This Same Earth

Chapter Nine

En route to Houston

December 2009

“If you’re really from Texas-”

“Is that something people lie about? Being from Texas?”

“-then why don’t you have an accent?”

Beatrice turned to Giovanni. “Is he serious?”

He shrugged. “I suppose so,” he said, looking at Ben’s curious face. “We’ve never been, he only met Caspar and your grandmother when they came to New York to stay with him.”

They were sitting in the belly of Lorenzo’s old plane, which now was stripped of its more ostentatious details. It sported a decent library, two twin beds, and the same couches, though Giovanni had made sure they’d been recovered. When he had inherited Lorenzo’s converted cargo plane with the reinforced compartment that allowed him to fly, he had no idea it would be put to so much use.

Though he had spent much of the past year in New York and Los Angeles settling legal matters with Ben and preparing to reenter Beatrice’s life, he had spent the four years previous flying across Europe, Asia, Africa, and South America, rebuilding old alliances and searching unsuccessfully for her father.

“I didn’t know my grandmother and Caspar went to New York!”

He nodded. “They came in August when I…” When he had flown down to Cochamó, unable to resist seeing her. The farther he had pushed her to the back of his mind in their years apart, the more he had been able to successfully concentrate on preparing himself for the conflict he knew was coming.

But as the prospect of seeing her neared, he became almost desperate. Though Isabel had verbally lashed him, he hadn’t been able to resist lurking around the house to try to catch a glimpse of her or a hint of her scent.

As soon as he mentioned August, her eyes hardened, Giovanni knew she realized what he was talking about. Luckily, Ben was still chattering, so she wasn’t allowed to shut herself off like she so often did.

“Will there be cowboy hats? Do I get one? No, that would probably look stupid. But maybe…Gio, have you ever worn a cowboy hat?”

“I never wore a cowboy hat when I lived in Texas,” he said.

Ben and Beatrice looked between each other, their eyes glinting. “That wasn’t a ‘no,’” she said with a sly smile.

He shrugged, thinking back to the time he had spent in Argentina with Gustavo and Isabel in the late 1800s. “It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a cowboy hat.”

They both started laughing and Ben finally choked out. “You-a cowboy-Gio wore a cowboy hat!”

“I’m trying to imagine it, Ben, but I just can’t,” Beatrice snorted.

“It wasn’t a western hat-it was a gaucho-style hat. Everyone wore them.”

Her eyes lit up. “But they wore them to keep the sun out of their eyes, and unless I’m missing something, sun burns you to a crispy critter, so you wouldn’t need one because you wouldn’t be out during the day. Admit it, you liked the cowboy hat.”

“It wasn’t a cowboy hat.”

“I bet it was a black one,” Ben said.

Beatrice nodded. “Definitely black.”

He rolled his eyes and opened a book, attempting to ignore them, but in reality, his heart lightened to see them laughing together. Though he never said it, Ben had been dreading the idea of Beatrice disrupting the tentative family ties the two of them had formed.

“And you know, the sun thing isn’t totally true. He once chased me out of the house about twenty feet during the day when I was trying to run away in New York. He didn’t burst into flames, he just got really sunburned and a little smoky around the ears.”

She cocked an eyebrow at Giovanni. “Smoky ears, huh? I’ll have to remember that.”

“And then he fell asleep really hard after he had two bags of blood, and he kept saying your name over and-”

Like lightning, Giovanni reached across the small compartment and grabbed Ben’s hand. The boy slumped over, instantly asleep, and Giovanni sat back in his chair as Beatrice gaped at him.

“Did you just use mind voodoo to shut him up?”

“Yes.”

“That’s…”

She just kept gaping, seemingly unable to comprehend Ben’s slumbering form. He was now snoring, just a little.

“I gave him a very nice dream about flying,” he said with a shrug.

“That cannot be ethical, Gio.”

“Well, call me an unorthodox parent then, but do you really think we would both be here a year later, still un-maimed, if I couldn’t do that on occasion? He’s a twelve-year-old boy. Trust me, it’s for the best. He’ll wake up when we’re in Houston.”

She shook her head, then stood, crouched down over the sleeping boy and pulled him over her shoulder as she trundled him to one of the small beds.

