7:15 P.M.

It quickly dawned on Henry where the possible origin of these bugs came from.

Rounding the corner to the short hallway housed almost exactly in the middle of their home, Henry could here Connell singing (nothing wrong with that, rather it was very typical) but instead of his usual radio friendly jingles, Connell wasn't exactly spurting any recent tune; the words were sinister like; darkly profound even.

'... your day is coming soon...

'... blood flowing a fiery monsoon...'

It gave Henry the creeps as he slowly lingered at the slight open-door frame.

As he watched the little one playing with his tiny cars, he rapidly saw that the cars were not metallic material but that of the bugs mysteriously being conjured up throughout the house. What the hell was happening here?

He took a few steps into the room, only to stop as Connell turned to look at him; not as the rambunctious kid he had grown to love as his own, but an unpleasant stare down from vacant eyes. This wasn't the happy go lucky child from a few days ago.

He smiled as best as he could manage; placing himself in similar fashion as the little boy siting crossed-legged.

'How many bugs did you take from the rock place, sweetie?' Henry asked in desperation.

Connells appearance seem to ease as he comprehended the new presence in the room. A bit of the slight smirk he carried most of the day, came to appear as well.

He had never lied to his relatively new dad (not to his short span of knowledge) and didn't understand the need to start now.

His delicate fingers lifted as he began counting only as a three and half year old could.

'Oo...nn..eee; tt..www.ooo; th...weee; ff...ooo.rrr...' As he raised his other hand in continuing with the countdown, Henry realized now that he hadn't disposed of enough of them to conclude there wasn't a future gestation of bugs.

Looking all around the colorful room of toys and the race-car bed sitting catawampus to the left, Henry saw no other movement that would cause prime fear elevation to rise. It's not he didn't like bugs, it's the fact that, where there's one or three – a few dozen have or will be storming in – it's always the case.

Henry had never heard of seeing one lone tiny legged fiend, and that was that!

No – no, there was bound to be an invasion of epic proportions!  

He would have to call an exterminator tomorrow since it was getting too late for any offices to stay open. 

7:30 pm

Henry came in from a bit of gardening, he had started at the beginning of spring. Transplanting new bulbs and trimming over grown shrubs – it was a bit of work – but worth the effort once everything came together in one cohesive showcase. Perhaps it was his tiny vacation; an escape from the kids; from, dare he say – Andrew, especially when he and his father got into another bought.

It caused Henry's anxiety to soar higher than the steady line that it already obtained.

Roughly thirty minutes passed, and Henry felt accomplished at what he had wanted to get done before night fell; placing every tool back into its rightful place – of course, otherwise – it would never be found again, or the fact that it would plague him to death until it had been put back where it belonged.

Henry walked through the garage door to the chimes of laughter and mixed screams of over-zealous children and a husband in disarray, from what to be heard, was the mess the splashing was making all over the houses main bathroom. Chuckling under his breath at the scenario enfolding behind the next wall over; this had converted into a continuous, nightly ritual for all of them.

The warmth sheathed within his chest – he felt a sense of completeness – this is all he ever wanted. All those years of wandering if the world was to abandon him for the sake of who he was, or what had seemed to be a curse to carry among everyone else's happy-go-lucky attitudes; it was exhausting to watch everybody spread a mile-wide-smile, while he only could muster up a fake smirk to lapse over the real feelings bursting at his chest.

The ripe ole age of when most teenagers begin the habitual task of finding a significant other and subsequently a few tumorous relationships and thirteen years later – almost to the date, to be exact – stumbling across Andrew; the torture had been extinguished.

A relief Henry felt even now, grabbing a glass from the cabinet, flushing the cylinder with water and taking a sip, glancing aimlessly through the small framed window following a stainless-steel sink.

Then, as the last sip of refreshment had gone sliding down his throat, a blast of movement pattered onto the laminate kitchen floor. A gift of laughter, this butt- naked, little boy had.

Roaring inches away came Andrew, arms wide with another grey towel.

Henry sighed, as he gravitated to the closet, to grab a mop – there was water to be cleaned in his imminent future – he had a slight hunch of this foretelling.

