From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Missing?

This was an answer Anson hadn't anticipated; the cause and effect couldn't be connected.

Anson looked at Lucas, "So, I found my own way back?"

"Wait, Lucas, are you sure I'm your brother? Not an imposter? Should we do a DNA test to confirm, just in case? It wouldn't be good if there was a mistake."

Lucas's eyes were filled with struggle.

"Exactly two days later, the family received a letter, containing a photo and a cut-and-paste ransom note."

"They demanded one hundred thousand dollars."

Anson was stunned—

This is… kidnapping?

If it were abduction, the criminals wouldn't notify the child's parents; they'd sell the child off, and the child would disappear without a trace, possibly never to be found again.

However, that wasn't the case.

So, this was kidnapping, and very likely premeditated kidnapping.

At this moment, Anson was very calm, because he had no memory of it at all. It was as if he was listening to a story, able to analyze it objectively.

But Lucas couldn't.

For a very, very long time, he hadn't awakened that memory. He had thought he had completely forgotten it, that the wound had completely healed.

In fact, it hadn't.

Everything was so vivid; he could still clearly remember every detail:

In that Polaroid photo, Anson, a tiny figure, was tied to a chair, blindfolded and gagged. His bloodless cheeks were smudged, and his clothes were covered in mud and dust. The scrapes on his arms and knees hadn't been bandaged and were equally covered in filth.

The background seemed to be a basement, where Anson was abandoned amidst a pile of bricks and garbage.

Closing his eyes, Lucas could still hear his mother's heart-wrenching cries, and the sound of his father's pacing. Even when he locked himself in the closet and covered his ears with his hands, those sounds still managed to penetrate, the roaring and clamor almost swallowing him whole.

His parents never blamed him, but he knew—

"It was my fault."

Lucas still thought so.

"If I hadn't taken you out, if I hadn't let go of your hand…"

Anson tried to pat Lucas on the shoulder, but found it too difficult; his right hand froze in mid-air, "But, I came back in the end, didn't I?"

Lucas was shaking his head, shaking his head vigorously, the pain in his eyes struggling.

"No, things shouldn't have been like that."

"We sent the cash as requested, but they didn't release you immediately. Instead, they packed up and fled, disappearing without a trace, and then mailed your location information to our house."

"By the time the police found you, it had already been five full days."

"You… you…"

At that time, Anson was like a stray dog, abandoned in the garbage pile of the basement, on the verge of death, his breath faint. His emaciated figure seemed like it would break with a gentle hug.

Lucas couldn't forgive himself. Ever.

He almost lost Anson.

His beloved younger brother, the brother he had always protected under his wings, the brother he tried to protect wholeheartedly with all his strength.

Almost disappeared forever because of his stupidity and recklessness.

Even after escaping death, Anson still experienced such pain and torment.

Unimaginable.

But Lucas had to remind himself constantly—

This wasn't about him. His guilt and pain could never compare to the terror Anson had personally experienced. He should dedicate his life to protecting Anson.

"In the hospital, you were in a coma for three days."

"When you woke up, you didn't remember anything."

Lucas was restraining himself, trying to downplay the whole thing as much as possible, avoiding embellishing the pain and darkness, but in a few words, he had already revealed too many secrets. The matter was far more than that.

The first two days were shrouded in mist, filled with their anxiety and torment.

The following five days, they had tried their best but still couldn't get an answer.

The last three days were spent in anxiety and trepidation, like frightened birds.

Those visible and invisible things, those unspoken words, were far more thrilling than imagined.

More cruelly, no one knew what Anson had experienced in those ten days.

Ten short days, but as long as a century, every minute and every second was torment. The Wood family could only speculate and imagine through their own minds, and then be attacked by their own guilt and self-blame until they were completely devastated.

Now, all the questions finally had answers.

Beneath the calm surface, there were always hidden scars, scars that ran deep.

Happiness was just an illusion, a carefully crafted illusion.

Lucas mustered his courage and looked at Anson again, only to find Anson looking calm, unperturbed, not only not struggling, but also looking at him with concern, as if he was the one who had suffered those painful tortures back then.

"Anson… you, you really don't remember?"

Lucas asked cautiously.

When Anson woke up, after a brief moment of rejoicing and joy, the Wood family also seemed torn. They weren't sure if they should ask Anson about those ten days, nor did they know if they would cause Anson secondary harm.

However, Anson didn't remember anything, as if nothing had ever happened.

Anson even pestered Lucas, saying he wanted to go to that carnival in Brooklyn, until Lucas told him that the carnival had already left, and Anson became quiet with a disappointed look on his face.

They had consulted a psychologist and also conducted a comprehensive brain examination for Anson.

But there were no results.

Those ten days seemed to have been erased from Anson's mind.

Lucas had always believed that Anson was pretending, that he had chosen to remain silent in order to comfort them, pretending that nothing had happened.

One pretense lasted for more than ten years.

As time went on, Lucas began to convince himself that perhaps Anson had really forgotten, perhaps they should all pretend that nothing had ever happened, perhaps that was the best solution for Anson and for them.

But in the dead of night, Lucas couldn't help but awaken those memories, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

If—just assuming, if Anson remembered everything, but they were all pretending that nothing had happened, how cruel would that be?

They had already hurt Anson once, were they going to continue hurting Anson for more than ten years?

Just a thought, but it tormented Lucas again and again.

They had always told themselves that the matter was over, that those scars and memories should all be thrown to the back of their minds, that they should learn to move on; however, the impact of that event had never disappeared, even deeply rooted in the depths of their souls, a bloody mess.

And what about Anson?

Was Anson the same, those nightmares also always hidden in the darkness, waiting for an opportunity to strike; or was it that Anson had never forgotten?

Lucas looked at Anson, a hint of unease and fear in his eyes.