Making the Call
Harry's heart was in his throat. He spent 30 minutes working up the courage to call. He had written a script for this, he'd rehearsed it a hundred times in his head, but the words all disappeared while he waited. It was a huge relief when the ringing stopped and directed him to leave a message.
“Hey, Dad...” Harry's voice quickly trailed off. He was so flooded with emotion that his throat threatened to close. He cleared his throat as quietly as he could, taking the phone away from his mouth for a second before trying to say more.
“I'm... I'm sorry I didn't reach out as soon as I could. I'm sorry.” He owed Norman an apology. He also owed it to himself. Both of them deserved closure. If Harry could say this—if he could just get the words out without breaking down into sobs—then they could move on with their lives. Put this chapter behind them.
“I just need you to know that I'm okay. I'm alive. I'm happy, and I hope you're okay and I want you to be happy too.”
There were several seconds of silence before Harry hung up. There was nothing else Harry could say without breaking down into obvious distress. Harry dropped the phone on his bed and curled up into a ball. He was going to cry until the tears ran dry. Then he would wash his face and put on a fake smile.
Harry had disobeyed the first and most important command that Tony had given him. Harry had contacted his dad, his biological dad. Harry didn't even know what to expect. How would Norman react to Harry's message? Would he even believe it? Did Harry want him to believe it?
It was too late to take it back. If Harry were smart, he'd ditch the phone. He should tell Tony what he'd done and beg to be forgiven for this moment of weakness. Tony would have to understand.
The worst thing to do would be to wait for Norman to call back. A call that might never come; if Norman didn't take this seriously, if Norman didn't care, then maybe Norman would choose to ignore it. For that exact reason, Harry kept the phone close, because he wanted to know if his father still cared about him after all these years.
Voicemail + Texting
It came completely unexpected and unwelcome. A phone call from an unknown number. Norman sent it straight to voicemail. There were a limited number of people who knew Norman's personal cell number, and all of those people were saved in Norman's contact list.
It was three hours later that Norman got around to listening to the stranger's message.
“Hey, Dad...” in an instant, Norman's heart leapt into his throat. He shut it off. He couldn't shut it off fast enough. “I'm... I'm sorry,” was said before Norman silenced it. He nearly threw his phone across the room.
“Hey, Dad,” was ringing in his ears. “Hey, Dad.” This was a sick joke. Someone was tormenting him. Again. It had happened too many times. Norman couldn't let himself believe this was true.
If it was true, if it was really Harry— his Harry—then how did the boy get this number?
Norman hadn't cried since Harry's last birthday. But now fresh tears ran down his face. This was cruel. Horrendous. Norman was going to track this man down and kill him. Slow and bloody. He didn't care if this was someone calling the wrong number. He was distraught.
Norman steeled himself before replaying the message from the beginning.
“Hey, Dad... I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't reach out as soon as I could. I'm sorry. I just need you to know that I'm okay. I'm alive. I'm happy, and I hope you're okay, and I want you to be happy too.”
Norman replayed it again. And again. He kept waiting for the trick. What was this young man trying to accomplish? What did he want? Why wasn't there a ransom demand? Where was the invitation to meet? Was he just toying with Norman's emotions? Was that it? Was that it?! This sick sadistic son of a bitch decided to impersonate his dead child just to fuck with his emotions?
But Norman didn't know for certain that Harry was dead. After 10 years, that was the only logical conclusion. Norman had offered a fortune for Harry's safe return. The only people that had come forward were con artists and children desperate to find a new home. Norman didn't rescind the promise of a reward, but no longer advertised it. He didn't talk about it publicly.
But... if there was any chance—even the slimmest of chances—that this was Harry, then Norman couldn't pass up the opportunity.
He forwarded the number to his in-house on-call private investigator with demands that he respond with as much information as he could find, ASAP. This was of maximum importance. Norman's greatest failing was not mobilizing the search for Harry fast enough when he initially disappeared. Too much time was lost. He would not make the same mistake twice.
Next, Norman tried returning the call. No answer.
Norman opened the text messaging app.
“I'm not okay. I haven't been happy since my son disappeared.”
Talk to Me
Harry was afraid to pick up the phone. He didn't dare. His heartbeat too fast in his chest, his mouth went dry, he couldn't breathe normally. What would he say? What could he say?
It stopped ringing and Harry immediately regretted his inability to overcome that fear. He wasn't ready to hear his father's voice. He didn't know if he would ever be ready. But nothing was worse than not knowing. And Harry had a desperate need to know what his father wanted to say to him.
A minute later, Harry felt the vibration and heard the short notification sound that indicated he had received a text message. Harry's hesitance was gone as he snatched up his phone and unlocked the screen.
“I'm not okay. I haven't been happy since my son disappeared.”
Those words cut deep. Harry felt them in his soul. His gut was poisoned with guilt.
“I'm sorry,” he wrote in response. “I didn't know. I thought you wanted me gone. He said you never loved me.”
Harry didn't have to wait long for a response.
“Harry was my whole world. I loved him more than anything.”
Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. His hands shook as he typed his response.
“Past tense?”
“I need to see proof that he's alive before I can believe you. Too many people have lied. I lost hope.”
Harry was warring with himself. Any proof of life could also be used as evidence of a crime.
