George never misses.

Hello

"Georgie Porgie, Puddin' and Pie,

Killed the girls and made them cry,

When their parents came out to play

Georgie Porgie made them pay."

~(°^°~)

Mister Fern observed and occasionally interfered in George's life.

Sometimes he would try and save someone's life by altering their path or stopping some mechanism that seemed crucial to the plan.

It never worked.

He'd done enough of both to know for certain that the pair had noticed him. Maybe just enough for the mother but she seemed to be the one controlling George.

Truthfully, Mister Fern had noticed that the power between the two was currently at an equilibrium. She always made sure to appease any want or need he had, sometimes before he could even articulate it in a hurried fashion. Almost as if she was trying to placate him by keeping him happy and satisfied because of fear instead of motherly love.

He, on the other hand, was quick to jump at her beck and call. It was obvious that he'd do anything for her because he loved her as devotedly as a young child loves his mother. An almost insane devotion that was accompanied by the look of a deranged man. A look no child should know how to replicate.

An interesting relationship. With most serial killers they took down it was practically unheard of for a child controlled by his mother to be one of the most notorious. The chances dwindled down to simply astronomical for a child to be successful enough to warrant a detective from IG.

Currently he was watching the odd duo bake a pie in their kitchen. He believed the house had belonged to Darla's daughter. Or would it be Catherine's house since she inherited it? Most likely it held no consequence who he perceived the house belonging to. Darla and George occupied it. That assigned all the worth he cared about.

He observed as Darla showed George how to pinch the edges of the crust to create the pattern unique to pies and some pastries. George quickly became frustrated as his pinches came out sloppy and uneven while Darla's were uniform and nearly perfect. She quickly sprang to his side and guided his hands into making the same pinches until they finished the crust.

The swiftness of her actions as she swept to his side was fast, faster than almost any other human mother moved for her child. It reminded him of the IG dropping almost everything to make sure the potentate was satisfied. It was almost uncanny how many similarities there were between the potentate and George, he mused, but only for a second before disregarding that line of thought. If Mr. Fern were anyone else he might've assumed George had some connection to the line of potentates. Perhaps even studying the line of breeding more extensively than he had previously. Regrettably he was not someone else and instead was a man raised in a household that worshipped the potentate. In summary: the potentate is the only supreme ruler and anyone else who considered or is considered otherwise has been given false information. 

"There's the man again, Momma!" As a man himself and someone who had lingered around their residence enough to be considered an "again" occurrence, he was rightfully concerned as he whipped his head towards George's voice.

Only to be reassured that George was not, in fact, speaking about himself. Instead there was another stranger standing on their porch, staring intently at the door. Almost as if he were trying to trace the wood grains as they swirled around in patterns only they could decipher.

Darla whispered something in George's ear and he darted off in the direction of his room. She, on the other hand, smoothed her bright yellow summer dress and walked to the entryway. Darla took a moment to compose herself and peered through the peephole. A grim look overtook her features as she beheld who stood in her doorway. It was quickly wiped away as a cheery smile warped her face into looking friendly, and inviting.