Drifting Grace [An Alastor Fanfiction] [PROOFREADING]

Chapter 22 [Proofread]

[???] + Third Person's POV

[Now, now where should we start? Should I recap my story so far? Should I tell you how I felt? See, I'm not good with words and honestly, their story has been going stretched on for far too long. I'm getting a bit tired of always thinking about this.}

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"Alastor?" She whispered from the hedges, coming out from hiding as she hid her teenage son behind her.

"Angel!" He shouted, dropping his knife and looking straight at them with shock and worry.

A million thoughts must have run through his mind. At that exact moment, he knew his life was over. He knew his wife would never come back to him and his son would ultimately lose all the respect he worked so hard to earn.

He even started calling me his father, Alastor thought, shutting his eyes in disappointment with his hands curled into fists. Emma saw the way the veins popped and took a step back from him.

You must be wondering, was this really his last thought before his inevitable end? And my answer to that is, yes.

It didn't matter if he was hanged to death for his crimes or if he was stuck behind a bunch of bars for the rest of his life. It didn't matter, his life had never mattered. This side job of his was a mere hobby -- a thrill he got from seeing blood and being chased by cops. He could stop if it hadn't become a bad habit of his.

But his family was a different issue.

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[Truthfully, I hate talking about it. I mean, it's not every day you find out your adopted father is a famous serial killer and I really hated seeing how much my mother cried that night.

Almost made me want to kill him. Almost.]

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"H-How could you... Alastor how could you!" She screamed for the first time in her life. Alastor winces.

Felt his soul breaking, his demons were whimpering.

"No, darling. Please, you have to understand--,"

And they ran. With all the strength his mother could muster, she picked up her son and ran in the opposite direction. Alastor followed suit, not before getting another jab on the drunken man to make sure he wasn't breathing. His legs carried themselves to the rustling of Emma's feet on the grass. She was wearing her favourite house shoes, those yellow ones she used to dance with him in their shared living room.

She shouldn't be wearing that outside, he thought to himself. She shouldn't even be wearing her nightwear in the middle of the night. Does she not know how dangerous it is?

Alvin's as tall as she is, she could trip and fall, possibly injuring her back. They both could get hurt.

Damn it. Damn it. D̶̡̢͓̲̲̱̗̍̊̔̈̎̈̔ͅͅa̵̡̨̝̮̖̣̝̟͉͒̔̄́̄̾̚̚͘͝͠͝͝m̴̧̦̭̝͎̥̦̭̬̞̤̎n̴̦̼̊̍̈̈̀̅́̓̀̽͘͠͝ ̶̡͑̔͒͊̎̆̅̋̈́̈́̀̚͝ͅi̵̡̧͕̦̦̱͎̺̤̜̓̓͊͌͠ţ̴̱̦̰̲̻̖̦͛͐͂̒̏̾͋̎̑́