DMYC Chapter 40

Grayson stood still, focusing all his attention, listening intently. It felt like a long time, but he heard nothing.

Did I mishear?

Just as he was about to dismiss it, he heard the sound again. There was no way he could be mistaken twice. His ears twitched, and he frowned, scanning his surroundings.

There was nothing unusual in the residential area, just rows of similar-looking houses lining the streets. He focused again, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. He started walking, guided by the sound, which grew clearer each time he heard it.

“Help me.”

As he got closer, the destination became clear. Grayson stopped in front of one of the similar-looking houses and looked around.

“Help me…!”

The child’s voice cried out again, as if having heard Grayson’s footsteps. This time, there was no mistaking it. He opened the side gate without hesitation and went inside. The crunching of dry grass under his feet was audible. The lawn, half-dead and brown, showed signs of it being neglected for quite some time.

“Help me! Help me!”

The child’s cries continued, even more desperate. He pressed his ear against the wall and waited, but the house remained silent, as if no one was there. The child was probably crying out precisely because he knew there was no one inside.

With that thought, Grayson looked down at the source of the sound. There was a large cellar door. The closed door muffled the cries, but he could still hear them distinctly. Perhaps it was due to an opening somewhere, likely meant for ventilation. Grayson knelt on one knee and pressed his ear against the door.

“Is anyone there?”

At Grayson’s question, the voice from inside cried out, louder this time,

“Yes, yes! I’m here! Help me, let me out, please!”

The voice, choked with sobs, was hoarse from crying.

“Oh dear…”

Grayson murmured sympathetically and asked again.

“What’s your name? Why are you down there? What happened?”

The child sniffled and replied,

“I-I’m Santiano. Daddy said… I’m a bad boy… so I have to stay here…”

The rest of his words were lost in sobs. Grayson nodded understandingly.

“I see. Alright, I’ll help you.”

This was something he often did. Helping others. Such a noble and selfless act. Grayson was always ready to help and willingly did so whenever he had the opportunity, just as he’d been taught from a very young age. This time was no different.

He opened one side of the double doors. From the bottom of the seemingly bottomless cellar, a small boy, barely reaching Grayson’s knees, looked up at him with a tense expression. 

Standing on tiptoe, stretching his arms as far as he could, his face was filled with hope and anticipation, hoping for some kind of miracle. He believed that he could finally escape this dark, scary cellar, that this brightly shining adult would rescue him, that this nightmare would finally be over.

However…

“…Huh?”

Grayson suddenly jumped into the cellar. The door he had opened slammed shut with a thud, plunging everything back into darkness. Santiano couldn’t understand what had just happened. 

As he stood there, blinking in a daze, a faint sliver of light coming through the gap between the doors made him see the man’s beautiful face. Only then did Santiano realize that this man, far from rescuing him, had entered this terrifying space with him.

“Wh-what are you doing? You’re supposed to get me out!”

Santiano cried out, confused. Grayson tilted his head, looking at the boy’s bewildered face, as if puzzled.

“Why? You’re being punished, aren’t you?”

“…What?”

As Santiano stared at him and asked once more, still confused, Grayson added in a chiding tone,

“You can’t run away while you’re being punished. That’s something only bad boys do.”

Santiano couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was saying.

What is this man talking about?

Grayson spoke kindly to the child, whose face had turned pale and bloodless.

“But Santiano, it’s alright now. Don’t worry.”

He slowly extended a hand. As the child flinched and stepped back, Grayson kept his hand outstretched, a bright smile on his face, and said,

“I’ll stay with you.”

Hope vanished completely from the child’s face, replaced by shock and terror.

* * *

After things settled down, they gathered to head back. Ezra, who had taken the last photo, returned the phone, and the men who had been waiting sighed and rubbed their shoulders.

“As expected of Dane Striker. Women go crazy whenever he shows up.”

Someone commented, and others chimed in.

“Just the women? I saw some of the men were trying to get pictures with him too.”

“What if we did a campaign with Dane as the model? If we put sexy photos of him, it would be incredibly effective!”

“Like a public service announcement?”

“Then a fire prevention campaign would be perfect!”

“How about something like emotional support? I heard there are services like that these days, and it’s run by the fire department. If they sent Dane, the response would be explosive.”

“Oh, that’s good too. Dane, what do you think? Isn’t that a great idea?”

The excited men waited for Dane’s response. Dane, who had been silent until then, finally spoke, his eyes still dull and indifferent,

“I hate doing things for free more than anything.”

That ended the discussion. He had only signed autographs and taken pictures earlier because he was “on the job.” Dane strictly separated his work and personal life. If he hadn’t been on duty, he would have ignored any requests, regardless of their reasons.

Haaam, Dane yawned widely. Seeing this, DeAndre whispered,

“Did that guy go out partying again last night?”

Another firefighter nodded.

“Highly possible. Dane always goes to clubs on his days off.”

“He’s certainly diligent when it comes to that.”

“Alright, stop it. Let’s get back, it’s getting late.”

Ezra said, tapping the side of the truck. Dane got in first, and the others followed, grinning. Just as the truck was about to leave, they realized someone was missing.

“Huh? What? I feel like we’re forgetting someone.”

Someone said, and DeAndre immediately replied,

“Miller’s not here!”

Everyone, finally realizing this, looked around in confusion. No matter how many times they looked, Grayson was nowhere in sight.

“Oh, damn it!”

“Miller, Grayson Miller!”

“Where are you? Let’s go back, come on out!”

“Miller!”

“Grayson Miller! Damn it!”

They got out of the truck, cursing and yelling his name, but there was no response.

“Fucking son of a bitch!”

DeAndre, unable to control his frustration, kicked the tire of the truck. While not as outwardly furious as the fuming DeAndre, the others weren’t pleased either.