Summary:Through Volume 3: Chapter 7: Eros Sum Quod and promotional commercials for Volume 3: Chapter 8: Villains. Mentions a flash back from Volume 1: Chapter 10: Six Months Ago
Spoilers: Through Volume 3: Chapter 7: Eros Sum Quod and promotional commercials for Volume 3: Chapter 8: Villains. Mentions a flash back from Volume 1: Chapter 10: Six Months Ago
Warnings: Mentions past violence
The picture on the top of his dresser seemed ancient though it was only a year old. Even though the calendar year said 2007, 2006 seemed much longer than a year ago.
Nathan loved his wife Heidi.
He truly did. She was his wife, and the mother of his sons.
When he danced at Peter’s party, he could not have been more happy.
They were separated at the moment, but cared for her every much.
He hoped she was happy, and that she would one day be able to find a man that loved her the way she needed to be loved.
The boys would be safer with her, he had to admit though, yet he missed them terribly.
The last time he saw them he was standing in front of a gate.
Simon looked up at him, and he looked back.
Monty stood close by, and had his little hands clenched on the fence.
“I miss you dad,” he said and Nathan’s heart melted.
He just wanted to wrap them in his arms and fly away.
Away and far where no one could hurt them.
Not their father, or their grandfather.
Arthur would die if he touched them. He would die if he touched Claire as well, or Peter.
Even if he was his father.
He just wanted to fly way.
And it made him sick.
Because he thought God gave him this power.
That it was the heavenly father that gave him his ability, an act of God.
But it was Arthur.
He made himself a freak.
He played God.
Anger filled his soul. Did he do this Peter? Claire? Simon? Monty?
He clenched his fist.
Was the power he took from Peter, his own, or something Arthur gave him?
His mother told him he did not have the marker, but Peter did, did he?
Nathan did not have the marker, but Meredith did--right?
She was so scared on the phone, it made his breath stall.
And when he saw Peter covered with cuts and bruises, he did not know what to do.
“Dad took them,” Peter said.
“Dad’s dead Pete.”
“No, he’s not.”
Nathan looked into the mirror above the dresser, tracing his fingers over the cut that was no longer on his forehead but was there a year before.
“So, Dad,” he whispered.
“You chose your side.”