Obsession – a picture prompt story

Written in response to Afterwards picture prompts No.4. Find the prompts and links to other stories here.

I knew if I was persistent, he’d show up. I wished Henry was with me, even if it was just to rub his face in it and show him I’d been right. But he’d left. It must have been two years ago now, maybe four.

He’d called it an obsession. All I wanted was the truth. And in the end, it had come to a waiting game, There had been stories about my grandfather, plenty of stories; most of them didn’t paint him in the best light. I’d never known him. He’d left after my father died and he’d not stayed in contact. I was too young to remember either of them.

But then as I grew up, I followed in their footsteps. Nature rather than nurture I suppose. Science ran in my blood. As I got to university, I started to find out more about my grandfather. I had been surprised to find everyone in academia knew him. Until he just upped and left. Grief they said. Most of them.

It took time to track him down but I’d been too late. His address was a cemetery. But someone had cared. Someone had brought him flowers and kept it tidy. I delved into my grandfather’s research, poured over his schematics. Henry had said they wouldn’t work – fundamental flaws. But Henry could never see the art in science, the music. Where he saw lines and numbers, I saw a pattern, a tune, something that contained nuance and secrets. That’s when I realised what had really happened.

But it had taken time, and patience. The figure that headed to the graveside was tall and imposing, especially in the dull twilight. A long coat tried to hide the size of the man, and the hood completely hid the head. It was quiet but you could still make out the sounds of the pistons, the still whirr and hiss of the machines running the body. I stayed low, waiting until the figure was stood at the stone, its back turned to me. My grandfather had died seven years ago but here he was still working. Perhaps he could maintain himself, ordering parts wasn’t a problem in the internet age. But it must have been lonely. Just like me. Henry had gone. So had everyone else. Panic rose in my throat for a second. Perhaps he would run, shun me as Grandfather had.

The figure began to turn. He caught sight of me and froze. It’s lights in the eye components flashed for a second. Was it recognition? He was a work of art. A whole metal body crafted for him, a new home.

“Hello Father.”