Break
5... 10... 30 minutes passed with no response from ‘Harry.'
Norman went to bed, laid down on his back and closed his eyes. This was just a bad dream, he told himself. He wished he could wake up 10 years in the past and stop this from ever happening.
Finally, the response came. “It's complicated.” If Norman weren't so totally exhausted, then he would be enraged.
“It's fairly simple actually. You come to Oscorp and I have my lab techs run a DNA test.”
It took only a minute after sending for Norman to realize the potential problem with that.
“Unless you can't get away?”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and almost willed himself to cry even more. Could he get away from Tony? Did he want to get away? If Harry left, would he ever be allowed to see Tony again?
Norman was waiting for a response and Harry didn't want to leave him waiting for too long. This wasn't a good question to leave him hanging on.
“If I leave, I don't know if he'll take me back.” Maybe that wouldn't make sense to Norman. Harry didn't know how else to explain, but he felt compelled to make an effort. “This is my home now. I don't want to get away.”
He could imagine that this wasn't what Norman wanted to hear. Maybe Norman would even prefer it if Harry had to be rescued.
Reaction + Plea
Norman needed to remind himself that Harry had been a child when he was taken. Harry was still a child, even if he was technically an adult at this point (19, last December, had ten years already passed? A full decade since Harry's disappearance). The boy had been traumatized and groomed by his kidnapper.
If he was acting on the assumption that this was really Harry— his Harry, not another fake—then Norman needed to proceed carefully. If he pushed too hard too fast, then the boy might spook and disappear again—this time of his own volition. If he scared Harry, he might not want to see Norman ever again. Norman could lose him forever.
Norman tried very hard not to be angry at Harry. It isn't his fault. It isn't his fault.
“It will only take a couple minutes to collect a sample. Harry, please. I need to know.”
Fear and Regret
Harry was afraid to respond. He had the foresight to use a burner phone for this—mostly for the sake of keeping Tony from finding out about it—and hopefully that would make it difficult for Norman to use the number to find him.
The whole situation felt dangerous now. Harry was starting to panic. This had been a massive mistake. He should've known better. He should've known that his father wouldn't just accept this at face value. His father wasn't the type to let this sort of thing go!
The phone rang and Harry literally covered his face with a pillow until it stopped.
A minute later it alerted him of a new voicemail.
“Harry, is this really you? Please, answer the phone. Let me talk to you. Please, I can't— I can't lose you again. I know you're scared, but so am I. I'm afraid of opening myself up to being hurt again, but if there's even a chance that this is real—that my son is out there—I need to find him. I want nothing more than to hold him in my arms again, to tell him how much I love him. Not a day goes by that I haven't missed him.”
The guilt turned into a black hole, sucking up every other emotion Harry had left inside of him.
There was one more text message.
“PLEASE TALK TO ME”
Harry had to take several deep calming breaths. It took fifteen minutes to build up the courage.
This is it. This is it. You can do it.
You can do this.
Harry hit redial.
Norman picked up on the second ring.
“Harry?” He could hear the desperation in his father's voice.
“Hi, Dad.” It felt sheepish and lame. He didn't know what else to say. Harry decided that he was a horrid, awful person for putting Norman through this.
“You sound... so completely different from what I remember.” Norman was so sad.
“Yeah,” Harry said, regretfully having to inform his father, “I hit puberty.”
There were several seconds of agonizing silence before Norman spoke again.
“How long...” he trailed off.
“I don't know what you mean.”
“How long have you had a phone? How long have you had my number? How long have you had enough freedom to—”
How long had Harry waited to reach out? The answer made Harry queasy.
“I... I...” Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't want to admit how many opportunities he had, so he focused on only the first two questions. “I didn't have this number until about a week ago. I waited a few days to buy this phone.”
“But you already had a phone.”
“I've had phone privileges since I was twelve...err thirteen.” Harry was briefly confused for a second because of his adjusted birthday.
“Why didn't you call the police? Did you even try to escape?”
“It–it's complicated.”
“You said you don't want to get away.”
“He–he's been good to me. It was mostly only rough in the beginning. I promise, he never hurt me.”
Maybe it would've been better if he had. Which was not to say that Norman would wish suffering upon his son, but... if it would make him want to come home...
“Why did he take you?” Norman asked.
Harry was quiet.
Norman repeated the question with more intensity. “Why did he take you away from me?”
“Because...he said...” Harry sighed in defeat. “He said you didn't love me enough, you didn't deserve me, and I deserve better.”
“You believed him?” Norman's voice cracked. He was heartbroken.
“No... not at first, but... he kept telling me how you spent all your time working, how quickly you moved on, that it was business as usual, and...”
“How would he know any of that?” Norman's sudden surge of anger and frustration broke through to a moment of clarity as his mind circled back to the beginning of this conversation. “How did you get this number?” He asked with heavy emphasis.
“This number? You mean your phone number? I... I looked you up.”
“This is a private, unlisted number. Very few people have it.”
Harry's panic spiked. He hadn't known that. Hadn't considered it at all. JARVIS could look up virtually anyone.
“Who is he?” Norman asked. His tone was no longer gentle. His anger got the better of him. “Who took you, Harry?”
“I... I... I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. This was a mistake. This was a big mistake.” Harry hung up the phone. He was breathing hard.