Innocent

Chapter 4

Here's Chapter 4

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Luke’s POV

It was clear.

My parents were alive. Still alive. I had to find my parents. And also my sister....yeah, that girl was my sister. I was damn sure.

As I sat there, looking steadily at the old photograph in my hand, I was sure of that fact. I had a family. And I had to find my family.

I put the photo in my back pocket, and made my way to Mikhail's office, the home's owner and master. His room was on the second floor, so I had to climb a flight of stairs to reach it.

Standing in front of his door, I knocked.

"Come in," a clear voice penetrated through the stout oak door.

As I entered the room, I closed the door behind me. Mikhail was sitting in his chair, a wheelchair, with his back to me. Mikhail was just forty-two, but his face did not show anything like that. His hair was snow-white, and his face was a mine of wrinkles. 

He had met with an accident in his early teen years, which was the cause of him being restrained to a wheelchair. At least that's what he always told us. He never talked much about it.

Mikhail was a friendly man, though, and I always ran to him whenever I had a problem. It was because he was a good listener. 

Mikhail’s office was an interesting one. To the left stood a huge bookshelf, covering the entering wall. It was packed with books on all topics ever invented. On the right stood an enormous mahogany cabinet enriched with an assortment of rare instruments and objects. A sundial, an ancient gramophone, even the water-boat that I had made with wooden stacks back when I was ten. I honestly loved that cabinet.

Mikhail had taught me everything I knew, and I had come to know him as my father.

"Um, I need to speak to you." I said tentatively. I didn't know why I was so nervous, probably because I'd never talked to anybody about my parents.

Mikhail nodded. "Please sit down."

I did so. He looked unnaturally calm. But after all, he did not have any reason to go crazy. Unfortunately, I did.

"I need to make a journey," I said hurriedly, as soon as he motioned me to speak.

"To?" he looked up at me inquiringly.

"I don't know, but I need to make this one.....I need to find my parents."

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow. "But aren't they dead?"

"That's what you guys have been telling me, but no, I don't honestly believe that. In fact, I never believed it. I always felt that my parents are alive. And so is my sister. Today, I am sure. There is this tingling sensation within me that tells me my family, they are out there somewhere."

"I see."

He rolled around his wheelchair and turned towards a side-table, on which rested a decanter.

"So, what is your plan?" he asked, as he poured himself a glass of wine.

"That's what I came to ask you," I replied, feeling a bit surprised at his lack of refusal, "Can you tell me anything about my family?"

He took a long draught of wine, and then turned to me. "Your father, I don't know anything about, but your mother, I do."

"It was a cold December night. I was in my office, snugly protected by a warm fire and a thick blanket. It was then that your mother came at my door. Back then, the home was not so well-off then and I was the only staff. It was, therefore, me who opened the door. The cold night had shaken her and even her heavy-duty fur coat could not protect her from the wet snow that had overtaken Aberdeen."

"She had the most beautiful face that I had ever seen, and even me, an antisocial bachelor was struck by her beauty," a far-fetched look crossed Mikhail's folded face.

"Did you fall in love with her?" I asked, curious.

He shot me a cross look, and resumed, "I asked her the purpose of her visit, and she asked whether she could come inside. A couple of cups of coffee later, she started talking."

"I hadn't noticed it till then, but securely protected inside her coat was a baby-you. She told me that it was her newborn son, all of three months old and that she wanted him to be brought up in my home."

"On being asked the reason for her decision, she just told me that it had to be done and that it was for the best." He sighed.

"And then?" I prompted.

"She went away, never contacting me again."

"Wow. And she did not leave any way of contacting her?"

"No. But she did tell me that she lived in London." The head looked up at me with sparkling eyes, and I was startled by the agony in them.

Tring!

The bell rang. Bedtime.

"Time to go to bed, son."

I hurried out, stealing a glance at Mikhail, as I was doing so, and I was surprised to find his face buried in his hands-the picture of a heartbroken man.

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