The Orphanage

"No, I've never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Shaw. I only recently acquired that apartment building," a middle-aged Caucasian man with gold-rimmed glasses said on TV, his face etched with a trace of sorrow as he shook his head slightly.

"Mr. Dale, how do you respond to some media reports suggesting that 'you were well aware of the significant safety risks to the tenants'?" a reporter asked pointedly, the microphone nearly shoved into the bespectacled man's mouth.

"Yes, that's correct. Everyone living here knows that Hell's Kitchen has a serious problem with safety. That's why I offered all the tenants a substantial compensation package, to help them find new places to live," Dale continued, shaking his head with an expression of grief that Aiden found to be overly theatrical.

"Such tragedies should not have happened to the Shaws or anyone else. This neighborhood needs cleaning up. If I had been involved sooner, perhaps this could have been avoided. I'm truly very sorry," Dale concluded before hastily departing.

Reporters tried to follow but were blocked by a phalanx of imposing bodyguards. On camera, the black luxury SUV drove off into the distance.

Click.

The TV was turned off. Aiden turned to see an elderly woman looking at him disapprovingly.

"You're too young to be dealing with these things," said Laura, a caregiver at the orphanage. Regardless of the orphanage director's motives for bringing Aiden there, Laura was genuinely kind to him. She had a good heart and held no prejudice against Aiden's ethnicity.

"There's still no news from the police, is there?" Aiden turned back to the black screen and asked.

Laura sighed inwardly, her heart heavy. She had been following the case closely and knew from a friend at the police station that the street cameras near the apartment had recorded nothing. The cameras had been broken for years.

The incident had occurred late at night during a downpour, with no eyewitnesses around. Only the somewhat confused elderly neighbor, Amy, had seen the accident, but due to her age, she couldn't provide any clear clues. Like Aiden, she hadn't seen the perpetrator or the license plate. The heavy rain had washed everything clean, hiding all sins behind its veil.

"It's only been seven days; give them some time. They will bring the culprit to justice," Laura reassured Aiden. She was confident in comforting a five-year-old; it was her job, her livelihood. She had spent half her life with children and knew what they needed to hear.

Laura walked over to the sofa and squatted beside Aiden, who was silent. "Why don't you go back to your room? After you wash up, I'll tell you a bedtime story. You'll like it."

"May I make a phone call to Mrs. Amy, please?" Aiden suddenly looked up, his voice pleading.

Laura sighed softly and reached out to ruffle Aiden's hair but stopped when he dodged her hand. Seeing his furrowed brow, she refrained from the gesture and said, "It's late, dear. It's already 9 PM. Listen, the whole building is asleep, and here you are sneaking out of your room to watch TV. I bet Mrs. Amy is asleep too. Let's not disturb her rest, okay?"

"No, she won't be sleeping," Aiden shook his head.

Laura stood and sat next to Aiden, "Listen, child, we're not trying to separate you from your loved ones; we're not the bad guys here. Mrs. Amy is old and without a stable income. She can't take care of you and even needs welfare herself. Here, at least you can have food and clothes, and perhaps in the future, a loving couple will adopt you..."

Before Laura could finish, Aiden had run off.

"Wait, stop, you little rascal!"

Chased by Laura, Aiden reached her bedroom, startling another caregiver awake.

"Hehe, child, you're afraid of the dark, aren't you? Come to auntie," the caregiver mistook Aiden's intent, thinking he was seeking comfort and shelter, but saw him rush to the table and pick up the phone receiver.

"You—" The caregiver was at a loss, quickly getting out of bed, followed by Laura's swift entrance.

"Laura, what's this?" the caregiver asked, puzzled by Aiden's actions and looking to Laura for an explanation.

Laura opened her mouth but ultimately allowed Aiden to proceed, saying sternly, "Just this once. After the call, you go to sleep."

"Thank you," Aiden said, his lips pursing as he dialed the old-fashioned rotary phone. Despite the era of push-button phones, the orphanage's equipment seemed outdated.

After rotating the dial and hearing the clicks, the call connected, but to a male voice.

"Sorry, sir. I'm Aiden from 204a. I'm sorry to bother you so late. Could you please get Mrs. Amy for me?" Aiden asked.

There was silence on the line. Perhaps the night watchman recognized Aiden's voice or thought of his ordeal, for he set down the receiver without a word and left the duty room for the second floor.

Anxious, Aiden was comforted by Laura, who wrapped him in her arms and sat on a chair, "Don't worry; I keep my promises. You'll finish this call. But you're also a boy who keeps his word. After this, you'll go to sleep like you said, right?"

"Yes, Laura," Aiden nodded firmly, and soon he heard Amy's aged voice.

"Is that my little Aiden?" Amy's voice, tinged with surprise, made Aiden's eyes water.

"Yes, Amy. I think... I hope you can move out of that apartment," Aiden said.

Amy paused, expecting a different conversation. She had to assume someone was influencing the young boy.

"Hehe, child, I'm old and can't move anymore. It's fine here," Amy replied.

"No, Amy. They'll give you a lot of compensation. Moving out of Hell's Kitchen might be the best choice," Aiden said, feeling the surprised gazes of the two caregivers.

"Whatever you've heard, whatever lies you've been told, let me tell you, child, it's not true," Amy insisted, her voice firm, "Leaving here would only leave me homeless."

"There's my memory, my everything. My husband died here; if I could leave this world from the same place, it wouldn't be so bad."

"Amy..."

"Listen, child. You're smart. Learn to take care of yourself," Amy's voice trailed off into a busy signal, and Aiden's phone slipped from his grasp to the floor.

Unseen by all, in the next room, a Caucasian boy lay with hollow eyes, as if listening to everything.