James Rutton was an old bag of bones, who spent most of his time sitting on the porch or searching rocks for his own weird reasons. And I am his son. My name is Roger Rutton, and recently, my wife Tiana Eastwood, forced me to see my insane father.

 Not that I didn't love him. My goodness, I loved the old man, but his current obsession was finding 'The Ancient City of Evalia', which, by the way, didn't exist. That was age talking. So, I didn't really want to get involved. 

 "Son! Come quickly!" Were the first words he said when he saw me. No 'hi', no 'how are you?', no hugs, nothing. I really should have expected that. Ever since my mother, Patricia Rutton, passed away, he got very easily obsessed with weird and unreasonable things. Like a lost, ancient city. I guess.

 Either way, I followed him, through the house, and right out the other side. There, I saw tons of rocks, making some sort of pattern on the ground. Obviously, Dad had done this. Oh boy.

 "Dad, what-?"

 "I have been listening for this little 'tink' I hear every night and after placing a rock over wherever I hear it, TAH-DAH! Look at that! It's a symbol!"

 "... What is the symbol?" Honestly, I didn't really care. But- anything to humor Dad. Besides, he was old and would tire himself out, and then we could just talk like normal human beings. Hopefully. Oh god, I prayed.

 "Obviously it's a symbol!"

 "But what does the symbol mean?"

 "That's just it- I don't know! So it must mean something!"

 I sighed, very noticably so, and it made my dad frown. "You know..." He started, "Your mother... I did this even when she was around. But she didn't like it so I tried not to do it. But now that old woman is dead! I can do what I want, Roger!"

 Nothing coming out of his mouth surprised me anymore. It only baffled me that when he threw his arms up into the sky in victory, he didn't pull a muscle.

 "Been working out?" I changed the topic.

 "Plenty. Need to be fit to find all the clues, you know?"

 I nodded. My dad liked to pretend that he has been doing this 'research' his whole life. He hasn't. If he was, he was pretty damn good at hiding it. Except he wasn't good at hiding anything. Ever. "Never tell him a secret!" My mom would say, "He'll spill it like spoiled milk!" 

 "Say son... I was going to go to the gorge this week. Would you like to come?"

 If he actually meant that, I had to say yes. If I didn't, he would probably die. "Yes." I said, with no hesitation.

 "Good!" He replied with his cheesy, weak smile. "Then you can see some neat things! Manly things!"

 I rolled my eyes and smiled at him. "Of course, Dad. Can't wait."