He watched her in amusement; she was far stronger than he’d realized. When he pulled her in to kiss him on the boat the week before, he’d noticed the firmness of the muscles on her body. It felt foreign on her but not at all unpleasant.

“The judo has paid off. You’re far stronger than you look,” he said when she came back and sat on the couch across from him.

Beatrice nodded. “I told you, that new sensei has really been great. Between judo, jujitsu, and the tai chi I feel pretty well-rounded. I need to find a shooting class, though.”

He smiled. “Gustavo mentioned that you were quite proficient with a rifle. He enjoyed shooting with you last summer. And the judo and jujitsu are good self-defense choices for you with your size.”

“That was the idea. I didn’t like feeling helpless.”

His heart clenched at the thought of his own failure to protect her five years before. “I understand.”

“I very much doubt that,” she muttered.

“Do you?” he asked with a flash of irritation. “Do you forget that I was held against my will for over ten years as a human? That, even as a vampire, I was subject to a far more powerful sire. One who could easily overcome me, no matter how strong I was?”

Her mouth fell open as she stared at him in the low light of the plane. “I forgot. Sorry.”

He looked back down at his book. “I have…a well of regret over what I have put you through that I doubt you’ll ever understand, Beatrice.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I am grateful you are now better able to protect yourself. It has given you confidence you lacked.”

“Professor voice,” she muttered under her breath.

He smirked at her and looked until she met his gaze. Then he allowed his eyes to travel suggestively down her body and back up until he met her eyes, which were heated with desire.

“You are no longer a girl,” he murmured. “And I was never your professor.”

“You just had the arrogance of one. Still do.”

With lightning speed, he came to kneel between her knees. He could hear her sharp inhalation and the sudden rush of her pulse. Looking up, he met her dark eyes.

“You think I’m arrogant?”

“I know you are,” she said breathlessly.

“Then what would you have me do, tesoro?”

She blinked and he saw her gaze drop to his mouth. “Wh-what?”

“Should I forget five hundred years of experience killing my enemies and protecting those who belong to me so that your modern sensibilities are not harmed?”

She was still looking at his mouth, and he forced himself not to smirk.

“Would you have me confer with you before every move as if I was a mere boy looking for approval?”

“No, I mean-”

“You called all the shots in your relationship with that human, didn’t you?”

He knew he had made a mistake bringing up Mano as soon as she twisted her mouth into a sneer.

“Yeah, I did. And he knew just how to make me happy.”

He darted back to his side of the plane and draped his arm over the back of the couch. “Did he? Did he really?”

She paled and looked away from him, staring at the dark window over his shoulder and the stars that winked out.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I shall do my utmost to consult with you on future matters of strategy and defense when it pertains to you.”

“Good.”

“But I reserve the right to overrule you based on my experience and superior knowledge of the immortal world.”

“Bossy.”

“Mortal.”

They glared at each other in silent struggle for a few minutes before she walked to the other bed in the cabin and lay down, turning her back to him as she fell asleep. Giovanni watched for hours, memorizing the sound of her soft breath, steady heartbeat, and the small unintelligible murmurs that comforted him. He glanced at Ben and felt his dormant heart beat once as he remembered the interrogation of Lorenzo’s man in Los Angeles.

“He knows about your boy, di Spada, and your human woman. He still has many friends,” the shriveled vampire had gloated as his limbs slowly charred under Giovanni’s grip. “You’ll never find all of them before he kills your people.”

“Is that so? Tell me more, Pirro. How did you escape the massacre on Lorenzo’s island? Were you hiding in a corner? Did you run away from the fight?”

The small dark vampire grinned before another burst of flame from Giovanni’s hands caused him to arch his back in agony.

“How-how does it-” He hissed, overcome with agony.

“The fire?” Giovanni leaned closer to the assassin, almost embracing the vampire as his lips murmured in his ear. “I’ve sent my fire through your dry veins, you fool. It’s a slow burn. One that will eat you from the inside out.” He gripped Pirro’s arms more tightly, and he could see Baojia’s approving nod from over the assassin’s shoulder. “I’ll stop it if you tell me who the traitor is on this boat.”

