She named him Richard and he was infected by my blood. The fact that my blood seemed to replace all trace of his father gave me little solace. The still unknown effect on his life seemed an unbalanced trade and indeed a far greater burden than having a violent sex offender for a father.
The boy grew strong and unique. His features were enough his mother’s so as not to cause any alarm or concern, but she was reminded of a darker truth whenever she looked at him. Something in her son’s manner and eyes, in particular, reminded her of me but she refused to acknowledge it to anyone but herself.
He would be almost eight before she brought him to the island for the first time. She tried to protect him from his history. When she spoke of the past she talked only about her parents and her sister. But she could only stay away for so long. The island called to her and I called to him. He was not only of my blood, he was my blood…
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