Into The Light

by Wolfe, H. M.

  "What?! That man is really out of his mind, and Daniel is even crazier for agreeing with this! I can't imagine why Tarquin, of all people, needs the help of that goddamn monster!"

  All the time Eugene and Aristarh spoke, Elliott watched the two men, trying to catch something from their conversation, but all he could hear was prison, monster and two names, Daniel and Tarquin. The blond could sense how worried Eugene was about the two men, which made him wonder what they were to him.

  "What about the kids? Where are they now? Who is with them?" The Detroit Mafia boss' voice became increasingly worried when he mentioned the kids, whoever they were.

  "It's all right, Padrino, Mickey is with them. He took the little ones from school and dropped them off at Mister Martin Cornelius' girlfriend's home. I also called Mister Liam, and told him to go there." Aristarh spoke in an assuring voice, making Eugene relax.

  "Thank you very much, Aristarco, you are the most loyal, effective, intelligent man I’ve ever known, I don't know what I would do without you."

  "And I would be dead without you, Padrino, I can't repay what you did for me," the giant said, hugging Eugene. "Oh, there is one more thing, I almost forgot."

  "What is it?" Although he couldn't see his lover's face, Elliott sensed his voice was less tense than at the beginning of the discussion.

  "Consigliere Brentano and Donna Rosa are going to pay you a visit," Aristarh smiled. "As of... an hour, more or less."

  "What?! And why didn't you tell me this earlier?!" Eugene's face shone with joy, Elliott sensing the change in his voice.

  "Relax, Padrino, everything was taken care of, Serghei took the limo and went to the private airport to pick them up. How's the young boss?" Aristarh said, seeing the blond peeking from under the blankets.

  ”Yes, he is fine, thanks to you,” Eugene smiled with gratitude. “And thank you for being such a good friend.”

  Elliott waited for Aristarh to leave, then, taking advantage of young Brentano's absence, he got out of the bed. He started to collect his clothes from where he'd neatly folded them. The blond was about to put his socks on when the gentle voice of Eugene made him stop.

  "What do you think you are doing, amore mio? Dressing in the same clothes from earlier, and, on top of that, without showering first?" The man's expression was a mixture of sadness, confusion, and pain. "Are you not going to stay and meet my parents?"

  "I thought...I think you'd want to be left alone, to enjoy each other's presence. I don't want to intrude, to..." Elliott lowered his head, unable to continue.

  "Listen to me, amore," Eugene said, gently lifting the blond's chin, "meeting you would bring a lot of joy to my parents. Mamma will adore you, and papa will welcome you with wide open arms and a big heart. Why are you afraid of them?"

  "I'm not. It's just that..." Elliott cut himself short, as he realized Eugene wanted him there, together with the most important people in his life.

  "You better hurry up and hop into the shower," the young Mafia don smirked. And don't worry about clothes, Aristarco took care of everything."

  Elliott nodded, without bothering to ask what he meant, since it was related to the man who had saved his life. After a short, refreshing shower, he returned to the room, one towel wrapped around his slim waist and another in his hand. There, the blond gasped in surprise, as he saw a complete outfit waiting for him on the bed.

  Everything, from the shirt to the pants and coat, all of them white, fitted perfectly to his body as if they were tailored especially for him. Next, to the shirt and suit, there were briefs, also white, and a pair of shoes and socks which completed Elliott's outfit. With a confident smile on his face, completely dressed, he went downstairs, ready to meet Eugene's parents.

  **********

  ”Hey, Swinton, you have visitors,” the rough voice of Chomsky, one of the guards in charge with that sector, broke the silence down the corridor, making some of the inmates curious.

  "Lucky motherfucker," someone commented, in a somewhat lighthearted voice.

  "Yeah, ole Charlie here must've been a very good boy, I tell you. Santa's already landed, bringing some special presents to our buddy", Chomsky said, unlocking Swinton's cell. "Well, come on, ole boy, don't let the guests wait, it's rude."

  The disgraced media tycoon appeared in the doorway. He waited for the guard to handcuff him and chain his ankles. "Good day to you too, Officer Chomsky," he spoke politely. "The visitors' thing, is it for real? Or have your bosses decided to move me to another block?"

  "Nope. Why should they? You haven't created any problems. You've shown repentance for your criminal activities. All of the other inmates kinda like you...I wish we had more inmates like you in here, Charlie, old fellow," the Polish guard patted him on the shoulder.

  Swinton sighed in relief. Once he came to terms with his fate, the former billionaire stayed out of trouble. He was getting involved in all the programs dedicated to helping the inmates who wanted to continue their education.

  In a very short time, he became very popular among the inmates and guards alike. With Chomsky, one of the oldest, most respected guards, Swinton had a tight bond. It was comparable only with what he and Harrison had. That was why the man's behavior seemed somehow strange to him like he would have said goodbye.

  "Officer Chomsky, what's wrong? And don't tell me nothing, because the journalist in me feels like something is bothering you a lot."