“I don’t know,” he choked. “It burns. He didn’t tell me how-”

“-badly I could hurt you? No, he likes to leave that part out because it makes him look weak, Pirro.” Giovanni stepped away, keeping a hand on the vampire’s shoulder and forcing the fire a little further into his veins. The gashes Giovanni had opened on the vampire’s arms, face and abdomen continued to leak the sludge that was the last of his dehydrated blood. Still, he pushed his amnis onto the assassin and forced the silent fire deep into the dry body in front of him.

“Tell me,” he said again. “Who is working for Lorenzo? Who gave you the information about the human diver?”

“Does it bother you that your woman keeps a lover, di Spada? Does it-” The vampire let loose a bloodcurdling scream as the fire reached his heart, which only tried to pump feverishly as the vampire curled in pain. Giovanni could hear the slow churning as it tried to move the bloody sludge through Pirro’s body, which only pushed the burning further.

“Tell me,” he murmured in the man’s ear, “and I will kill you quickly.”

“I don’t know,” Pirro finally croaked out of his dusty throat. Giovanni thought he could see a faint puff of smoke as the vampire spoke.

“I don’t believe you.” He hit him with another wave of fire, and the smoke poured out of the assassin’s scream.

“I don’t know!” he shrieked. “He was in Tripoli three months ago. We all knew he was meeting with the master, but none of us saw him.”

Giovanni released the vampire’s shoulder and allowed him to slump to the ground, where he curled into a small, smoking ball of pain.

“Tripoli?” he mused to Baojia.

The stoic vampire nodded. “I’ll be able to find out who was traveling then. It’s enough.”

“Are you sure? I’m happy to take the time for further questioning.”

Pirro whimpered on the floor, delirious from pain.

“We’ve been busy for quite some time. Do you know how much my father wants your human?” Baojia shook his head. “He knows you’re going to take her soon. How hard do you think he’s trying to persuade her to join us right now.”

Giovanni’s eyes darted up, as if he could see through the steel layers of the ship to the top deck where he had left Beatrice. He looked back to Ernesto’s enforcer. “Why do you want her? Why is he so set on having her in his family?”

Baojia shrugged. “I have watched her these years-” The vampire was cut off by Giovanni’s snarl. “-and I understand her appeal. She has a certain type of perception that is rare. Her eyes see through the layers of things, don’t they? That is a very valuable trait.”

Giovanni’s lips curled. “She is mine.”

The enforcer’s eyes locked with his. “Is she? Really? I think Beatrice De Novo belongs to no one but herself, di Spada, no matter who may taste her blood.”

A feral sound crawled up from his throat and he reached down to pick up Lorenzo’s assassin, pummeling him until he was a lump of smoking flesh.

“Do you have any more use for him?” he asked Baojia.

The vampire frowned and shook his head, so Giovanni threw the lump to the floor, where it was quickly engulfed in blue flames that turned the body to ash. Baojia opened the doors leading to the small balcony and turned on a fan that slowly sucked the remains of Lorenzo’s assassin into the wet night air.

Houston, Texas

Christmas Eve 2009

“Da nobis quæsumus Dómine Deus noster: ut qui Navitátem Dómini nostri Jesu Christi mystériis nos frequentáre gaudémus; dignis conversatiónibus ad ejus mereámur perveníre consórtium. Qui tecum vivit et regnat in unitáte Spíritus Sancti, Deus, per ómnia sæcula sæculórum. Amen.”

The familiar Latin of the priest poured over him like a balm as he sat next to Ben and Beatrice late on Christmas Eve. Isadora had insisted that the five of them celebrate midnight mass together, and Giovanni surprised himself by asking if there was one being celebrated anywhere in the old language.

He sat with his arm around Ben, who had slumped to the side in exhaustion, and his gaze rested on Beatrice’s profile as she watched the priest deliver the last of the liturgy. Giovanni flashed back to the many human days he’d spent with his uncle listening to the same words spoken by ancient men who had taken the same vows as the young Irish priest standing in front of him.

It was good to remember that even some things in the human world did not change.

He may not have practiced regularly, but he had been Catholic in his human life, and in the deepest part of himself, Giovanni still considered it a part of his identity. There was little doubt in his mind that in two hundred years, he could sit in another church, thousands of miles away from this one, and listen to the same words spoken in a slightly different accent.

He heard the last of the ancient mass ring through in the stone church, and he gently shook Ben awake.

