“My Son…”
Aftershave. It filledmy bedroom with earthy, spicy notes. The aroma was so familiar, so comforting. I knew it. But where was it coming from? Slowly, I became aware that I was in my bed, lying in darkness. The room was still. Abnormally so. Then I sensed movement. Someone was watching me.
A figure came into view. A man, tall and broad-shouldered with hair cropped close. His entire being shone. He was dressed in fatigues and lace-up boots, his hazelnut eyes alight. Eyes I would recognize anywhere. My son Patrick’s. He stared at me,
