Free Alex by Adam J Nicolai Page A

holding a beaten copy of More More More, Said the Baby.   "I picked my book, Daddy," he announced.  
    Ian and Alina hadn't been perfect.   They'd fucked up plenty.    Hell, every day had felt like an exercise in discovering new ways to screw up as parents.   But this one thing, they had managed: every night, rain or shine, they'd taken turns reading a book to their son.   
    Williams' simple story of children loved deeply by their guardians had left Ian shaken the first time he'd read it.    He'd felt his love for his son like a river in his soul, infinite and fathomless.   At the sight of the book, he felt a whisper of that sensation again.   As Alex stood watching him, bright eyes shining eagerly, the whisper grew to a shout.
    "Alex..." Ian said.   He turned off the TV.  
    Ignoring his son was something he'd never been good at.   It wasn't something he could do now.   If he'd gone mad, so be it.   If Alex was real, if he had come back to torment his father for failing him...
    Then Ian was still his father, and he would still be there for his son, no matter how difficult the task.
    He slid off the couch to the floor.  
    "Alex, you know we can't read that book.   Don't you?"
    "It's 'More More More, Said the Baby'," Alex explained.  
    "I know it is.   I love that book.   You know why?"
    "Why?" Alex said.
    "Because it reminds me of you, and of how much I love you.   And how I would do anything for you."
    "Yeah.   But let's read it, Daddy."   He took a step toward the couch.
    "We can't do that.   I think you know that."
    Alex drew up short.   Ian was deviating from the script.
    "We can't do that.   No matter how much I want to.   Do you know why?"
    "It's 'More More More, Said the Baby'."
    "Because you're gone, Alex.   You died.   Do you remember what that means?"
    He changed.   The book disappeared and he was in a grey dress shirt and black slacks, impressively sharp and somber for a four-year-old.   Ready for Alina's mom's funeral.
    "It means we'll never see her again?"
    "It means we can never see each other again.   Right.   You were killed -"   The word cracked on his tongue.   He waited while the familiar grief squeezed his chest, watching his beautiful son watch him.  
    "A man - an evil man, a terrible man - killed you.   And Daddy wanted to help, he would've done anything...."   He wrestled with himself.   "Oh, god, Alex, anything to save you, but he couldn't.   He couldn't.   And now..."
    "We can never see Grandma again?"
    Alex didn't understand.   It was just like when he'd been alive, when he'd seemed to get what Ian was saying and then asked if Grandma was going to be at the church for the funeral too.   His innocent effort to comprehend left Ian reeling.
    "Right, Alex.   Right.   Except it's you.   Not Grandma.   You are the one who died this time."
    Alex's brows furrowed.  
    "You can see her, I bet.   You can find her there.   But you just can't stay here.   It's not a place for you..."   Oh, god, Alex.   "Not a place for you anymore."
    The clothes disappeared.   He was wet, cold.   "I'll just call for you and mommy!"
    "No, Alex.   It's too late for that now."
    "I'll just call for you and mommy!"
    "Alex, no.   I'm sorry.   It's too late."
    A red turtleneck and jeans, his face bruised, his hands lashed together with duct tape.   " Daddy! "  
    It was nothing like the cries he gave when his toys were lost, nothing.   It was feral, anguished; the cry of a lost child, desperate for his father to hear him.  
    Ian doubled over as if he'd been punched in the stomach.  
    " Daddy! "   Alex was sobbing.  
    "Alex," Ian managed.   "I can hear you.   I'm here.   This is over."   Oh, Jesus.   Oh, god.   "Do you understand?   This is over.   He can't hurt you any more.   You are safe now."
    "Daddy..."   Whimpering, snorting like an animal.  
    "Alex, oh god, honey.   Please.   It's over.   Okay?   He killed you, but that means you're free.   Please just