You couldn't get too upset with the boy's actions; he's just shy of five after-all – it's what they do.

Besides, after all is calm and dry, it would become a moment to remember as the time passes; and the kids grow – and Henry didn't feel the need to have it any other way.

It gave even more incentive towards the fight to have, even this unprecedented gem, appreciation for the trivial things in this ever-changing life.

Henry patted Cat's drenched hair as he passed by, on his way to the floor rich with pools of tap water.

8 pm

Henry symbolled Cat to keep an eye on Connell as he had finally conceded on the couch, to any parent's ally – sleep.

"Hey." Henry quipped, gripping around his husband's torso from behind. Squeezing tightly, Andrew turned to face him, "I want a proper hug."

Henry could only obliged; it's his arms that keeps himself from going off the rails.

Andrew may tower over Henry, but he incessantly went limp within his beloved's arms. "Hey baby..." he whispered, pecking Henry's disheveled hair.

"Everything ok back at home?"

Andrew pressed even tighter. "Your arms are my home." Henry flushed with heat at the sentiment.

Suddenly, a squealing wail wafted to the embracing men. Henry flicked back to the bewilderment they both displayed on their faces. Untying from each other, running out of the bedroom door, towards a scream that belonged to the unquestionable Cat, as they both came up on the open bathroom door.

Cat folded from entering the small room; only mumbling collective words between heaves of breath, not even Ancient Egyptian Philosophers could decipher.

Andrew grabbed her up into his arms, to calm her; Henry fell to his knees a few feet away onto the floor, bracing himself against the jacuzzi tub – the filthy water of brown and black goop, rumbled and crashed against the running over rim.

Henry couldn't see anything below the surface, until a faint outline of a tiny face parted the mush and stared blankly back. Connell!

Henry froze unexplainably – unable to react with his body as his mind screamed to yank Connell out of the muck. The same vacant stare from earlier hammered on the youngster's face but with a creeping smile drawing on his cheeks, as everything seem to lay abruptly still.

As crippled as Henry felt his limbs become, he sunk in a silent plea under his breath, penetrating whatever held him in place. "Please, help me – whoever... whatever is out there!"

Plunging shoulder deep into the brooding water; bracing his arms around the delicacy of the little one's torso. Pulling! Shifting! Able to pull every bit of his step-son out of the water, all except the most important part – his head!

"HENRY... HE'S GOING TO DROWN!!" shouted a disgruntled dad from the door.

"I CAN'T... GET'EM... OUT! Henry retaliated.

It had begun to look grim; desperate and vague as Henry strenuously struggled to save Connell.

A small, sullen voice spoke up unexpectedly "... Daddy?"

Henry shorted his efforts as he tilted to view the source of the voice. Andrew and Cat both had shifted to see the appearance of the newly discovered voice. An intensely gathered gasp peeked out from Andrew's throat.

Standing beside them, all dried; smiling and adorned of mis-matched pajamas – Connell.

As exquisitely it had been to gather relief that his step-son had been ok – Henry, now exceedingly aware of his steel grip still attached onto what he thought had been the little boy – crackled under the pressure issued from his fingers.

Holding a wince of fear from escaping his mouth; squeezing eyes shut as if he were to crush tightly enough – it would all surely vanish.

Cautiousness plagued the morbid curiosity sprouting from Henry's insides; opening his eyes to focus on the tub of muted water, only to flinch towards the sight of deteriating features: molting sockets dissolved the caramel pupils; sweet chubby cheeks crumpled, with the right half rupturing open, erupting bits of macerated flesh and skin synchronized with the bolstered chaos of rhythm. A heart-stealing gaze mirrored through the waving liquid.

Springing out with force, clouds of dirty fluids spewing onto everything that could be touched close-by – which included that of Henry. The presence stalled inches from Henry's panicked grimace. Swirling its head to look upon the figures standing only a few feet behind; rotating back to meet Henry, as doing so, it's rapidly ratcheting features dissolving off as it swiveled left to right in no mockery.

"Thanks for the bath... dad!" It spat.

Hurriedly rearing itself, and Henry together, back into the murky watery depths.