Who?

He walked smoothly down the street, the concrete below him just waves rolling beneath his feet. Who was he? Many asked. No one ever dared to answer, not just because they did not know the answer. He hid his face in the shadows of an old fedora of which no one knew where it came. His finely tailored suit sat comfortably on the shoulders of a ghost. 

Who?

Maybe he has come to rob the town of it's wealth, the few nervous folk would whisper. Maybe it is a person, and not wealth that he sought, the few hopefuls would whisper. The town had to know; needed to know, not that they ever would. 

The man paused at an alley way, the town behind his back, watching him. He turned and gave a brief smile, the glint of his alabaster teeth fighting in contrast with the shadow that covered those secretive eyes of his. He wanted them to be aware that he knew, even if they did not. He knew they were watching, listening, stalking. He left them there, that sunny, summer afternoon, on the sidewalks of a small town no one knew about. He knew it all and that is why they could know nothing. 

Who? 

The following week was chaos. The man had been forgotten, but what remained in his wake had not been. He did not come to take money or find someone. No, he came for a different purpose completely. It was not obvious at first, but the slight shift in the air told me what had happened. 

How could he do it? To those poor children. To my children.