He wasn't what Thomas had imagined, even though Thomas had not seen his face. He knew that the man wasn't very old like he had thought. All his hair hadn't gone gray.

Secondly, he sat in a wheelchair. It looked expensive.

"Put the light on on your way out," Grandpa said to Maxwell, still looking at the wall ahead of him. His voice was deep, energetic. He didn't have the I'm-losing-my-voice vibe. He sounded young.

Thomas guessed he wasn't over fifteen years older than his father. He could be his father's eldest brother, but not father. Perhaps he had had his mother at a very young age.

Maxwell turned the light on, revealing a broad-shouldered man wearing a brown coat.

"Take a seat, Thomas," his grandfather said to him. Thomas didn't see any chair around the room so he sat on the king size bed. "How's your mother?" He asked.

"Troubled," Thomas replied, staring around the room. His head went from one item to another. A carved figure of a man with a bow and arrow sat on the farthest left corner of the room. 

The man chuckled. He nodded his head. "You see, Thomas, that's what you get when you become overly ambitious. Power-greedy. Stupid."

Thomas eyes moved from the furnitures to his grandfather. He didn't understand. He knew the old man understood his confusion.

"I was once like your mother— young, handsome, overly ambitious, power-greedy," he paused, "and stupid," he said. He nodded his head again, wrapping his hand around the wheels used to control the chair. "And you know what happened in the end?"

Thomas shook his head. He later remembered the man wasn't looking at him. There was no time to reply because the man started talking again.

"I lost everything. Everything that I worked for. My wife— your step-grandmother— your mother, my mother and, most importantly, my son. I also lost my face," he said, turning the wheelchair around.

Thomas flinched. He had regretted that, and looking at the man in disgust. He didn't mean to.

The man was burnt, terribly. There was an angry red scar. His skin folded right under his left eye, causing it to close an inch than it should be. The skin tissue was hard, cooked. The burnt ran from under his left eye to where his shirt collar was. The skin tissue was thick and shiny. His left ear was smaller than the right. The man was damaged.

His grandpa had noticed him flinched. He didn't take offense. He had gotten worst reactions than that. Someone even vomited when they saw him at the hospital once. Since then, he decided to keep himself away from people.

"This was what I ended up with," he began saying. Thomas then noticed his mouth was wider than it should have been. "Over fifteen years ago. I can't remember. My son and I were sleeping when the house caught fire. He was a teenager then. Good thing I had jumped out the window into the sand, on my face."

That explained the heap of flesh under his left eye. He had caught on fire and jumped into the sand. His flesh had been soft, so the sand shaped it.

"My son survived without a scratch. But I was a threat to my entire family, so I had to make myself invisible. Thanks to Maxwell's mom. She helped me to get my life together before she died. She was like a daughter to me."

Thomas listened to the story, expressing sympathy. He felt sorry for the man. Now he knew why his grandpa never wanted to meet him. He had never wanted Thomas to see him and be afraid.

"How did you end up in a chair?" Thomas asked, not looking directly at the man. He thought it was wise enough. Looking too much was definitely going to make the man embarrass. 

"In the same fire. I had been trying to escape the fire when I fell from over the banister in my house. Landed on my butt and broke my spine. I had dragged myself from in the fire I'd fell in and threw myself through the window. I lost everything that particular night," he rolled the chair closer to the bed. Stopped few yards from Thomas.

"I'm sorry." He looked at his grandpa then back at the wooden floor quickly.

The man smiled. "Don't be sorry. I only did what I did because I didn't have what I wanted at the time. Your mother worked so hard to give you a life far better than the one she lived as a teenager," he said.

"What life?" Thomas asked.

"Your mother didn't have anyone. She didn't have a mother, a father, a family," he explained. "She had me but she never accepted me as her father. Her mother and I were just a one-night stand. But she got pregnant. I sadly had a wife who had had too many miscarriages. But she later gave birth to a child and died a month after."

He missed her a lot. He still loved her. She seemed to have been a lovely woman.

"My mother was a wedlock?" Thomas asked him, sharing a brief eye contact.

"No, she was my daughter. But she doesn't see me as her father. She believes I abandoned her and her mother, so she didn't accept anything from me. I even attended her first wedding," he told Thomas.

"She never told me she was married before getting married to dad." Thomas felt like he had learned something important.

"That's because she wasn't. The man left her on the alter on the wedding day. He married her best friend later. Your mom was devastated." His grandpa sounded like a history teacher explaining the Liberian civil war in class.