“Is it over?” he whispered.

“Yes, time to go home.”

“It feels like home, even without a basketball hoop,” he muttered. “That’s kind of weird, huh?”

He smiled and mussed Ben’s hair as the boy stood. “No. I don’t think so. Home is about people.” He saw Beatrice glance at him and knew she had heard him.

Caspar, Isadora, Beatrice, Ben, and Giovanni all drove back to the house in River Oaks where the humans quickly retired for the night. He went to the library and started a fire, content to sit on the couch and enjoy the quiet with Doyle, who was curled onto a chair. If he concentrated, he could still smell Beatrice’s scent that seemed to linger everywhere.

The longer he concentrated, the stronger it grew until he realized he was ignoring the sound of quiet steps coming down the hall.

Beatrice entered the room, barefaced and beautiful, looking very young as she stood in the doorway. She was wearing an old Houston University t-shirt and what he thought might have been a pair of his boxers he’d left at the house years ago. He couldn’t stop the smile that came to his face when he saw her.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she murmured before she walked over to the couch and lay down next to him, resting her head on his thigh as she stared into the fire with sleepy eyes. “I still miss you, even though I’m mad at you.”

“I’ll wear you down eventually.”

“You do have forever, don’t you?”

But you don’t, he thought. “I can be patient. I told you to take as long as you need.”

She continued to speak, unguarded in her exhaustion. “What if it takes a long time? What if I’m old and wrinkled before I love you again?”

A soft smile crossed his face. “I sincerely hope it doesn’t take that long…” His hand lifted to stroke her hair and he could feel her begin to drift again. “But your beauty is not the reason I love you, Beatrice, even though it takes my breath away at times,” he whispered as he watched the firelight dance across her skin.

“You don’t breathe. Not that hard to take your breath away,” she said, slowly blinking longer and longer as she stared at the fire.

“Harder than you might think. Sleep, tesoro.”

And she did.

Early the next morning, he could hear Ben’s shrieks as the boy woke for his first real Christmas. He smiled in satisfaction before the day pulled him under.

When he woke and left the small room he slept in, he could still hear Ben’s incessant chatter. He dressed in a pair of grey slacks and a red shirt he remembered Beatrice complimenting before he made his way downstairs.

The changes to the Houston house were subtle but perfectly reflected Isadora’s tastes. She and Caspar had lived at the house since Beatrice had moved to Los Angeles, and both of them seemed exceedingly happy. Though it was late in life, Caspar finally seemed to have found the right woman for him.

“Merry Christmas,” he said to Beatrice’s grandmother when he saw her on the second floor landing. She was arranging a vase of flowers, and she turned to smile at him.

“Merry Christmas, Gio! We’ve missed you today. Especially Ben; he’s so excited.” She stood on her tiptoes, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Where is everyone?” he asked politely, though he could already hear the television in the living room. Isadora had never quite accustomed herself to his preternatural senses the way Beatrice had.

“Oh, they’re doing their awful Christmas horror movie marathon again. Only this time, Ben is an enthusiastic participant. It’s quieter than normal without Carwyn this year.”

He smiled at the reminder that their lives had moved forward without him. “He’s dealing with some complications at home, I believe. He apologized for not making it for the holidays.”

“I know he has a large family. Is everything all right?”

That was an excellent question, he thought. The priest had been uncharacteristically close-mouthed for the past couple of months, and Giovanni was beginning to worry.

“I’ll ask him tonight. We’ve scheduled a call later.”

He left Isadora humming as he walked downstairs and rushed into the living room at vampire speed, scooping Beatrice up and setting her on his lap before she could take a breath.

“Oh!” she gasped before she laughed. “I’ll never get used to that.”

Her mood was lighter; he could tell by the ease around her eyes and the quick tilt of her smile. “Merry Christmas, Beatrice.”

“Gio,” Ben bounced up and down next to him. “Cas and Isadora got me an iPod, and B got me an electric scooter, and there’s a whole bunch more presents under the tree, too. And a lot of them are for you!”

Ben may have been a very streetwise twelve, but this morning, Giovanni thought he looked every bit the child he should have been for so many years. Then his words registered, and he turned to Beatrice, tugging her hair as she sat on his lap.

“An electric scooter?”

