Chapter 92: Burn My Dread (1/2)

A limousine pulled up on a worn-down apartment complex. A well-kept man stepped out, adjusting his tie overlooking the dump with a keen eye. His assistant stepped out, shaking some mud off her heel. ”Sir, I must ask, must we really do this? No one would know.”

”Worry not Felicity, this is important. We won't be here long.”

”I'm not worried about that Montague sir, it's more of a why?”

The Montague closed the car door behind him shaking his head. ”It's a responsibility I can no longer ignore. I have to face it myself.”

The two walked through the apartment complex, which had rubbish and graffiti scattered everywhere. There were holes in the wall alongside a foul smell lingering through the building. Felicity was staring down at her tablet, gathering all the information she needed. They passed a few people who would just stare at the two well-dressed individuals with hate and disgust. ”Something tells me they don't want us here.”

”They see anyone who has done well for themselves as a threat. Many people here are former convicts and junkies with nowhere to go.”

”Should we be concerned?”

”Not at all, if anything happens, I can handle it.” He spoke as a homeless man walked up to them, pulling a knife out. ”Like this Felicity.”

”You two don't belong here. I'll overlook it if you hand me everything you've got.”

”Trust me, son, you want to walk away.”

”Like hell, I do. I don't take orders from snobs like you!”

The knife was swung in his direction as the Montague moved back pushing the attacker back. His whole body collapsed into the wall matching the graffiti. The Montague walked over staring at the man with pity. ”I'll let you out once we are done here. I did warn you, stranger.”

”Are you okay, sir?”

”Just peachy. Are we close?”

”Apartment number 547 should just be around the corner. Oh, there it is.” The door was hammered, and the number had fallen down. The post box was ripped off, and the mat threw across the corridor. ”Are you sure this is the one?”

”Positive.” He replied, knocking on the door. There was no response for a while before a pair of footsteps scurried to the door. It was opened a small way as a little boy with long brown hair, and green eyes peered out. ”Hello there.”

The little boy held the door near ready to shut it as the lock was still attached. ”Who are you?”

”Is your mother home?”

The little boy shook his head. ”Some men broke into the house last night and took her away. Something about not paying debts.”

”I see, can we come in?”

”Sure.” He said without much thought, getting onto his tippytoes unlocking the door. The two entered seeing the apartment in a mess. The floorboards rotten and decaying and clothes and rubbish bags were everywhere. A distinct smell of drugs was also obvious taking up the whole room. In the centre of the room was a smashed glass table which had powder substance spread across. The little boy sat down on the torn sofa watching TV, he was wrapped in a blanket holding a bottle of juice. ”Are you here about my mother? Does she owe you money too?”

”No, we actually came to talk to you.”

He gave a strange look confused. ”Me? No one has ever come to see me before. Who are you two?”

Felicity stepped in front of the boy whispering. ”Sir, are you sure about this? No one knows yet if we go through with this and word spreads, it could end the Montagues. No one is going to accept this lightly.”

”I'm more than aware of the circumstances. But I refuse to sit by and let my past mistakes continue. I put them in this situation when I fired his mother. I need to take responsibility.” The Montague snapped. He kneeled down, looking at the boy. ”Say, what is your name?”

”Emil.”

”Emil, that's a nice name. Listen, Emil, your mother. She isn't coming back.”

Emil stopped nodding. ”I thought so. The bad people took her away.”

”They did, but they won't get to you. My name is Christopher Montague, I own a prestigious business which is a part of V.I.R.A.L.”

”You work with streamers?”

”I do, many of them come to me. I scout upcoming streamers and make them the best they can be. Some of my own children are looking to be streamers too.”

”That's so cool.”

”Yes, yes, it is.” He chuckled. ”Say, Emil, how would you like to come with me? You can stay at my estate; we might even be able to make you a streamer.”

”A streamer? I don't know my mother says streamers are scumbags.”

”Not all of them. Might I ask do you have any abilities?”