Chapter 76

(CURRENT TIME)

When Anthony Clark opened his eyes in the morning, the first thing that came into his head was the song "When You Wish Upon a Star." Anthony's father had hummed to him while he rocked him to sleep as an infant, and subsequently as he tucked him in at night as a young kid. This was a tradition that continued throughout Anthony's life.

It was the only thing Anthony had of his own anymore. Anthony could feel the rough surface of the floor through the thin, lumpy, and decidedly un-swanlike mattress that was underneath him. It was so icy that he had to pull his sleeping bag, which he had previously taken from a homeless shelter, up to his shoulders in order to stay warm. He shuddered. Anthony was all by himself in his unremarkable room, with the exception of a thin kitten named Mickey Cat who had an equally scrawny belly. And perhaps even in the entire world.

If you could even call the room a bedroom, there was just one lightbulb hanging from the ceiling of his bedroom. The first thing that tipped him off to the fact that his makeshift chamber was truly a cellar were the high, narrow windows. The puddle of water that had formed on the concrete floor, the recycled newspapers that were placed along the walls, and the bags of empty cans and bottles constituted the second piece of evidence.

Anthony wasn't actually incarcerated, despite the fact that the room resembled a cell. Not in the traditional sense, and not in anything that even remotely resembles a prison. No longer, however. When he had initially arrived in the country after being taken here by MRC. Because the secure location that Anthony broke into did not have a name, he referred to it as "7B," which were the digits that were on her bulletproof bedroom door. His only company throughout those five years was provided by a monotonous rotation of tutors and security guards, an old television that was attached to the floor, an unlimited supply of microwave noodles, and an old television. Never, ever again

Anthony had been living on his own for the past three years without ever turning his gaze toward his former life. Not since the day he turned ten, when he ran away from his handler and abandoned his false home, taking with him nothing more than what he could steal and fit into an old duffel bag. Anthony did not consider what he was doing to be theft so much as a means of survival. Aside from that, he'd been stealing small amounts of money from the guards' jackets for years and discovered he had more than enough to buy a one-way ticket to New York City. There, he'd be able to hop from one shelter to another until he found a place where he could come and go as he pleased until he found a place where he could come and go as she pleased. Aside from that, he'd been stealing small amounts of Living in the drafty basement of a YWCA meant that nobody noticed when she left or cared when she returned home, which was one of the benefits of her living situation. The benefits of being a runaway were gaining one's freedom and independence.

Anthony had reached the age of eleven at this point and had become almost as frail as Mickey Cat, who had been in the basement at the time when Anthony had found it. Anthony's hair was still the same light blonde color it had been when he was a child in London, but now that he was in the United States, the frigid showers that were located upstairs in the public locker rooms meant that he had little time for things like conditioner. As well as combs. In recent times, the top of his red curls had become loose and was tangled up in a haphazard manner. Anthony would do anything to get a steaming hot bath, even though he hadn't had many of those since he was released from the M.R.C.