#and calling my partner to inform him (tearfully) that i would be driving home

[daddy-socrates]

nvm it was moved to next week

im an EXTROVERT why am i REHEARSING how to INTRODUCE MYSELF at this event ive been looking forward to for DAYS

[prccinct]

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Logan thrummed his fingers against the edge of his desk. It was a standard question, one repeated to him by relatives and teachers alike. But Logan, aged seven, squirmed in his seat with his arm waving above his head. He was desperate to be called upon to answer. When his teacher asked, he proudly chirped back the same answer he always had, with a grin too wide for his face. “Batman, just like my dad.”

It always drew a chorus of whispers and oooohs from his classmates. A smattering of giggles, an eye roll from his teacher.

“There are no such thing as superheroes.” A girl sneered from across the table.

“But he is! He fights bad guys like Batman. And he drives fast in his own car. And, and, and! He even works with Alfred! But he isn’t a butler. He’s the coolest. And he even has a uniform too, with all the badges and   ”

“Logan.” His teacher interjected gently. “Your father is a detective, isn’t he?”

“I guess that’s what some people call him. But I call him Batman. It’s a way cooler name than Major Crimes Detective.”

“Just stay here, bud.”

“But I don’t want to go to camp.” Logan sulked, dropping the duffel bag he had slung over his shoulder onto the concrete with a soft thud. Whilst the other Fourth graders tearfully parted with their parents for the week, Logan was adamant that camp wasn’t where kids like him went. First of all, only one parent had come to drop him off. Only one parent was ever in the picture, for as long as he could remember. His dad was everything he wanted to be when he grew up. A hero.

“Every kid goes to camp, Logan. It’s fun.”

“But why can’t I just go to work with you?” Logan couldn’t help the way his voice shook, or the way the tears glistened in his eyes.

His father smiled at him, so warmly, it made him more resolute to keep the tears at bay. Logan curled his fists by his sides and blinked the tears back. He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to give up.

That was when he felt the frames settle on his face. Far too large for him, slipping off his nose. But his dad’s aviators didn’t need to fit. His eyes blinked open, small tears sliding down his cheeks as his fingers held them in place against his face.

“So no one can see you cry.” His dad said with a smile and a ruffle of his hair.

Logan couldn’t help but smile.

A week at camp passed in a blink of an eye. Though, tinges of homesickness did strike at night. He warded them away, bundled in blankets in his bunk, tears hidden under the covers with his aviators in his hands.

But he practically bounced off the bus that arrived back at school. He waved goodbyes to his friends who were collected by their parents. He couldn’t spot his dad amongst the crowds of parents. Late. It wasn’t unheard of, especially with a job as demanding as a detective. So Logan settled on the curb, eyes cast toward the street, waiting to see the familiar patrol car. Maybe his dad would even flash his lights. Fingers curled around the arms of his aviators, Logan waited, passing the time by deciding which stories he’d tell his dad first.

An hour passed.

By this time, only his teachers were left waiting with him. Not a single patrol car had passed.

Two hours.

They had called his home, his dad’s mobile, with no answer. Dusk was setting in, and Logan shivered as the warmth of the day receded.

At three hours, he had been taken into the reception of the school. Calls being made every 10 minutes to his dad’s contact numbers, with no response. His teacher had stayed by his side, listening attentively as Logan began telling the camp stories he was eager to tell his dad. Legs swinging, knees bouncing, hair still a mess from falling asleep on the bus.

Finally, a call was returned. Logan eyed his teacher as she answered the call.

“Yes, is he in? I’m with his son, Logan.”

A long pause.

Logan caught the minute crease that formed on her brow. The way she sat straighter. And the way her eyes fell on him. Like she was shocked.

“But he has been at school camp this week.”

Another pause.

His legs stopped swinging. His knees stopped bouncing.

“I see. Thank you.”