She grinned and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “He’ll be fine, old man. I’ll teach him to ride it. Just be glad it’s not a dirt bike.”

“A dirt bike?” Ben shouted in excitement. “I want a dirt bike!”

“If I could get headaches, I would have one right now. Thank you. I’ll never hear the end of this.”

“So stuffy,” she muttered, but she leaned back into his chest and let him wrap his arms around her waist. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the old movie on the screen.

“Is this…”

“Horror of Dracula, 1958. I thought it was appropriate. Ben hadn’t seen it.”

“You have a sick sense of humor.”

“But the vampires in this one have British accents. It’s practically highbrow.” She stared raptly at the screen and only wiggled in his lap when he pinched her waist. He bit back a groan before he leaned slightly closer to her neck, realizing he needed to feed if he was going to be this close to her. His fang pierced his lip, and he tried to shift in his seat.

“Tesoro,” he said quietly. “I need to go.”

“Why?” she asked absently.

He cleared his throat and waited for her to look at him. When she did, he let his fangs peek out from behind his lips and felt her pulse pick up.

“I need to feed.” He leaned close. “Unless you’re offering, in which case I’d be happy to go upstairs,” he said with a soft growl.

She hesitated. “Do you have bagged blood here?”

He was tempted to lie but didn’t. Instead, he nodded and tried to discern whether it was wishful thinking that he saw a hint of disappointment in her eyes. She moved off his lap, and he quickly retreated from her presence to feed himself from the bagged blood in the refrigerator.

An hour later, and despite his meal, he was still eyeing her neck as they opened presents around the Christmas tree.

“Sweet! Another video game!”

True to Ben’s fantasies, the adults in the room had showered the boy with gifts. Beatrice gave him his first computer, and she assured Giovanni she would teach him to use it responsibly. Caspar supplied the boy with a wealth of comic books, video games, and movies; while Isadora gave him enough dress clothes to make Ben shudder.

None of it seemed to fascinate Ben like the computer, and Giovanni stared in pleasure as the boy and Beatrice huddled over it while she unlocked the mysteries Giovanni couldn’t.

“I’d say you look like you want to eat her alive, my friend, but I think it’s much more serious than that,” Caspar said quietly, his eyes following Giovanni’s as he sat next to him on the couch.

“Look at them. Look how beautiful they are,” he murmured as he watched their dark heads lean toward each other.

He saw Caspar smile.

“She’s so good for you. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you this happy.”

“I’d be happier if she returned my affections.”

Caspar snorted. “Don’t be blind. She’s unsure, not indifferent.”

He cocked an eyebrow at his old friend. “Aren’t I being patient?”

“Mostly. What did you get her for Christmas? I didn’t see a present from you.”

“None of your business, you brat.”

Caspar chuckled and nodded toward Ben. “It’s so odd, to see you with another child. Was I anything like that?”

Giovanni frowned. “Yes and no. Some things are the same, but he’s much more independent than you were.”

“That makes sense.”

“And much more canny, which is both good and bad.”

“Yes, I can see that, as well. The two of you are much easier around each other than you were last summer. Has B helped?”

He looked at her, and her eyes lifted to his. She offered him a small wink and a smile before she turned back to Ben.

“Yes, Beatrice has helped.” Everything.

After the rest of the house had gone to bed, they kept each other company in the library, waiting for Carwyn’s expected phone call.

“I never gave you your present, tesoro. Do you want it now?”

She smiled. “I wondered. I have one for you, too.”

Giovanni pulled out a large box wrapped in burgundy paper from under the side table and handed it to her. She opened it and pulled out a carefully packed book box with two small volumes inside. She looked at the spine in delight.

“Persuasion?”

“First American edition, 1832. I found it in Paris a few years ago and thought you might enjoy it. I remember you eyeing my Austen the first time you were here.”

She carefully pulled the first volume from its original book box and opened it carefully. “It’s wonderful, Gio. Thank you.” She smiled again. “Persuasion, huh?”

He shrugged and smirked. “It seemed appropriate. There’s another small item in there, as well.”

She closed the book, carefully packing it away before she looked into the box again and pulled out a small leather bag. She opened it, and a familiar brass key fell into her hand.

She blinked. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Well, you like that house as much as I do, so there’s your key.”

