Lost Boys in the World...
The Never Ending Quest - Episode 12653
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It's very tough being an unwanted child. I ought to know. I was always the weird kid on the block, the one the neighbors talked about, the one who even had his parents look at him oddly. The one who looked like the milkman, so to speak. For the longest time, I never knew why. It's not like I was adopted--my mother had reassured me that wasn't the case several times. There was just this strange dread my mother and father seemed to have of me, like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. It did. Shortly after my twenty-first birthday. Sleeping soundly in my university dormatory, I was shocked awake one morning not to my alarm, but to the sound of breaking glass. My eyes snapped open to see, against all rationality, a man perching on the back of the chair at my desk, perfectly balanced and brandishing a wicked looking dagger. He spoke to me. "Boy, you will tell us where your father is..." I nearly wet myself. Why the hell would this guy need to find my dad? I mean, Christ, he's just a middle manager at some useless company! I barely managed to escape the encounter alive, and afterward I had to learn a whole bunch in a very short span of time. See, he wasn't talking about the man who raised me. He was talking about my real father. Up until then, I'd never been very religious. My mum and dad took me to church once a week whether I needed it or not during my youth, and once I went to the university, my churchgoing lapsed. I don't know why I never got into it, save that the way the Rector spoke, the concepts always seemed so distant. I suppose I believed in God on a nominal level, but the concepts of things like Angels were a little hard to swallow. Until, of course, I found out that my real father is one. Worse still, he's a soldier in a war that I've been rather forcibly dragged into. Someone wants him very badly, and they're willing to hunt me to get to him. Over the past year I've been pursued throughout England, Scotland, and Ireland, only barely managing to stay one step ahead. That's why I've just gotten on a plane in London bound for New York. I'm going to find my father... ...if only to tell him what a bloody prat he is... Edgar Hawkings slept through most of the Trans-Atlantic flight. It was a welcome rest after the months of getting raked over the coals. He realized that his parents hadn't heard from him in ages, and he'd seen his face on missing persons posters, but considering the determination of those pursuing him, his family was a secondary concern to his survival. In the brief moments he'd had to himself between travel, he'd researched almost feverishly. Stacks of books from libraries and curiosity shops had been devoured in short order and the subject was always the same. Angels. The information was always partial, it seemed, never complete, always something more he didn't know. He had, however, learned what he really was. He was more than just human. Nephilim was the term used, a "Giant in the Earth". Edgar continued to sleep through the flight with a troubled brow just as the plane touched down at La Guardia...
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The Traveler
8/31/2000 7:27:47 AM
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