The call ended and Logan stared at her, waiting for her to relay the information. But he could tell she was nervous, from her posture to her hesitation and nervous smile. He truly was his father’s son.

“Logan. Is there anyone else who can pick you up? Your mom? How about any grandparents?”

“But where is my dad?”

“I’m not sure, Logan. But I think it’s best if-” “But he’s still coming, right? If I go now, he’ll think I’m missing.” “I promise, we’ll keep calling, but we need someone to come and take you home for now.”

Logan paused. Maybe his dad was on an important case.

“We could call my grandma?” “I think that would be best.”

His grandparents had come to collect him soon after. He had always loved his time in their house, usually long afternoons full of playing detective with grandma, and being snuck lollies by grandpa.

But this evening was different, the mood more tense. He didn’t have to play detective to know something was wrong. Particularly when he was put to bed in the guest bedroom, his grandma evading all his questions about his dad.

Like a good detective, he knew that good intel formed the base of a strong case. His dad had taught him that. So, he tiptoed out of his bed, catching sight of the lights still on down the hall, in his grandparent’s bedroom.

He approached the closed door as silently as he could, before pressing his ear to the door.

“   But it’s not his fault! It’s unfair to him.”

“I know   ”

“That bastard   ”

“   I know.”

“He left his son at a bus stop!”

He could hear his grandma faintly crying through the door.

“What are we supposed to do? We can’t raise him, we’re   “ “We have no other choice, my love. We have to try.”

Logan backed away from the door. Perhaps good intel was a burden.

Back in the bed, buried under the covers, his eyes flooded with tears that couldn’t be held back, no matter how hard he tried.

Logan refused to believe it. His dad was good. His dad loved him. They were the inseparable duo, partners in solving crime.

Fingers trembled as they held his father’s glasses in his hands, and cried.

‘Missing’ was the word that was used to describe the case.

A missing person’s case.

His dad, missing.

But Logan knew it was far more than simply missing. The way his grandma didn’t even act like she expected her son-in-law to return. There was something they weren’t telling him.

He needed to know, if he was going to solve the case. To find his dad. And he refused to give up.

He’d ask questions to the detectives he knew, ones who came to visit him occasionally. He took notes in a spiral bound book, the back of his maths book. It had become his official investigation book, like one he had seen his dad use. Every single detective had said “we’re still looking”. But how could a whole team of detectives, looking, not find him? They were looking in the wrong places, he had deduced.

He held out hope that if he himself couldn’t find his dad, his dad, the best detective there was, would find his way back to him. At least, that’s what he’d tell his grandparents, as they watched him spend hours waiting by windows, looking for the flashes of red and blue lights that would prove him right.

Logan was fourteen when his grandmother fell ill. She wasn’t quick to tell him, but it wasn’t long until the pseudo-detective out the pieces together.

Perhaps some mysteries were best left unsolved.

Another person slowly left his life. Her mind went slowly. Some days were better than others, but it wasn’t long until she wasn’t there at all. At least he got to say goodbye.

His grandfather, distraught and frail in his own old age, had to be moved into a retirement home.

“FUCK YOU TOO.”

“THAT’S IT. GET OUT.”

Logan slammed the wire door behind him. It rattled in its hinges, holding back the seething woman behind him.

“You have no where to go because no one wanted you. You’ll be back and you’ll be sorry!” She screamed after him. But he paid no mind. Seventeen and in his third foster home, he couldn’t stay in that house any longer.

They all treated him like he was damaged, like he was deluded and didn’t know what was best for himself. They limited his freedom, setting curfews and ridiculous rules for someone as independent as him. Not to mention the way they all told him his endless pursuit to find his father pointless. A waste of time. Obsessive. That his father had left him at that bus stop and he was probably a dirty cop. That he’d be dead by now.

He couldn’t listen to their lies anymore. They didn’t know his father.

Logan shoved his fists in the pockets of his jacket, aviators on, as he marched away back onto the streets.