Ezekiel continued his journey south, riding his brother's bike until he reached the inconspicuous hideout. The house, neither too large nor too small, maintained an unassuming facade, shrouded in suspicion. Not registered in his family's name, Ezekiel parked the bike in the garage, closed the door behind him, and entered the dwelling. The interior was just okay, nothing extraordinary; a house with secrets to keep.
He took off his jacket, casually tossing it to the ground. It was only when he glanced at his hands that reality struck. The crimson stains of Mr. Jones blood, a haunting reminder of the recent events. Panic surged through him as he raced to the bathroom, attempting to wash away the blood. But it clung stubbornly, defying the water's cleansing touch. Resorting to soap, Ezekiel scrubbed vigorously, the vivid memories flooding back, particularly the moment Mr. Jones lay in his arms.
With each attempt to erase the stains, the vivid recollection intensified. Frustration boiled over, and in an outburst of anger, he struck the bathroom mirror, the shattering glass mirroring the shattered state of his emotions. The shards cut into his skin, but the physical pain only mirrored the emotional turmoil within him. Collapsing to the cold tile floor, tears welled in his eyes, and his voice echoed the questions that seemed to have no answers. "Why? Why? Why couldn't I save him I promised that I wouldn't let him die" he cried out, the words reverberating in the empty confines of the bathroom.
Amidst the emotional turmoil, memories from eight years ago resurfaced – the same day Mr. Jones had found and brought him home. The scene flashed vividly as a sleek black car gracefully halted in front of a grand mansion. The driver handed an umbrella to Mr. Jones, who emerged, shielding himself from the rain. Gesturing towards the car, he beckoned Ezekiel with a commanding, "Come, Ezekiel."
Ezekiel stepped out of the car, and as his eyes adjusted to the surroundings, they widened in awe at the sight of the massive mansion before him. "Do you live here?" he asked, his curiosity evident.
"Yes, I do. And starting today, you do too. You're Ezekiel Jones, my first son," Mr. Jones declared with paternal pride.
"Come," Mr. Jones beckoned, leading Ezekiel towards the grand entrance of the mansion. As they entered, the heavy door closed with a muted thud, and Mr. Jones secured the umbrella, enveloping them in a cocoon of secrecy. Ezekiel's eyes wandered, absorbing the opulence of the mansion. "So big," he mused silently, taking in the grandeur.
As they moved further into the mansion, two maids gracefully approached. "Good evening, sir," they greeted in unison. One, with blond hair and a youthful figure, seemed to be in her twenties, while the other, with black hair and an air of maturity, appeared to be in her fifties.
"Yes, good evening. This is Ezekiel. From now on, he's my son, Erica," said Mr. Jones.
"Yes, sir," the blond-haired maid, Erica, acknowledged.
"From now on, you are assigned to Ezekiel. Anything he wants will come through you. Is that clear?" Mr. Jones instructed.
"Yes, sir," Erica responded dutifully.
"Could you get him a room, see to it that he's out of his wet clothes, and give him new ones? In fact, dress him up. I want to take a picture with him," Mr. Jones directed, revealing a hint of sentiment.
"Huh?" Ezekiel mumbled in surprise.
"I want to take a picture with you," Mr. Jones clarified with a smile.
"Okay, sir," Erica agreed, taking Ezekiel's hand and leading him up the grand staircase. Meanwhile, Mr. Jones addressed the other maid, Ashley. "Could you bring me some tea? I'll be in the study."
"Yes, of course, sir," Ashley acknowledged, and the mansion seemed to hum with a blend of activity and an air of mystery.
Erica opens a room door and walks with ezekiel in it the room was big ezekiel was shock of the size
Erica opened the door to a spacious room, leading Ezekiel inside. The sheer size of the room left him visibly stunned. The space was adorned with a comfortable bed, a sizable mirror, a closet, and an array of furnishings that bespoke luxury.