“You’re giving me the…the Cochamó house?”

He snorted. “You still have to share it with me. That’s my favorite home, but your name is on the deed, so to speak. And Gustavo and Isabel know if anything ever happens to me-”

“Nothing better happen to you.”

“-the house is yours, Beatrice. It’s your house, too. You can go whenever you want to now.”

He couldn’t read the expression on her face until she looked up and there were tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I love both my presents, but this one especially.”

“You’re welcome.”

She leaned over to him and kissed his cheek. He left his arms lying across the back of the couch so he didn’t grab her and cart her off to his room.

“So,” he asked, clearing his throat. “Where’s my present?”

“You know, you’re not really bouncing around like Ben was.”

He grinned and bounced in his seat just a little, making her laugh uproariously before she stood.

“Hold on; it’s in my room. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.”

Giovanni stared into the fire and tried to imagine her lying in their bed at Cochamó, her smooth skin lit by candlelight. He wondered when he’d be able to persuade her to go with him again. He wanted to go in the summer with her, so she could see the waterfalls running and the meadows filled with wildflowers. They were beautiful at night, though she would be able to enjoy them during the day, as well.

“Okay,” she called from the hall. “I don’t have it wrapped, so close your eyes.”

He smiled and closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, she would be modeling lingerie…or just skin, but he had a feeling that was wishful thinking. Instead, he heard her fumbling with something that sounded rather large.

“Okay, open.”

He opened his eyes to see a large framed color photograph. It was his favorite waterfall in Cochamó, the midday sun reflecting off the mist and scattering rainbows. He smiled when he recognized it and looked up to see her waiting expectantly.

“I thought you could put it in your room here to go with your picture of Florence.” She set it down and propped it against the chair nearest to the door. “And I got you a case of your favorite scotch, too. I called Gavin last week-”

She was cut off when he pulled her into his lap and kissed her. Beatrice tensed for a moment before she relaxed and sank into his arms. She gave a small sigh as he caressed her mouth, and she finally seemed to melt in his arms. His hands grasped her waist as she straddled him and met each surge with corresponding need. Her arms twined around his neck to pull him closer, and his hands reached up her shoulders, pressing their bodies together.

“Thank you,” he murmured against her mouth before his lips left hers to travel down her neck, nibbling in strategic places. “I love the picture.”

“You sure it’s not the scotch?” she asked breathlessly as she ran her hands through his hair and pulled his head into the crook of her neck.

“Positive. It’s perfect. You’re perfect,” he said against her skin.

“I’m so far from perfect it’s laughable.”

“I love that you make me laugh.”

“And I’m still kind of mad at you.”

“I’m calling a Christmas truce. If soldiers in battle can do it, it shouldn’t be that much of a stretch for us.” His fingers lifted the back of her shirt and she shuddered as his hands caressed the skin at the small of her back.

He felt the normal buzz of electricity grow as his blood began to move through his veins and his fangs descended. He ignored his reaction and continued to explore the soft skin around her collarbone as her hands stroked his neck.

“Gio…”

“Let’s not fight,” he whispered. “Just for a little while.”

“But, Gio-”

He cut her off with a deeper kiss. Giovanni felt her moan and move over him, and he became almost lightheaded with desire.

She finally grasped his shoulders and pushed back.

“Oh, tesoro,” he groaned as his head fell to her shoulder. “Why are you-”

“The phone,” she said breathlessly, “is ringing.”

“Why?”

She snorted and grinned at him. “Carwyn, remember?”

“Damn that priest,” he muttered. “I’m going to burn his Hawaiian shirts the next time I see him.”

She grinned and stood. “Well, I’m going to answer the phone.”

He slouched in the sofa, closing his eyes while she went to answer the phone.

“Carwyn.” He heard her laugh. “You better lock up your Hawaiian-what? What are you-”

She gasped as he rushed to the phone and grabbed it out of her hand.

“-need to talk to Gio immediately. I can’t-”

“I’m here,” he said to his friend.

He’d heard the panic in his old friend’s voice from across the room. His heartbeat sped in anticipation of danger. Carwyn hadn’t panicked in two hundred years.

“I need you here, Giovanni di Spada. I need you in Ireland. It’s Ioan…my son is missing.”