A homeless thief breaks into a house that has nothing worth stealing - except for the heart of a lonely man who is obsessed with time.
*****
Blake has been living on the streets for...
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-Blake-
"Dante Agosto..." Mr. Ellis sighed.
"Yes, sir," I nodded slowly.
Mr. Ellis, Julia's cousin, stared at me with tired eyes. It was six in the evening, and we were gathered in Julia's study. Mr. Ellis opened his laptop and started typing the name, Dante Agosto, in the search bar.
"Well, we can't go ask him if he knows you," Mr. Ellis said after a short moment.
"He's a criminal; he wouldn't even tell us the truth," Julia said with a worried look in her eyes.
"Mr. Agosto isn't telling anything to anyone anymore. He died in a shooting around five years ago. And... yeah. His real name was Dante Baker. He was born in England. And... Huh. I know that name. He worked with Bobby Cross, the drug dealer," Mr. Ellis spoke, staring at his screen.
"Bobby Cross," Julia muttered. "I've heard that name before..."
I grit my teeth together. I knew that name too. Robert "The Taxidermist" Cross was a doctor way before I was even born. The guy used to smuggle drugs inside dead people. That was how he got his nickname.
"So... Did you ever meet Dante Baker?" Mr. Ellis asked quietly like he was afraid that he would summon his spirit if he spoke his name too loudly.
"I don't think so... Why?" I asked.
"His son is here in the United States. And he is now the leader of his father's old gang. They're not Italian mafia, but their name is growing big, and it's growing fast. I know a few people who could help us, but this is getting harder than I thought," Mr. Ellis said and turned to look at me.
"You know their names. We have a lead now! How can it be harder to find out who Blake really is?" Julia asked.
"Because these people have been kidnapping kids for decades all across the world," Mr. Ellis said calmly. "We need DNA tests and hope we get lucky."
"How can you be so sure I was kidnapped?" I asked.
"I can't, but that's the first logical thing that came in my mind," Mr. Ellis shrugged. "These people are sick bastards. I wish the woman who raised you wasn't your real mother."
I wasn't listening to him. I was staring at the screen. There was a picture of Dante Baker. And a woman.
"That's her," I whispered. "That's my..."
Mr. Ellis and Julia turned to look at the screen too.
"Edna Wilkes," Mr. Ellis spoke her name. "Dante Baker's fiancée."
"They were supposed to get married," Julia read the article. "Before Dante was killed by an undercover cop. And..." she trailed off and turned to look at me timidly.
