Thomas watched the boy’s every move, looking for any signs, any details that might confirm or destroy his growing suspicions. The way Alex held his fork was strange, as if he were unused to utensils. Even stranger was how he constantly checked the establishment’s exits, always ready to flee. “How long have your parents been dead?” Thomas asked carefully as he watched the boy devour the sandwich as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Alex stopped chewing for a second. His eyes hardened.
I didn’t have parents. I grew up in foster care. And the necklace? Did someone give it to you when you were a baby? I don’t know. Alex shrugged, but Thomas noticed how her hand instinctively protected the pendant. It’s always been with me. It’s all I have. That answer sent shivers down Thomas’s spine. Sofia used to protect that necklace in exactly the same way, too. It was an unconscious, but identical gesture. “Where was the last foster home you were in?” Thomas persisted, trying to sound casual.
The Morrisons in Detroit, Alex said quickly, but something about his expression seemed forced. You left there two years ago. Detroit was only four hours from Chicago. Thomas felt his heart race again. The timeline made perfect sense. Why did you run away? Alex was silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on his plate. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with a bitterness no child should carry. They hit me. They said I was trouble, that I caused problems, that I was good for nothing.
The rage that exploded in Thomas’s chest was so intense that he had to grip the table to keep from abruptly rising. The thought of someone hurting that boy—of someone possibly hurting his daughter—made his blood boil. “Did they hurt you?” he asked, his jaw clenched. Alex nodded briefly, but then changed the subject. “Why are you being nice to me? No one is.” Thomas felt a lump form in his throat. “Because you remind me of someone very special.”
Who? My daughter. She disappeared five years ago. Alex’s eyes widened, and for a moment Thomas saw something pass through them, a flash of recognition or maybe fear, but it was so quick he wasn’t sure he’d imagined it. “I’m sorry,” Alex murmured. And there was genuine sincerity in his voice. Thomas pulled out his phone and showed him a photo of Sofia, the last one he’d taken before she disappeared.
The girl was smiling radiantly, wearing the same necklace as Alex’s. The boy’s reaction was immediate and terrifying. He went completely pale, his hands began to shake, and he pushed the phone away as if it were on fire. “I don’t want to see him,” he said in a strangled voice. “Alex, are you okay? I have to go.” The boy stood up abruptly, grabbing his bag. “Thanks for the food.” “Wait.” Thomas stood up desperately too. “Please don’t go. I can help you. No one can help me,” Alex said. And there was a deep sadness in his words.
I’m invisible. I always have been. You’re not invisible to me. Alex stopped in the doorway without turning around. “Why not? Everyone leaves me eventually because I recognize something in you,” Thomas said honestly, “Something that tells me you’re special, very special.” The boy finally turned around, and Thomas saw tears in his eyes. “Don’t you know me? If you did, you’d run away too. Why do you say that?” “Because I’m cursed,” Alex whispered. “Everyone who gets close to me ends up hurt or leaves.
It’s better if he’s alone. Before Thomas could respond, Alex ran out of the café. Thomas tried to follow, but the boy knew the streets better and disappeared into the alleys like a shadow. Thomas stood on the sidewalk, breathing heavily, his mind working frantically. Alex’s reaction to Sofia’s photo had been too specific, too intense to be a coincidence. And that word, “damn,” echoed in his mind unnervingly. That night, Thomas did something he hadn’t done in years.
She called Marcus Johnson, the private detective who had worked on Sofia’s case. If her suspicions were correct, she was going to need professional help to uncover the truth. Marcus, it’s me, Thomas Miche. I need you to reopen my daughter’s case. Thomas, after 5 years, what changed? I met a boy who wore Sofia’s necklace. The silence on the other end of the line was long. When Marcus finally spoke, his voice was serious. I’ll be there early tomorrow.
And Thomas, don’t do anything alone until he arrives. If he is what you think he is, this could be far more dangerous than you imagine. Marcus Johnson arrived at Thomas’s office at 7:00 a.m., carrying a thick folder and wearing a grave expression Thomas knew all too well. The detective had aged over the past five years. His gray hair was now completely white, and new wrinkles marked his tanned face, but his eyes remained as sharp as a hawk’s.
“Tell me everything,” Marcus said, spreading old photos of Sofia across Cahoba’s desk. Every detail, no matter how small. Thomas recounted the encounter with Alex, describing the boy’s reaction to the photo, his sudden flight, especially that disturbing word. “Damn.” Marcus listened silently, taking occasional notes. When Thomas finished, the detective remained thoughtful for a few minutes before speaking. “Thomas, there’s something I never told you about Sofia’s case, something I discovered in the final weeks before you called off the investigation.”