  "I am not going to lie to you, Charlie. This will probably be the last time we see each other like this. Guard and inmate, I mean. You did some terrible things, but, unlike others, you did everything in your power to straighten things up. If not for those you've hurt, at least for others. I..."

  "I don't understand what you are trying to say, Officer Chomsky," Swinton said, confused. "Who are these visitors and what do they want from me?"

  "A young fellow in his late twenties and a kid in his teenage years. As for what they want from you, I don't know," the guard shook his head. However, it must be very precious, to get you free in exchange."

  ”Free?! As free to get out from here, to step outside the main gate? No offense, but you most likely misunderstood or misinterpreted a random discussion, and...”

  "Charlie, old fella, listen to me! There is no doubt. The warden called me in his office and showed me the papers. The governor had signed them and everything. Here we are, go and convince yourself."

  With those words, the guard hugged Swinton once again, wishing him a good life. Heart thumping in his chest, the man stepped inside the room, heading to the table where the two men sat. Looking at their faces, he let out a loud gasp, as before him, were none others than Daniel Bloom and Tarquin Ballard.

  CHAPTER 18

  "Good afternoon, gentlemen! I was told I have visitors, but I didn't expect it to..." Swinton started, only to be cut short by Tarquin.

  "To be us? Is that what you are trying to say? Don't worry, we come in peace," the blond smiled, somehow sarcastically. "We are here to offer you the chance of a fresh start," he continued.

  "A fresh start? You have a weird sense of humor! You came all the way here. You used your influence to get me out of here to do what? There's nothing for me out there, and you know it." Swinton's voice was resigned. His attitude was showing defeat.

  "There are a lot of things out there waiting for you. Things you ignored, took for granted or threw away," Daniel said, leaning over the table. "If you are truly repenting for what you've done, you would agree to help us. If not, you can go back to your cell. Simple as that."

  "What could I possibly help you with? It's not that I refuse to do it, but I can't imagine what..."

  At that point, Tarquin took the list from his jacket pocket, putting it in front of Swinton. "Take a look at this. I couldn't find anything on them, except their names. I suspect they all are rich people, but, as you know, I'm my father's son in many ways, including when it comes to frequenting high society gatherings, so..."

  Swinton nodded, a pang of pain squ
eezing his chest when he remembered the circumstances of his first meeting with the fragile, lonely boy. The ambitious woman Antonia Ballard was, had dragged her son to every party she attended. She was showing him off like he was a trophy.

  But that was then. Now, sitting in front of Swinton, was a completely different Tarquin, the lost kid evolving spectacularly into the confident young man who sat across the table. Rumors were he had an outstanding career in the FBI, being appointed a special agent at the early age of twenty-one.

  While the blond occupied his thoughts, Swinton also examined the list. In the beginning, it didn't make a lot of sense, just a series of random names. But, as he continued to read, the journalist in him realized the strange connection between some of the names, and this made him gasp in shock.

  "What is it, Swinton? Do you see something? Tarquin leaned over the table, excitement noticeable in his eyes and voice.

  "Actually, yes, and it is quite disturbing," the man replied, feeling how his investigation journalist self came back to life. If you would give me a pen, I could show you better what it's all about," he continued.

  "Here you are," Daniel said, offering him a pen over the table. "I trust you are not going to use it as a weapon against us," he continued in a dry voice, "although one never knows."

  But Swinton chose to ignore him, focusing on the list instead. Using Daniel's pen, he drew little crosses, lines, and circles in front of every name. After all of them were marked, the man pushed the list to the center of the table.

  "Here," he said, putting the finger in front of a name. "This one and that one and that one and the six others that I marked with a cross, they are all dead. None of them were older than twenty-one, all of them had inherited colossal fortunes."

  "Are you suggesting that someone killed them for money?" Tarquin frowned. "If so, why didn't I find the police reports? Why wasn't anyone interested in finding out how these young people died?"

  Swinton shook his head. "As you said earlier, you are your father's son in many ways. When someone from high society dies suddenly and violently, persons of interest make huge efforts to hush up the scandal. Trust me, I’ve witnessed many such cases. Some of them I covered myself."

  "What about the other ones, marked by you with the lines and circles?" Daniel asked. Suddenly, the raven-haired man froze, as he spotted Hayden's name among the ones having a circle in front of them. Tarquin noticed it, too, but didn't say anything, waiting for Swinton's answer.

  "The lines represent missing persons, only three of them. These two and the famous Elliott Spellmann."

  To Daniel, the name sounded familiar, he'd heard it recently, but couldn't remember where or when. "What is this guy so famous for?" the raven-haired man asked, frustrated.

  "Elliott is, or was, the adopted son of a wealthy banker, Jacob Spellmann. When he was twelve, a gang broke into their home, killed the parents and took the child. He appeared two years later. The family's lawyer, Isaac Williamson, took him into his care. Elliott graduated Harvard law school at eighteen, and rumors were he would become a senior partner in Williamson's firm, but, two years later, he disappeared again."

  "And no one reported him missing? Not even the lawyer? Something's not right with this story," Tarquin said, knitting his brows.

