Capture

Hidden In The Past

The smell of whatever Harry was cooking wafted to me making my stomach growl. He stopped kissing me for a moment smiling. "Hungry?"

"Starved. What are you making?"

"Chicken noodle soup. My mom's recipe. I figured after you stood on the roof in the rain today, you needed some." He lifted me up and sat me on the counter top with another kiss before turning to tend to the stove.

"Shit," Harry muttered, peering into the fridge.

"What's wrong?" I asked, curious.

He held up the nearly empty milk carton and gave it a shake. "I'm out of milk." He glanced at me. "You don't have any, do you?"

"If I do, it's probably sour," I admitted. "Haven't been shopping since we got back."

Harry groaned. "Damn. This soup is a million times better with a cold glass of milk. I'm going to run down to the shop on the corner. Be right back." He grabbed his keys off the counter, slipped on his shoes, and started hunting for a shirt.

"Harry, do you really have to go now?" I asked, a little disappointed.

He smiled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to my lips. "I'll be right back. Just keep the soup on the burner so it stays warm. Won't be more than a few minutes."

I sighed, watching him rush out the door. I dipped my finger into the soup, tasting it. Honestly, it was really good.

I passed the time wandering through Harry's apartment, my fingers lightly tracing the edges of his belongings. The space was modern and sleek—everything in its place, minimal yet thoughtful. Nothing felt cluttered, but neither did it feel empty. It was like stepping into a version of Harry I didn't know well yet.

I moved toward the bookshelves, scanning each spine. The titles ranged from classic literature to obscure histories and psychology—many I hadn't heard of before. Some looked well-worn, others barely touched. It was like piecing together parts of his mind through the books he surrounded himself with.

Curious, I circled the room slowly, eyes catching the little details—an old camera on a side table, a small collection of vinyl records, framed photos tucked neatly into corners. Each item felt deliberate, like quiet clues to who Harry was beyond the charming smile and warm touch.

Then, my eyes landed on a desk near the window. Something caught my attention—a neat stack of folded papers, newspaper clippings carefully clipped and arranged. I stepped closer, my heart tightening as I read the bold headline about gangs and violence. My mind immediately jumped back to Liam.

"Local Gangs' Shadow Looms Over Neighborhood".

My fingers hesitated before picking up the top article. As I scanned the text, my heart rate quickened.

This wasn't just any news story—it was about Liam. More than that, the articles detailed a tragic past I'd never known: Liam's father, caught in the crossfire of what the papers called a possible gang-related shooting, killed four years ago. The words blurred as my mind raced to connect the pieces.

I swallowed hard, feeling a cold knot form in my stomach.

Curious and a little unsettled, I flipped through more articles. Each one peeled back a different layer of Liam's past: fights, arrests, neighborhood feuds. They weren't flattering—they painted a picture of a man struggling to escape a violent world.

Then my fingers grazed a manila folder tucked beneath the papers. I pulled it out and opened it. Inside was a background check—complete with names, addresses, dates, and detailed notes. There were also surveillance photos of Liam, some grainy, some clearer, showing him at various locations around town, sometimes with people I didn't recognize.