Wirt's father and mother had undergone a messy divorce when he was eight years old. She had remarried not long after and given birth to Greg, who was about five years younger than Wirt (Wirt was now fourteen and Greg was six.) When Greg had been discovered missing, Wirt's father had not been contacted. There was no need: he had no link to the boy, really. But his son... Wirt hadn't seen his father since Greg had been born. There was the occasional telephone call every other year, and sometimes his father remembered his birthday and sent a postcard- he lived in Canada now- often decorated with a simpering moose and maple leaves and captioned with: 'sorry to miss you, hope to see you soon!' And on the back it would always say 'maybe next time, son.'

Wirt had long given up on his father, but he still felt a small pang at every mention of his name. He didn't miss him... At least that's what he told himself. But given the chance to see him again, Wirt was unsure whether he would agree or not.

After Greg had unexpectedly taken a turn for the worst at the hospital and Wirt was still missing, their mother knew she had no choice but to contact him- for legal reasons as well as any: he was his son.

Wirt's mother was shaking as she tried to dial the rarely used but always remembered number of her ex-husband. Greg's father entered the room and saw her struggling, asked if she was calling who he thought she was, and when she nodded silently, he dialed it for her. When someone answered, she shook her head when her husband offered it to her and indicated that he speak to him. Greg's father sighed and put the receiver to his ear.

"Hello? Am I speaking to- yes. Excellent. Yeah, it's me. Listen, I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but... I've got some bad news. No, it's- no, she, um, she's not here. Well, I'm telling you, so listen up. You can speak to her when she's home."

He looked at his wife, who mouthed,

"I'm sorry."

"Listen, it's about Wirt... Well, I'm afraid he's... He's missing... Yes... For two days now... Well, actually, it is a long time for a young boy to be out by himsel- yes, he is young, he's only fourteen! ...Well, if you think you know him so well, tell me why haven't you seen the boy in over four years, huh?"

Wirt's mother closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the wall.

"Listen to me, you need to come down here as soon as you can," her husband continued, sounding calmer. "You need to come down and speak to the police about your son so they have as much information as possible about- ... I don't give a shit if you've got important work on at the moment, this is your son! ... Right, you know what, you better get your arse in gear and get over here rápido, because I swear, if the police don't have every single chance they can get at finding Wirt- ... Hey! Don't you care about your son? Hey!"

He the receiver.

"He hung up," he said dully.

"Nicely done," groaned his wife.

"I can't believe he doesn't care about Wirt," he muttered crossly.

"I can," she sighed. "He never really did, why start now? I'm going back to the hospital to check on Greg. I'll be back soon." She kissed him swiftly and left, leaving him alone in cold shock and disgust at that awful man.

Outside, just as Wirt's mother was getting into the car, she saw P.C Samuels, the local police officer who had been in cjarde of inspecting the case of her two lost children, walked up her drive.

"Evening Officer," she said anxiously. "Any news? I was just about to go and see Greg."

"Greg is awake," Samuels said, grinning. "And we've found your son."

-

Wirt lay limp and delicate in his crisp white sheets. His face and arms were scratched, he was pale, ragged and even thinner than usual, he was decorated in colourful bruising and there were dark circles under his eyes.
But nothing was broken and he was home and he safe.

Greg didn't understand why he was awake but Wirt wasn't. He decided it was probably just because Wirt was really tired.

Greg was sitting on his own hospital bed with his head stiffly bandaged. He was fine apart from a nasty bump on his temple. He was speaking to his father, and he could see opposite him was Wirt and his mother, Wirt immobile.

Wirt's mother grasped her son's hand as though it was a lifeline. She tried to stop herself from crying, but she was just so relieved and happy to see him- and now she was willing him to wake. Her emotions were all over the place.

It was the small hours when he finally did.

His mother and Greg's father were lightly dozing in the waiting room chairs, Greg was snoring loudly, and Wirt awoke suddenly from very odd dream including someone with curly, soft brown hair and four freckles across his nose...

His mother woke immediately when she heard Wirt try to sit up and grunt in pain. She rushed over, whispering how pleased she was to see him, how much she loved him, was he okay, how could she help, should she get a doctor. She smiled through tears, saying she would never let him out of her sight again. After Wirt had hugged her tightly and assured her that he was fine, just a sore, he asked,

"Where's Dad? Is he here?", looking around.

His mum looked guilty.

"He... I'm sorry Wirt, your dad couldn't make it," his mum said apologetically.

Wirt shifted his position on the bed and looked over his mother's shoulder. He saw Greg's father, his father, no longer 'Greg's stupid dad', but a family member, and said,

"What are you talking about? He's just there."