Blood is Thicker

Adam nodded and with one sweeping motion he opens the door and allows Adam to walk in. He takes three steps into the dark blue painted room and Mr. Ames closed the door behind him and walks away silently without a word. The room seemed to be circular, almost 36 feet across except for the area near the door. The night sky shown through large windows on the other end of the room, and through a large glass domed ceiling, and outside there was a small porch which seemed to be made of white marble. The entire room had a large ledge which ran around it where small semicircles of light gave indications of the size and shape of the room. Suddenly he noticed a movement in the chair at the other end of the table, and he looked hard as though his eyes could capture the source of it. Focusing on the chair there was a dark shape, like a shadow but not a human shadow.
Suddenly a thought came into his head, more like spoken words and he responds:
“I’m fine.” He hears himself reply feeling his legs become weak. Then the shock of realizing that he might be talking to himself like someone insane, or maybe a voice in his head. Then with warning the shadow across the room seemed to dissolve and the air seemed to form waves like a mirage, but he knew he wasn’t in a desert. After a few seconds the waves grow tighter and tighter until they form a human shape, then a face forms details. He looks at the table as he finds himself drawn to sit down at the first chair he comes to. The waves form hands, wrists arms then looking directly ahead a torso and a complete upper and lower body. Before he can utter one word or even respond to move toward the door, a man stands before him, roughly his own age with almost the same features as he knows himself to have except he has darker skin and a thinner build. Adam tries to look into his eyes which he noticed have not blinked once then in a low yet commanding voice he speaks:
“Hello son.”
Adam stares at the figure before him; he is wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket and a pair of blue jeans. Underneath the jacket he can see a long sleeved white cotton shirt; his hair is done like a short afro that is only two inches tall. His hands are yet well- muscled as though he had studied martial arts for years. On his left wrist was an expensive gold-framed watch with three dials on it and gold numerals on its black face. His face was almost like his own except much thinner, darker and hardened. His dark brown eyes seemed to take on a sparkle of their own although he had never seen a black man with eyes so intense. His eyebrows were moderately bushy and there was not a hint of grey anywhere in any of his hair. He had not one worry line or wrinkle, so he assumed that the man was either in his late teens or early 20’s. His face was shaved clean except for a thin mustache which seemed to perch on his upper lip like a long black caterpillar; in fact there were even scars from a few pimples which seemed to have healed up a month or so earlier.
“I said: Hello son.” He repeated this time slightly louder as though he were expecting an answer.
“What do you mean?” Adam said cautiously looking at the man in front of him.
“Because I am your father, I’m Adam Davis.”
“That’s impossible.” Adam says trying to look at the side of the man’s face in an automatic response he has always given.
“Nothing is impossible Adam; you should’ve learned that in school.”