The Janitor's Requiem

Shadows Of The Past

Thomas sat rigidly in the great room, his thoughts a mixture of anger and incredulity. With her hands held firmly, the old lady stood opposite him, looking at him with a combination of desperation and patience. He could still hear her words.

Thomas, you come from the city's most influential family. The Blackthorne family tree. You are destined to be its steward and this city's future guardian.

The sound of Thomas's chuckle was unbelieving and unpleasant. defender of the city? I grew upup in an orphanage, lady. My bunk was the only item I had to keep safe from older students stealing it. You have the incorrect man.

The woman's stare remained fixed despite her lips becoming thinner. "I promise there isn't an error. The conditions of your childhood were not coincidental. To keep you secure, you were concealed.

Shaking his head, he repeated, "Hidden?" "I was left by my mother in front of the orphanage. I was not wanted by her. That's the only thing involved.

The woman's face's wrinkles deepened with grief as her expression softened. Thomas, you were not abandoned by your mother. It was your nanny who left you there. Your life and hers were in jeopardy. She took the necessary actions to ensure your safety.

As the words swept over him like icy water, Thomas fixed his gaze on her. “My nanny?”

She took a step forward and answered, "Yes." "She was given custody of you by your parents in their last days. The only location, in her opinion, where you could stay hidden and protected from those who wanted to ruin your family was an orphanage.

"As well as my parents?" The voice of Thomas broke in spite of himself.

The lady paused, her eyes heavy. Thomas, they were slain. A crooked network that permeates this metropolis was being exposed by your mother and father. They discovered secrets that some would murder to preserve.

With the weight of her words bearing down on him, the room seemed to tilt. He repeated, his voice almost audible, "Murdered?"

Her head nodded. For the truth, they gave their life. And since they passed away, this city has fallen into anarchy. There is no one left to oppose crime and corruption, so they have taken hold. No one—aside from you.

Thomas clenched his hands at his sides and forced himself to stand. This is crazy. Expecting me to think of myself as the city's chosen saviour is unrealistic. For crying out loud, I am just a caretaker.

"You're so much more than that," she said firmly. "You carry on the Blackthorne family's tradition. The riches, prestige, and business of your family are all waiting for you. More significantly, however, you are needed in this city.

He backed off a step and shook his head. "No." This is not something I can accomplish. I'm not. You don't know who I am.

Something like sympathy glistened in the woman's eyes. "Thomas, you cannot resist your identity. This city has been influenced by your lineage for many years. Whether you like it or not, it is your obligation.

"I don't want it!" he yelled, his voice resonating across the room. "I didn't request any of this!"

It didn't make the lady wince. She instead grabbed a leather-bound folder that was on the table. She took out a picture from within and held it out to him.

"Perhaps this will make sense to you."

Thomas took the picture out of her hand when he hesitated. As soon as he saw it, his breath stuck in his throat.

It seemed to be a family photo shot in a large garden. The grins of a guy and a woman were warm and sincere as they stood side by side. A deep, unsaid memory was evoked by the woman's delicate features and kind look, while the man's dark eyes and sharp features reflected Thomas's own.

A youngster, no more than four years old, stood in front of them, his little hand in the woman's, his hair a little tangled.

After his knees failed him, Thomas slumped onto the chair behind him. He looked at it, unable to take his eyes off it, the image quivering in his hands. "That's me," he muttered.

The lady answered quietly, "Yes." That's you and your parents together. Your father is Jonathan Ward, and your mother is Evelyn Blackthorne.

He quickly brushed away the tears that clouded his eyes, anguish and rage battling within of him. "Why—why did no one come get me? Why was I forced to grow up believing I was worthless?

There was remorse engraved on the woman's face. Because you would have been targeted by the same individuals who murdered your parents. The nanny decided to keep you concealed, and we respected her decision. So far, it wasn't safe.

Thomas' voice trembled as he slapped the picture onto the table. And you want me to simply... enter this life now? To repair a city that I don't even know exists? Do you know what you're asking of me?

"I do," she murmured softly. But you don't realize how powerful you are. You have endured things that most people would not. That strength is what enables you to do the necessary tasks.

Before he could answer, there was a knock in the room. A young guy entered, his face tight, wearing a fitted suit. "Madam Eleanor," he murmured, turning to face the old lady. "Something just happened."

Her face became serious, and she looked at Thomas. "We'll talk about this further later. However, you must realize that you are the reason this city is still here.

Thomas's heart was racing as he gazed at her. The image on the table seemed to pierce his thoughts, the faces of his parents burning into his consciousness.

He felt something he couldn't quite put his finger on stirring for the first time. Obligation. The goal.

and anxiety.

Eleanor began to walk away, but Thomas shouted out to her. "What sort of incident had occurred?"

She looked glum. “The kind that reminds us why the legacy of your family is important. Thomas, the city is calling for you already. Whether or not you're prepared.