Cogs Of Fate

Marked Target

On the other side of town, Wyatt and Rufus found the brownstone building in which this Frederica Loss had lived with her sons. Rufus stared up at the decaying building. "What are we going to do?" he asked. "Knock on the door and ask if their mother was murdered by guys in black suits?"

"Sounds like a good start," Wyatt admitted, knocking on the old door.

Rufus shook his head. "I'm getting major Jack the Ripper vibes here."

Wyatt eyed Rufus, shifting uncomfortably. He hoped that wasn't the case. His eyes darted back to the door as it opened up with difficulty.

Creaking open and falling at an angle once it was opened, Wyatt and Rufus were staring face to face with a young man no older than sixteen. "Yes? May I help you?"

"I'm sorry to bother you," Wyatt began. "Are you the son of Frederica Loss?"

"I am," the boy replied, gripping the old door tightly.

Wyatt saw the boy's fingers turning white as the grip intensified. "We were hoping to speak to you about what happened with your mother."

"She died six years ago," the boy muttered. "What is this about?"

Wyatt took a step forward. "Mind if we come inside?"

The boy's brown eyes darted between the two before eventually, he moved to the side and allowed them both access into the house.

The boy struggled to close the door. Once he got it shut, he motioned to the back of the house. "Please, this way."

Following him through the narrow hallway, the two found themselves inside a modest kitchen. The boy asked, "Would you like some water?"

Rufus spotted the brownish-colored water in the pitcher that sat on the small table. He shook his head. "We're good."

The boy's brows knitted in confusion of the phrase but said nothing. "You wanted to know about my mother's death?"

Wyatt nodded. "What can you tell us about that night?"

The boy swallowed nervously. "She came home late one night and we thought she was an intruder...so...I shot her."

"You shot her?" Wyatt asked. The boy nodded. "With what gun?"

The boy's eyes darted between the two nervously. "I...I got rid of it."

"You said 'we thought'," Rufus repeated. "Who's we?"

The boy took a step back. "Look, they told us if we told the truth we'd be next."

"Who?" Wyatt asked quietly. "The men in black?" The boy's expression told them everything they needed to know. Wyatt said, "We can protect you. Whatever it is, we're here to stop them."

"I can't," the boy said. "I can't die...I have to take care of my brothers."

Rufus saw movement at the hallway entrance and turned to look. Standing at the bottom of the stairs that led to the bedrooms was a young boy around five years of age. Another young face peeked through the stairwell banister - a boy no older than three.

"Please," Wyatt begged. "It's important."

"I'm sorry," the boy replied. "I am...but I can't-"

Rufus asked, "Don't you want your family to live the rest of their lives in peace?" He turned his gaze back to the older boy. "You can't live in fear-"

"I have no choice," the kid stated, fear rising in his voice. "Please, leave."

Wyatt scoffed. He shook his head as he turned his attention to Rufus. Rufus shrugged as they exited the house. The moment the boy had slammed the old difficult door closed, Rufus turned to Wyatt. "Now what?"