Page 21 of They Call Him Reaper

“And we can go find my parents.”

“Sure, but they won't be happy.”

I sit down and cover my ears. I don’t want to hear what the mean man says anymore. I know they love me. My stomach growls, and I remove my hands from my ears. I don’t like peanut butter and jelly, but I’m hungry. Mommy would want me to wash my hands, but I can’t. I eat, careful not to touch it with my hands. The man comes back when I’m done.

“I’ll try to sneak you some more. What’s your name, kid?”

“Dante Orejón. Please get me out of here.”

“I’ll try to sweet talk the guards when I see them. They never visit you because you keep crying. Can you try to be a big boy for me, Dante?”

I don’t like how he says my name. It’s creepy. “I am a big boy.”

“Act like it and stop crying. They’re nicer to the good children.”

“Okay. Will they take me out of the dark? I don’t like the dark.”

The man breathes hard and doesn’t answer me. I don’t like him much, but no one else is around.

I still don’t likethe guy from the cell - that’s what he calls it - next to me, but at least he feeds me. I’ve tried my best not to cry, but I still haven’t met anyone. I had to make some yucky decisions because I didn’t have a choice. It was either poop myself or in one of the other corners of the room. Now, I sit with my shirt covering my nose and do my best to cry silently. I want to go home. The door opens, and I stand up and wipe my face.

A tall dark-haired man stands just on the other side. He looks dirty but smells much better than I do.

“Dante? Is that you?”

He must be the man from the other side of the wall because the way he says my name still bothers me.

“Yes? Are you the guy from next door?”

He nods. “Please, call me Father.”

“But you’re not my father.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “No. Father is my name.”

“Okay, Mr. Father. Can I go? Did you find my parents?”

He gives me a cold look. His blue eyes make it worse. “I told you, this is where kids go when they’re parents don’t want them.”

“Liar! I don’t believe it!” I run in his direction, ready to fight him, but he closes the door again.

“I thought you matured. They’re not going to let me move a baby.”

I bang against the door again, but he doesn't come back for what feels like days.

“Are you ready to try again?” he asks when he opens the door. I’m lying curled up with my knees to my chest, staring at him without a word.

“Did you hear me, boy? Are you ready to come out?”

“Sure,” I mumble. I still don’t like him.

His smile gives me the creeps. “Good. One test, first.”

He takes a piece of paper from the guard and shows it to me. I look at the sequence. It’s a lot of random letters and numbers, but I don't understand why he’s showing me. The man moved the paper out of my sight by handing it back to the guard.

“Tell me what you remember seeing.”

“A453325632X2221E7582EHY.”

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