Guiding him to a door that led to the bathroom, Erica closed it gently, diverting her attention to the task at hand. As she removed Ezekiel's wet and soiled clothes, she noticed scars on his young body. "Oh my, who could have done this to a child?" she wondered, a mix of empathy and concern in her voice.
Placing him in the bath, Erica turned on the shower, allowing the warm water to cascade over him. Attempting to engage him in conversation, she inquired, "How old are you?" Ezekiel remained silent, prompting Erica to ponder whether his silence stemmed from shyness or apprehension about a girl bathing him, even though he didn't appear shy.
"I'm sorry; let me introduce myself first. I'm Erica, and I'm 18. The maid you saw earlier was my mom," Erica offered, attempting to break the ice. Ezekiel, however, seemed unresponsive.
"Oh, but you don't look like 18," remarked Ezekiel, surprising Erica with his sudden engagement.
"Huh, you talked," she responded, taken aback.
"Of course I do why wouldn't I?" questioned Ezekiel, his tone casual.
"Oh, nothing. You said I don't look like 18. Tell me, do I look like I'm 16, right?" Erica asked with a playful smile.
"Stop telling yourself that; you look like you're 31," Ezekiel retorted, his candidness causing a momentary lapse in Erica's composure. She chuckled, recognizing the innocence in his words. "Haha, you're so funny. How old are you, Ezekiel?" Erica asked, steering the conversation back.
"I'm 8," he replied, his voice carrying a mixture of innocence and resilience that hinted at the challenges he had faced at such a tender age.
Once the bath was complete, Erica carefully dried Ezekiel and adorned him in fresh, comfortable clothes. The transformation was palpable, and despite the lingering shadows of his past evident in the scars on his skin, Ezekiel now bore a demeanor of newfound cleanliness and comfort.
With a gentle pat on his shoulder, Erica led him through the corridors of the mansion to Mr. Jones's study. The door creaked open, revealing a room bathed in the warm glow of dim lights. Mr. Jones sat at a polished mahogany desk, sipping tea, engrossed in a golden book adorned with intricate patterns.
"Ah, Ezekiel, you look handsome," Mr. Jones complimented, setting aside his work. The study was adorned with leather-bound books and antique furnishings, creating an air of sophistication.
"What do you think of the room? Comfortable?" Mr. Jones inquired, gesturing towards a plush chair in front of the desk. He leaned back, his eyes studying Ezekiel with a mix of paternal pride and curiosity.
Ezekiel, though still processing the swift turn of events in his life, managed a nod, his gaze flickering between the golden book and Mr. Jones.
"What's that book you're reading?" Ezekiel inquired, his eyes drawn to the golden book adorned with intricate patterns.
"Oh, this old thing? It's a special book that I'm writing," Mr. Jones responded, setting it down with an air of reverence.
"Special?" Ezekiel questioned, a spark of curiosity in his eyes.
"Yes, special. It's a book for you. Well, not for you now, but for when you're all grown up. This book will help you solve the mystery of my death," Mr. Jones explained, his gaze fixed on Ezekiel, measuring the impact of his words.
Ezekiel's eyes widened with a mix of astonishment and intrigue. The study, bathed in the warm glow of the dim lights, felt like a sanctum of secrets and revelations. The scent of aged leather and the soft crackle of a fireplace added to the mystique of the room.
"Come, sit," Mr. Jones invited, gesturing towards the plush chair in front of the desk. As Ezekiel settled into the chair, Mr. Jones resumed his seat, a paternal aura surrounding him.
"You see, Ezekiel, life is a series of mysteries waiting to be unraveled. I've left clues, stories, and wisdom in this book. When the time is right, this will guide you in understanding the truth behind my demise," Mr. Jones explained, his eyes reflecting a mixture of solemnity and affection.
Ezekiel listened, absorbing the gravity of the moment. The golden book, now resting on the desk, seemed to hold not just pages but the key to a future where mysteries awaited their resolutions. The air in the study crackled with anticipation as the weight of legacy and destiny intertwined in the enigmatic tale that lay ahead for Ezekiel Jones.