "Dada say," Reluctantly, the golden animal stood up, walking warily out of the coffee shop with his owner. Once outside in the blustery snow, Jonah looked around. There weren't any steps in front of the coffee shop. Didn't the nice lady say that Dada wanted him to wait on the steps? He glanced farther down the street. Doggy bit his leash, giving it a tug in an attempt to tell Jonah to stay. But the little boy pulled harder. The pair began walking down the crowded street alone.

A middle-aged woman looked up from her scone. "You shouldn't have done that." she said to the ignorant woman that had sent Jonah away. The other shrugged. "It's not like he can go far. How long will his father be? He's just going to sit outside the door and he can explain that people don't like to smell a wet animal while they're enjoying the food they paid money for." she snapped.

"That little boy wasn't all there. He said it was a 'help dog'—a service dog. Why would a young child have a service dog if something wasn't wrong with them?"

"…He could hold a conversation…"

"He never looked at you. He couldn't speak right. You just sent a kid that can't take care of himself or collect his thoughts out into the cold without an adult."

The woman was clearly a little panicked. She grabbed her fiancé's hand. "We're leaving." she said shortly, practically pulling him out of his chair and towards the door. She wanted to get out before any trouble arose.

Roger put his hands up, smiling and once again repeating himself to the old woman. "No, no, you don't have to give me anything for helping you pick it up. It's no problem. I don't need any money, please." She profusely thanked him with her thick Italian accent until he was finished paying and went to the couches to pick up his son.

Where was Jonah?

Roger looked around, clearly starting to get a little nervous. The line hadn't been that long—he wouldn't have had time to run away. "H-Have any of you seen my son?" he stammered to the sitters. The middle-aged woman had been joined by her husband, who had also witnessed the incident from the line at the bakery counter. "A woman sent him outside." he stated. The wife agreed with a nod of her head. "She told him that you gave her a message. She said you wanted him to go wait outside and you'd go get him once you were done."

"…W-What…why?"

"She didn't like that a dog was inside the restaurant and she didn't understand when your son told her it was a 'help dog'." the woman answered this time. Roger whirled around, muttering a thank-you to the couple as he dashed out the door.

Jonah wasn't waiting right there.

Roger fearfully turned and looked up and down both sides of the street, his big gray eyes filled with panic. Which direction? Where could Jonah go? Where would Jonah think he was going? Roger suddenly bolted left, running and pushing through the crowded sidewalks, occasionally calling his son's name. Tears flooded his eyes and stung his cheeks as they slipped down and froze in the frigid air. The wind seemed to pick up. "Jonah?!" he shouted, peering into every store window, every passing lane, and he even resorted to looking into the windows of driving cars. Oh, where was his son? Someone could've already kidnapped him and could be murdering him with slow torture right this second! Roger scrubbed at his numb face with the back of his gloved hand. A short bald man walking the opposite way on the same slab of concrete put a hand on his shoulder. "Not going to want to go that way, mate." he explained. "Car wreck. They've closed off all the streets; no one's getting by." Roger looked ahead. Alright, so Jonah couldn't have made it this far. If the sidewalks were closed, he wouldn't have been able to get past all the police—the police! Maybe they found the wandering child and had him waiting there! Roger ran through the turning crowd, holding onto the hope that Jonah would be waiting for him there, beside a safe officer all dressed in the blue coats.

A string of officers were surrounding the area of the accident, some directing traffic, others telling people the sidewalks were closed. "Can't go on this way, sir." one said immediately as Roger approached him. "Please…I've lost my little boy. Has he come by here? He's little, got dark brown hair, gray eyes, and a service dog walking next to him?" he breathlessly asked. The officer stiffened. "Are you his father?" he asked. Roger nodded eagerly—thank god, they actually had Jonah! The officer turned back to his fellow guards. "I've got the father!" he shouted. "Where's the mother?" the distant man responded. "You got a wife?" the nearer asked Roger.

"We're divorced. She doesn't speak to him."

"…Come inside this tape here. We have to talk about something."

"No, it's all a big misunderstanding. I was waiting in line and I told him to sit at the sofas, and then this lady told him to go outside with the dog. He's got autism, he doesn't understand. So he left before I knew it and I guess he ran all the way down here and—"

And ambulance wailed in the distance, drawing nearer. The officer looked sadly at Roger. "Your son was in an accident." He said gravely. The young father stared, his heart pumping like it never had before. "W-What…?!" he gasped. The officer took his by the arm and led him around the large firetruck that was blocking the view of the car and the victim. Several paramedics were gathered around a body on the ground, other officers were detailing the event on notepads. Roger couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The officer rested a hand on his shoulder. "He wandered into the crosswalk and the woman at the wheel didn't see him. She slammed on the brakes…but she still hit him going at least thirty miles per hour. She hit the dog too. Both are being treated now—"

But Roger broke away and went running towards his little boy, screaming and crying the moment he saw the accident. The front of the car had a crack in the headlight. Jonah was lying on his back, covered in blood. Doggy rested on his side. He was laying right beside the boy loyally, as always. "Jonah!" Roger cried out, kneeling in the oceans of blood around him. He stroked the child's cheek. "No…" he whimpered. The paramedics took Doggy away first—Roger heard them saying something about taking him to an emergency veterinarian. Roger's tears ran hot and burning down his frozen cheeks, his heart aching with every beat. This was all his fault… A single paramedic leaned down and touched the boy's broken chest where the others had set up a plastic respirator connecting to his face.

The paramedic had almost black hair like Roger's. It was thick and a little on the longer side. He had sparkling green eyes. "It's going to be alright, Roger." he said. The desperate father snapped his head up—how did he know his name? He paled when he read the man's nametag. Simon. "No…" he whispered. "No…no…you….I…no…" The paramedic placed his hand over Roger's. "He's alright. And he'll be fine for Christmas." What was happening? What was going on? Roger felt his whole heart give a wrench that caused his entire body to ache. "P-Please stay with him…" he whispered breathlessly. The paramedic smiled gently. "Always," he murmured. The team came over and gingerly lifted the tiny body onto a stretcher. They wheeled him into the back of the ambulance, telling Roger to follow in his own car when he was done talking to the officers at the scene. It hurt him when they shut those big metal doors on his son. It killed him when they sped off, sirens blaring, taking his little boy away from him. This was never supposed to happen. Never.

For the first time in the twenty years he'd been out of the Catholic school for boys, Roger dropped to his knees and prayed right there in the middle of the street.