Buried Fragments

Drake paid for everything. 

It was the least he could do for those families that lost a child. He knew how painful it was to lost a loved one. He was not immune to pain and suffering. 

People might have seen him as a happy guy, but inside, he was plain hollow. 

Drake could not help but feel guilty over what had happened. Common sense told him it was not his fault. It was the murder who was to blame. Not him, yet. 

He would never forget the faces of all the parents he and the RD had met. The anguish he saw in their eyes was enough to last for the next ten years. The wails of mothers, fathers, and the relatives echoed inside his head. 

Jeron, the firefighter who found the first body, was the only person he met that did not shed a tear. Maybe because he had shed them when he was the one who pulled his sister's dead body. 

"Master Drake," his butler greeted him at the front door of the mansion he live-in. He gave a slight nod and gave him his coat. "Dinner is ready, if you would follow me…"

"Not now, Edward. My appetite is…" Drake let the words fade, unable to finish his sentence. 

The day was exhausting. 

Mind.

Body. 

And soul. 

He had always prided himself with being fit in all aspects of the body. He never imagined that a day with Jerome would drain him. The toll he must have been suffering since being chief of that division must have been too much. 

"As you wish. I will ask the maid to wrap it up so you could heat it later. Would you like me to stay with you?" Edward had been in his family since he was a child. 

He was his confidant, an adviser, and his mentor. Edward had taught him a lot of things. He was the humanity in the household that wawa full of greed.

Of course, his father was not among those. 

He made sure that his only son was away from the family drama. Too bad that the drama followed him. 

He gave a nod and went up the staircase to his room. He did not bother to turn the lights on. Drake took off his shoes and laid face first on the bed covers. 

He took a deep breath before he rolled onto his back and looked at his ceiling. The glitters that were mixed into the paint were like tiny stars in the sky. There was a whimsical smile on his lips. 

His adopted daughter thought it would be cool.

"Maria…"

He whispered. 

How long had he lost the most precious person in his world for him? She would be seven years old now. Wait, eight. His Maria would have been eight years old. 

But…

"I helped mothers and fathers, pumpkin. They lost a child, just like daddy…" he whispered in the empty room. 

His eyes looked at the frame on his bedside table. It was the last picture of his child. Her bright brown eyes shone with laughter. Her long black locks looked wind swept and he could still hear her laugh. 

"Thank you. What you did means a lot for these people. Some of them couldn't afford a proper funeral. Your gift might have been for their departed loved one, you still helped."

Mace told him in a quiet voice. He had to blink several times to make sure he heard her properly. She had eased to speak when they saw a black sedan sped away from the site. 

He too had seen it, with the resources in his disposal, the info he was seeking would be in his hands by morning. 

His phone rang, pulling it out of his pockets, he wished that it was not his mother. The woman was demanding to have a matching date with one of her friend's daughter. She was trying to marry him off. 

He sat up straight before he answered the call, years of discipline cannot be erased. 

"Father."

Drake greeted, his voice sounded tired even from his ears, he cleared his throat ones more and said, "Father, good evening, is there something wrong?"

There was a pause at the end of the line, like his father was trying to compose himself. Drake heard a sigh. A deep sigh that alerted him something was wrong. 

"Dad?" he asked, worry filled his voice. 

"I'm okay, son. You did a good job with those victims. I will be signing off scholarships to their siblings. It is the least we can do…"

His father fell silent again. Like him, he must have been remembering his only grandchild. Blood was never the issue, not with them. They all loved Maria. Her death broke something. It took away a piece that would never be replaced. 

"Father, I will be buying that lot when everything is over," Drake told him. 

"Is there a reason why?"

"I want to give that place of death a new life. If the city would permit me, I will be building a preschool there. I have already emailed some people that will be willing to help me make it into a reality."

Drake waited, it was absurd, land where death happens were said to be haunted. He should just purchase a new place. Somewhere that death has not touched. 

"Good." 

He gave a relieved breath and fell back on the bed. His father was okay with it. 

His father sounded more excited about this venture. This was a move that his father had avoided making. Buying lands where people were killed. To him, it seemed wrong. 

But Drake was not Draco. They might share blood, but ideology was so different from each other. 

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, this venture will help kids to learn to grow. By building a preschool, it would be a stepping stone to being aware and being knowledgeable. 

It was a payback, a revenge of sorts. 

Was it?

As his father drones on and on, Drake could not help but wonder what pain they hide behind their brave demeanor. 

Jerome, he was slightly aware of it. Je Anne and Mace? They were the wild card. What hides behind those glasses of theirs?

He has time. And Drake will be using it wisely.