He watched as his father turned around to face him. A dangerous look was etched into his aging face, making him look older.

"Listen boy, and listen well. I told you exactly who to kill, and you ended up shooting the wrong guy in the shoulder. Richard Knolls. He's the guy you want to shoot. Get. Rid. Of. Him." The man clenched his teeth together as he shook the newspaper in his son's face. "George Fredericks is my guy, my insider. You are teetering on the edge of my good side. You want to stay on my good side."

The boy reluctantly nodded his agreement.

"Use your words, boy. Words," his father growled.

"Of course father. I'm always on your side. It was just a stray bullet, nothing serious," consoled the son. He didn't want his father to be angry. It was easier to agree with everything and do as he was told.

"Good," he said, before walking out of the living room.

The boy sighed in relief. His father terrified him. He sunk into the couch cushions and thought about his dilemma.

His father wanted Richard Knolls dead to clear the way for George Fredericks.

He knew that if that happened, there would be no hope left. If that happened there would be no good left. Evil would take over.

The boy decided that he couldn't wait any longer. George Fredericks needed to be gone, and he was the one that was going to do it. Even if it meant facing the wrath of his father.

His father, the Imposter.

()()()

It was dinner time. The boy and his parents sat around an old wooden dining table. Awkwardness sat in the air like a heavy fog. He picked at his food and pushed it around his plate.

The Imposter wiped his mouth off on his napkin.

"Honey, would you mind? I would like to talk to our son, alone," he asked his wife.

The small woman got up from the table. "Of course. I'll be in the living room if you need me," she said.

The father and son waited for the TV to turn on before speaking. The boy's mother didn't know about her husband's secret. Nor did she know about her son's.

The father scowled. "Have you done it yet?"

"It's only been two days since the first try. Everyone's still on guard. I'll get it done, eventually," he assured.

"I need it to be done now."

"Why don't you do it yourself then?" he challenged. "I'm obviously not fast enough for you." The boy waved his hands in the air, showing his exasperation.

The father leaned across the table, staring directly at his son. The boy could see each pockmark and scar on his father's face.

"You are a villain. And it is time for you to do something. Something bad. My son will not be another person sitting in a cubicle behind a desk. He will be the person in charge. You will embrace my legacy and live it. I can't do it; you have to," ranted his father. The man's eyes lit up with passion as he spoke.

The boy was in shock. Never had his father been so passionate about something.

"I've had my glory days. Now it's your turn," he said. The Imposter leaned back into his chair with a grin etched into his face.

The boy didn't know what to say. He simply got up and went to his room.

He didn't want to be evil.

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