  ”What about the circles, Swinton? What are they for?” Daniel asked, uneasiness in his voice.

  "Supposing that someone killed or kidnapped all those I marked with crosses or lines, the circles would be their next targets. Do you recognize any of the names? I'm asking out of professional curiosity," Swinton cautiously smiled.

  Daniel looked at the man in front of him, examining his body language, facial expression, carefully listening to his voice. On the way to prison, while Tarquin was driving, he had read the email containing the full report on Swinton's conduct in prison and was pleasantly impressed to discover the man changed a lot for the better.

  "If Tarquin, who suffered immensely at his hands, could trust him, why can't I do the same?" Daniel thought to himself. "Yes, I did," he said, inhaling sharply, "my brother's name has a circle next to it. However, it doesn't make any sense."

  "What doesn't make sense? If he is your brother, then...But there is no Bloom here, what brother are you talking about?" Swinton said, a little confused.

  "It's a very long, extremely complicated story. Anyway, Hayden's name doesn't appear as Bloom, but as Owens, his mother's name. She never met my father. Like I said, long and complicated."

  "Here it is, Hayden Owens." Swinton sighed. "You're right. It doesn't make sense. Especially if whoever made this list is after money. Maybe they have another reason. Maybe everything is just a series of unfortunate coincidences...However, no matter what this is, I will get to the bottom of it."

  "I am sure you will," Tarquin smiled confidently. "Especially since you are going to team up with your former right hand, John Harris. We've made all the arrangements, the two of you will be sharing an apartment and..."

  But Swinton didn't listen anymore. Tears fell freely down his wrinkled, pale cheeks. The man raised his head, looking up and thanked whatever god or goddess who was merciful enough to give him a second chance.

  **********

  The elegant limo pulled out in front of the stairs leading to the mansion's impressive entrance, where Eugene and Elliott were waiting. At the thought of meeting his protector's parents, the blond had a lump in his throat he desperately tried to push back, with little success.

  The driver got out first, opening one of the back doors and bowing, respectfully while he waited for the passengers to leave the vehicle. Claudio Brentano was the first to step out, graciously extending his hand to Donna Rosa. Once his wife descended from the car, the former consigliere offered his arm, smiling affectionately.

  Just about the same time, a sleek, black car parked next to the limo, two young men, a blond and a black-haired one, getting out of it. However, their arrival was entirely ignored by Eugene, who ran down the stairs to welcome his parents, while Elliott chose to stay near the door.

  A part of him wanted to know these people who, in spite of the many obstacles they faced, kept the love for each other alive and were now enjoying their happily ever after. The other part of Elliott was afraid Eugene's parents would reject him and, deep down inside, he knew that would be the end of his relationship with the man.

  "Il bello della mamma! Look at you, how handsome my son is!" After hugging him tightly, Donna Rosa inspected her son from all angles, shaking her head and pursing her lips. "The same old story, figlio mio. You work too hard and eat too little."

  ”Mammina, non e vero, you know it,” Eugene protested, amused. ”I eat like a pig and sleep like a log, I swear. Would I ever lie to you?” he gave her the sweetest puppy eyes ever.

  "And work like an ox and a dog combined," Donna Rosa replied, unimpressed by her son's attempts to direct her attention to another subject. "I know you Brentano men. Your papa does the same things."

  ”Cesare, figlio, che piacere vederti! I missed you so much!” the former consigliere exclaimed, pulling his son in a tight hug.

  "I missed you, too, papa, both of you. But with business and other...things, keeping me in New York, I didn't realize how fast time had passed and..."

  "We understand you, figlio mio, we really do. That is why, with the blessing of your Uncle Giuseppe, we came here to stay for as long as we are welcome," Brentano smiled.

  "You don't know how happy I am to hear that," Eugene said, his face shining with joy. "Come, please, I want you both to meet someone," he continued in an excited voice.

  He went ahead of his parents to the spot where Elliott had stood while the Detroit Mafia don greeted his parents. No matter how much Eugene assured him that the consigliere and his wife would welcome him with open arms, the blond felt uncomfortable and out of place.

  Suddenly, his eyes widened in fear, as he detected the two men who were climbing the stairs. Elliott's heart started to beat erratically, as both the driver an
d the giant Russian seemed unaware of the danger the two strangers, now right behind Brentano, represented. He decided to warn the man. It was all he could do.

  "Sir, behind you," the blond said, making efforts to speak as if the words didn't want to leave his lips. Then, in a desperate gesture, he grabbed Donna Rosa by the shoulders and turned her around, using his body to shield her from the attack.

  "What's this?" the former consigliere spoke in an angry voice. "Giovanotto, are you out of your mind?! Take your hands off my wife. Now!" he barked.

  "What's wrong, papa? Why are you yelling at Elliott? What has he done?" Eugene asked, stepping back with Elliot and his parents.

  Flinching away from young Brentano's touch, the blond gently let Donna Rosa go. "I deeply apologize to you, ma'am, for causing you discomfort." Then, turning to Claudio, he spoke in an ice-cold voice. "I don't kill or harm people, consigliere. They, on the other hand..."