chapter 8

THE WIND WAS blowing wildly, seeming almost exuberant as it flew past the city lights. The brightly lit buildings were infinitesimal from where they stood at a distance.

Raymond Black took long strides across the road, away from the taxi he had taken here, his son's little ones hurrying to keep up with him.

Raymond was known for being immaculate. His clean-shaven face and sharp features added to the professionality he exuded. Although severe looking, Raymond was the kindest person you could ever be acquainted with. His son knew that better than anyone did.

Walking through the Shade estate, Raymond held onto his son's little hand securely even though there were no people on the sidewalk lining the mansion that he could get lost in between.

The little boy was excited to say the least. He wouldn't stop with the questions.

"What are you going to do there, dad?" he asked, curiosity glinting in his bright blue eyes.

Even though it was his son’s sixth question in the past minute, Raymond just put on a patient smile and ducked his head to look at his son with the fondness only a father could muster. "Just something business related."

The boy nodded to himself—almost animatedly. It wasn't long before they reached the mansion.

Calling it a mansion seemed to be an understatement.

The majestic and white pillars rose to an intimidating height. Potted plants and meticulously cut bushes adorned the place—the spiked edges of the conifers looking almost as lethal as the black-clad guards that were scattered through the area. Everything was white, everything except for the red carpet that stretched out to the entrance as a dramatic entrance.

There was something entrancing and alluring about the place—like a siren.

The boy suddenly felt very small.

The inside was even more marvellous. Although, he couldn't get a good look because he was being whisked away by his father in the direction of a large room.

Through the open oak doors, the boy saw a tall man standing with his back facing him. He was standing erect, his disposition central.

"Stay right here, Justin," Raymond told his son firmly, giving his hand a slight, reassuring squeeze.

The boy obeyed and sat on the wooden bench outside the room, patiently waiting for his father to return.

After a while, he became curious. He wandered the hallways, making sure to remember the path he took, and opened random doors, curious to see what lay on the other side.

After opening many doors and finding a life size figure of one of the Powerpuff Girls behind one, he was bored. He returned to where his father was, wanting to go back home to his sister and mother.

When he heard shouting, curiosity got the best of him.

He walked in; his presence hidden by the rows of chairs that were arranged in the room.

"They're innocent people, Christopher!" he saw his father exclaim, throwing his arms in the air. His face was a picture of pure rage.

The man clenched his jaw. "This is the only way," he said steelily.

"No. No, it isn't," his father's face had morphed into a determined one. "I'm sorry, Christopher, but I am going to stop you. I'm going to tell the authorities. This can’t—"

"I am sorry, too," the man, Christopher, said, cutting Raymond off, "that it has come to this."

The sound of a gunshot rang through the air.

Everything happened so fast that the little boy couldn't process it.

His father's limp body fell to the floor, his red blood pooling around his head like a halo of the doomed. The red was a painful contrast to the white marble floor.

His fall left to plain sight, Christopher, lowering his gun with no trace of remorse or guilt on his face.

The boy staggered back; the heinous scene now completely comprehended. He bumped right into one of the chairs, knocking them back, the small sound as loud as an explosion in the now quiet room.

"Who's there?" Christopher's voice boomed.

The boy ran.

"Get him!" he heard a voice behind him, no doubt addressing the guards stationed nearby.

The boy ran a corner and looked back, in the process bumping into someone.

Momentary panic crept into the him. He relaxed when he saw that it was a girl, almost the same age as him.

Her hair was a fiery red, reaching down till her shoulders. It was longer on one side. Her wide green eyes entranced him. Freckles delicately dusted her nose. She stared back with a startled expression on her face.

The boy snapped out of it when he heard hurried voices from the corner which he had turned.

The girl seemed to understand what was happening. She quickly grabbed the boy by the hand and shoved him into a nearby supplies cupboard. The boy was too shocked to react to what she had done. Her face was burned into his memory.

There was nothing but darkness around where he stood.

"Autumn?" the unmistakable voice of Christopher Shade sounded outside.

"I heard a sound, daddy," the voice of the girl said.

"It was nothing, honey," Christopher said. "Did you see a boy anywhere around here?"

The boy's blood ran cold.

Would she tell? Would she lie to her father?

"No, daddy," she said to his relief.

"Okay, then."

Retreating footsteps made the boy finally come out.

The girl looked at him again. "Run. Quickly. Before they find you," she told him.

"Why did you help me?" he asked, befuddled.

The girl shrugged delicately. "Why not?"

The boy stood there, inexplicably unable to look away.

"Run," she reminded him again, looking over her shoulder anxiously to check if her father was coming back.

So that's what he did. He ran.

He ran out into the cold streets. The way they took here was clear in the boy's memory, owing purely to his fascination and thirst for every single detail of the path.

What he witnessed tonight was something the boy could never forget.

He had witnessed his father's murder.

And the perpetrator's face, he would never forget.