Chapter 3 - The Return to Aldridge Street
The luxury black armored SUV tore through the heavy afternoon traffic, escorted by two silent security vehicles. Inside the rear cabin, I sat on soft, hand-stitched leather seats, holding a gold-embossed cup of hot chocolate that Mr. Graves’ personal assistant had brought me before we left the tower.
Mr. Graves sat beside me, staring out the tinted window as the glittering skyscrapers of the financial district gradually gave way to the decaying concrete, rusted fire escapes, and littered alleys of District 7.
"Is this where you live?" he asked softly, looking out at an abandoned textile mill surrounded by chain-link fences.
"Two blocks further," I said, pointing out the window. "Above the butcher shop."
Our motorcade pulled up to the curb outside 412 Aldridge Street. The neighborhood was quiet, save for a few stray dogs and two men standing near the corner watching the gleaming luxury vehicles with wide, suspicious eyes.
My heart beat fast. I jumped out of the SUV before the footman could even open my door, running up the narrow, creaky wooden stairs that led to our second-floor apartment.
"Mom! Mom!" I yelled, banging my small fists against the peeling yellow door. "I'm home! I brought someone!"
The lock clicked, and the door swung open.
My mother stood in the doorway, wearing her faded blue work apron. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and her eyes were red-rimmed from fatigue and stress. She held a spatula in her hand, her face instantly melting into relief when she saw me.
"Ruby! Oh, thank God!" she cried, dropping to her knees and pulling me into a tight embrace. "Where have you been?! Your school called and said you didn't catch the afternoon bus! I was about to go to the police station!"
"I'm sorry, Mom, I took the bus downtown because I found a wallet—"
"A wallet?" She pulled back, looking at my sweaty face. "Ruby, I told you never to go downtown alone!"
"She wasn't alone for long, Elena," a deep, voice echoed from the dark stairwell.
My mother froze.
The sound of that voice seemed to strike a hidden nerve deep within her. She slowly stood up, pulling me behind her back defensively as heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs.
Nathaniel Graves stepped out of the shadows of the hallway and onto the landing.
The yellow overhead bulb flickered, casting light across his face.
My mother stared at him. Her breathing hitched, her chest heaving as her hand flew to her mouth. She didn't recognize him with her conscious mind—her eyes were blank with confusion—but her body knew him. Her knees began to tremble, and the spatula slipped from her hand, clattering against the floorboards.
"Do... do I know you?" she whispered, her voice shaking violently. "Who are you?"
Nathaniel took off his silver-rimmed glasses, tears spilling freely down his face. He didn't rush her. He stopped three feet away, sinking slowly onto his knees on the dirty hallway floor, just as he had done for me in the lobby.
"You don't have to remember right now, my sweet girl," Nathaniel sobbed, holding out his trembling arms. "You don't have to remember the crash, or the hospital, or the dark years. Just know that your father has spent twelve long years looking for you. And I am never letting you go again."
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My mother touched her temple, a sharp gasp of pain escaping her lips as a sudden surge of forgotten memories crashed against the walls of her amnesia. She swayed on her feet, and before she could hit the ground, Nathaniel caught her in his arms, holding her close to his heart as if she were a child again.
"I’ve got you," he wept into her hair. "I’ve got you, Elena. You're safe now. Both of you."