"But why?"

"She had been in a relationship with a goon. She had been assumed pregnant, but it wasn't true. It didn't take long before she met your dad. Your dad helped her get rid of that maniac," he explained to Thomas.

"How did you know all of this? You were never with her."

"I was always with her. I have always been with her. You wouldn't understand," he said, rolling his chair away to the table near the bed. He took the coffee from the table and drank. "Coffee?"

Thomas shook his head. He didn't like coffee. He was thinking.

"Why didn't mom tell me all this?" He was wondering. He felt like he had been kept in the dark. He didn't even know who his mother really was.

"She erased them. She doesn't want to associate herself with her past." He put the coffee back down and rolled back to where Thomas was sitting. "Why is your mother troubled, pal?"

"She has been fighting with dad over something. Dad accused her of murder last night," he replied, not knowing how to feel. "They have been fighting for a while. I think dad believes that she's hiding something from him."

"Then she's hiding something from him. And trust me, your dad will not find out if she doesn't want him to. I know my daughter," he replied like a proud father whose child had become successful before his own eyes.

"What is it she's hiding?" Thomas asked. He believed he could help his parents settle their dispute if he knew what the problem was.

The old man shrugged. "I have no idea. The only things I know about your mother are the ones she wants me to. Your mother is witty. Hope you are."

Thomas didn't know if he was. But he wasn't going to shrug. He could be smart like his mother, or dumb like himself.

"You said you needed my help. Why?" He asked Thomas. He rested his hands on the wheelchair's arm.

"I left home last night. I was angry. They were about to have a fist-fight. I got angry and left." He felt stupid explaining that.

"That was one stupid thing to do, kiddo." He stopped for a minute, just looking at his grandson. Thomas reminded him of the handsome man he once was. "But why call me for help? Why didn't you go to your boyfriend's house? You were around the block," he stated, smiling.

Thomas looked up at him, surprised. How did he know that he was gay? And how did he know where his ex-boyfriend lived?

Well, he was talking to his grandfather who nobody knew lived down there. Perhaps people didn't know he was still alive.

"I am not going to tell your mother, Thomas. That's our little secret." He winked his good eye.

"He's not my boyfriend. We broke up last night." He frowned. He felt hurt. He didn't want himself thinking about Jacob. "Caught him with another guy. He told me in the face he didn't love me."

The old man understood the story. He was old enough to understand Thomas had gone to his boyfriend's house when he was mad at his parents, and ended up getting heartbroken. That was the only logical explanation.

His grandpa saw that he didn't want to talk about it much. He didn't even seem comfortable talking about his sexuality with him. So he had to change the discussion. 

"But why me? You could have gone to your sister's or brother's place or another friend. They were closer. They could have helped you."

"I don't want to be at a place where my parents would find me. I want to be far away from them. Maybe that will make them come together, realise their mistake," he said to his grandfather.

The man didn't say anything. He went closer to Thomas. Too close. He lifted his hand and touched Thomas face. His palm was warm, thick. He ran his hand over Thomas' face. Thomas lowered his head.

"I'm sorry, Thomas," he apologised.

Thomas didn't understand what he was talking about. Why was he apologising? He hadn't done anything wrong. Thomas didn't mind him touching his face.

"Why?" He asked when his grandfather ran his hand over his mouth.

"Your mother is already here. I called her. That was the best thing to do," he said. He dropped his hand from Thomas' face.

"No, you sold me out. You want to gain her trust again, isn't it? You knew I didn't want her to find me. Calling you made everything clear. You want her to forgive you, right?" He raised his voice, getting off of the bed. The chair rolled back when he moved.

Wasn't there anyone he could trust?

"Don't raise your voice at me young man. Nobody does that." He didn't raise his voice. He kept calm.

"I'm not going back home now." Thomas hurried out of the room. He slammed the door shut.

Maxwell was in the hallway waiting for him. He looked at Thomas questioningly. Thomas walked past him. They entered into the room where people were working and back up the dark staircase. They went back up into the room.

"What's going on?" Maxwell asked him. 

"Are you happy being here?" Thomas asked him. His eyes were wet.

"I don't know. My mother wants me here. She thinks this is the safest place I can ever be," he told Thomas.

"Are you happy here?" Thomas asked.

"No. The place is filled with, too, many serious faces for me to like. I want to have friends, live a normal teenage life."

"Run away with me."