Craig was gone. Just like his mother. Albert ran a hand through his hair, sighed. Who had been right? He could see him standing on the stairs above him, the sad, too adult look in his eyes as he laid out the options. His voice just so recently deepened with puberty and Albert couldn't get used to it. Couldn't get used to that deeper timbre.

"There are three options, dad. I can go to Children's Aid right now. I can stay with Joey while we sort this whole thing out. Or I can stay here and let you beat me,"

There was a curious lack of emotion in his voice, just a tiredness that made Albert sad. And he had swallowed and despite his protest, "I don't beat you," he had accepted it as true. He did. It sounded so awful, it sounded like some out of control drunk shaking his sobbing kid, the fist upraised and crashing down. But he had done it in these nice surroundings. He had thrown Craig to the cellar floor or the nice plush carpet and hit him and kicked him and he hadn't been drunk. Just out of control.

So he was gone and it was better for him, better for Craig. And he had to face certain facts. He was angry and violent. He was abusive. He closed his eyes, felt the headache building like storm clouds on a distant horizon. If Craig had not escaped his bedroom that day, if he had found his son in his room when he finally crashed through the door with the golf club what would have happened? He was a doctor, a surgeon, he knew what the results of blunt force trauma could be.

He was not angry and out of control without reasons. There were reasons and these deserved consideration. He was a single parent, his job was incredibly stressful. He could never show the stress at work. He had to be rigidly professional as he made life and death decisions. His wife had deserted him, had married another. His son disobeyed his simple rules. Craig was not without blame. Granted, he should not have hurt him. He should not have lost his temper to such a degree. But Craig was thoughtless and careless and blatantly disregarded so much of what he was told.

So, that was it. Craig was gone and that was how it was, and maybe it was for the best. Because if he had been in his room when he'd crashed through with the golf club he would have hurt him beyond repair. There was still time to make amends. Still time to change his ways, to let Craig know that he loved him and that he was sorry.

So there was the goal and that was to get Craig back. There was the other goal of becoming more in control, more rational when it came to parenting and discipline. How to accomplish this? What steps needed to be taken to restore things? Albert sighed, poured another cup of coffee and looked out his window at the gray day beyond. He missed the sound of the T.V. blaring some mindless cartoon show or violent movie that Craig favored. Did that have meaning? Craig liked the violent things on T.V., in video games. Maybe it was just because he was a boy or because of society or maybe it was because the violence on T.V. and in games was safe. It wouldn't make him double over in pain or cry or beg for it to stop. It wouldn't make him curl up on the cellar floor or raise his hands up to protect his face. Maybe.

So to be truthful with himself he had been wrong. He had been out of control and endangered his son's welfare. The very person he worked so hard for and worried so much about was the one he had hurt the most. Because who had ever hurt Craig more than he had? No one. That's who. He had wanted above all to be a good father and he had failed.

He disliked Joey as a matter of course. Hate may have been closer to the truth of his feelings. He hated Joey. But Joey was more even tempered, more compassionate. Joey would be able to deal with Craig's little lies and his tendency to disregard basic rules and not hit him. It was a good place for him to be in the mean time. While he was getting his head together, getting over his own tendencies.

Anger management, therapy, these would be places to start. He needed help. He loved his son but he couldn't help hurting him. It wasn't right. He'd get the help. He'd stick with it as doggedly as he had completed medical school. Single minded, focused. He could do those things, he was good at those things. He could set goals and reach them. He'd prove to Craig that he had changed, that he could come home. And things would be okay. Everything would be alright. He was sure of it.