Post by DarkestofDays on Jun 13, 2005 12:23:09 GMT -5
“Grandpa…” the small voice softly disturbed the quiet darkness that had settled into the room, and a small force tugged fearfully on the corner of his bed sheets. “I’m scared…”
It took a moment for Marcoh to make sure it wasn’t a dream, another half-forgotten memory of Timothy unearthing itself from the depths of his mind, but when he saw the small figure standing next to his bed solemnly he realized it wasn’t any remembrance.
“What’s the matter Damien?” he asked quietly, sitting up in bed and rubbing the sleep wearily out of his eyes. He didn’t have a clock, but the entire room was filled with the shadowing of a storm raging outside. Even as he watched his small grandson fidget frightfully down on the ground, another crack of cruel thunder tore through the house, sand and few droplets of rain lashing against the sides of the house.
“The storm woke me up…and I can’t get back to sleep, I’m too scared…” Damien said, shivering fiercely in support of what he was saying, and Marcoh smiled faintly as he reached down and gently picked his grandson up. As the sandstorm outside continued to rage fiercely, he cradled Damien in his arms and held him tightly, watching as the boy wrapped his arms around his grandfather’s chest.
“I’m sorry…” Damien murmured quietly.
“You don’t need to be sorry Damien, there are a lot of things that frighten us…”
“Did daddy used to be scared of storms too? Like me?” Damien asked, cringing slightly as the walls shook slightly with another burst of sound from outside. Marcoh’s smile faltered slightly, but he kept it steady as he could so Damien didn’t sense his distress.
“Yes, when he was your age there wasn’t a stormy night that passed when your grandmother and I wouldn’t find he had somehow managed to wriggle his way into bed with us. Sometimes he didn’t even wake us, he would just crawl into bed between us and be there when we woke in the morning,” Marcoh recalled, feeling the slight burn of tears in his eyes. He could suddenly see that memory so clearly, seeing Timothy lying an equal distance between him and Liana, attempting to feel equal protection from them both, sucking blissfully on his thumb and looking so peaceful.
“I tried to wake mommy up…but she was too tired to hear me…and I was too scared to go back to my room all alone…” Damien said softly, and Marcoh reached up and quietly stroked his dark, matted hair. It was becoming very long and darkening just as Timothy’s had in his childhood.
“It’s all right Damien, I don’t mind at all. There isn’t any reason to be afraid, your mother and I love you very much and would do everything in our power to keep you safe…” Marcoh said, and Damien smiled slightly, his eyes closed as slumber appeared to be rushing back to him.
“Daddy will keep me safe too…wherever he is…I just know he will…” Damien said quietly, finally becoming limp in Marcoh’s arms as his body welcomed sleep once more. Marcoh continued to hold him close, feeling so strongly the presence of his lost son when he too had been so young.
“Timothy…” Marcoh said quietly, taking up one of his blankets and wrapping Damien in it. “You have such a beautiful son…he reminds me of you in every way…I wish you were here…to see him…” Damien stirred a bit in his arms, his arms instinctively coiling back against his body as he relaxed against Marcoh.
He couldn’t help but keep thinking back to his son’s final hours; no matter the happy or content nature of the first memory that came to him, he always remembered those horrible images of him as his body gave out. He couldn’t help but compare these events, how Timothy wouldn’t awaken him before simply climbing into bed with them and hoping their sleeping presences would be enough to bring him solace. Had it been the same way now, Timothy going about his way and never asking once for help when he truly needed it? Simply getting what he felt he needed and never burdening anyone with a request.
Damien was so much like his father that it both revived and broke his heart. He loved seeing his son almost reborn through the small and curious child, but at the same time he had to continuously remind himself that Damien was not his father. His physical appearance and mannerisms might have been equivalent, but nothing could match the soul that had grown and been lost from within Timothy.
He carefully placed Damien back onto his own bed, covering him now with his own blanket and quilts to make sure he stayed warm with the nightly chill throughout the house. Damien snuggled into them immediately, a contented smile on his face, and no sooner had he settled there did he stick his small thumb into his mouth and begin sucking it sleepily.
“Oh Damien, you really are the spitting image of your father…” Marcoh flattened out his unruly hair. “I just wish I could…tell you the truth…but you’re still too young to understand…” Marcoh broke off, bending down and kissing his grandson on the forehead. Damien giggled softly in his sleep and rolled onto his side, obviously now caught in a dream.
Marcoh turned to leave, listening as the sandstorm outside suddenly calmed and faded into nothing, and the cold air warmed slightly within their hallowed home.
