Too Much To Hide || EDITING

c.2

      "Yes, I think you can." His tone is clipped and demanding. He cocks his head to the side and tries to peak into my corridor. I think he wants to come in. Shuddering behind the safety of my door, I know better than to follow his silent command.
     
      "Do enlighten me," I lift my chin up in order to sound confident. 

      It doesn't impress him at all. Rather, it deepens his frown and makes him step forward threateningly, making me almost close the door. My fear becomes evident in my grip and my eyes; they widen at his dangerous demeanor.

      "Let me in." The stranger orders coldly and places a tight grip on the handle outside. I gasp but hold my ground, still unsure.

      "Why should I?"

      "Let me see him," He says, softer in his speaking. Wait, is this the father? No, he could be talking about anyone.

      "Who are you looking for?" I question nonchalantly, in order to make sure we're talking about the same person. Or baby.
     
      "You know exactly who."

      His eyes are downcast now, suddenly turned melancholic at the mention of whoever he has in mind. If this really is the father, is he dangerous? At my accusatory stare, he stands a little straighter and all traces of his sadness ebb away as if they weren't even there. Talk about bipolar.

      Getting the gist that we are on the same page, I relent.

      "What are your intentions?" I whisper and try my best to hide my fear.

      "They aren't what you think they are." He answers quietly, remaining impassive.

      The silence that follows after is deafening. The increasing velocity of smattered raindrops echo in the driveway and around my front garden and it is the only thing in my head right now. 

      The man pushes the door a little to bring me back from my reverie.

      "Please," He urges, standing at the threshold. 

      My earlier alarm vanishes and I heave a deep sigh before falling back and pacing back to my brightly lit living room. Still feeling hostile, I sweep the still slumbering infant into my arms and hug him protectively against my chest. 

      The stranger appears from the hallway and blinks, adjusting himself to the brighter surrounding. My jaw drops at his appearance. My, oh my, he is the father.

      I don't even need proof. His long brown curls, dark and dampened by the rain, resemble the baby's. Under proper scrutiny, I notice his eyelashes are thick and long and to confirm my anxiety, the child also possesses the same. If only I could take a look at the child's eyes...

      At the man's strong stride, I immediately draw back, clutching the baby tighter. He freezes at my protective stance and maintains a considerable distance, his frown soon reappearing.

      "When did you find him?" He snaps.

      "Just an hour ago," I look down at his flushed face, chubby and peaceful.

      When I bring my gaze back to the stranger, he is watching us quietly, his head slightly tilted to one side as he regards my gestures. Scoffing, he shakes his head and begins to walk forward again. 

      "Give him to me."

      I frown and step back. "I don't think I'm willing to do that."

      "Who are you to come in between a father and his son?" The man growls and continues his approach, gaze blazing with fury at my rejection. 

      "I've been trusted with the child's welfare. I'm not going to risk it." 

      He stops just meters away from us. Only now did I get a full rendition of his features. Goodness, he is very young. Probably in his mid or late twenties. Of course the baby got his features. He, too, is very attractive. I swallow thickly and put on a scowl, holding the child away from him. 

      "Your trust isn't needed anymore. Give me my son." He says with underlying challenge laced in his words. My fear is singing in my blood but I push it away, concerned only for the tiny being in my arms. 

      "The note told me to stay away from his father... you." I say, trying to gauge his reaction. Momentarily, his eyes widen but mould into a frustrated frown again. He steps back and runs a hand through his hair, which stays in place in its wet condition.

      "And I'm presuming my son appeared at your doorstep with this so-called note?" He sneers, glaring daggers at me. 

      Controlling my fearful breathing, I point my chin at the coffee table, where I discarded the note. His gaze follows my direction and lunges towards the table, bringing the ripped cardboard to his eyes. They shoot back and forth as he reads it and his face becomes less and less pleasant by every word.

      He carelessly flips the cardboard behind him, letting it flutter deftly onto my carpet. 

      "That means you're coming with me too then." He groans, bringing a hand up to his forehead and rubbing it in exasperation. 

      "Excuse me?" My chest puffs up indignantly. "I don't think me or this baby will be going anywhere with you." 

      "Ever since he was born, he and the mother were in danger." He snarls as he comes up to my face. "And now that you've found him, your life is in equal danger." 

      I blanch. Shaking my head, I slap down my impending terror. "Your point?"

      The man leans forward and his gaze switches from me and the child.

      "My point," —he licks his lips— "is that I'm the only chance you have at surviving."