Ghosts Don’t Cry
Michael reflected on his life. Having never shared his story with others, he struggled to begin.
The beginning part of his life was hazy. He couldn’t even recall where or how he was born and raised. Those memories were like a small poetry book hidden among towering bookshelves. He could find it if he wanted to, but he didn’t want to disturb all the other books just for that one.
As a child, he couldn’t properly distinguish between dreams and reality. His dreams always reflected someone else’s life rather than his own. One day he would dream of going to an amusement park with loving parents, while on another day he would dream of running away from abusive parents. The confusion in his self-identity was, in a way, an inevitable result.
The names others called him in his dreams also varied widely. Jacob, Haley, Tom, Caitlin, and so on… It wasn’t until after he turned five that he realized his name was “Michael.”
It was undoubtedly thanks to Federico that he could distinguish between reality and dreams. In reality, he had been wandering without parents or friends before catching the eye of a sex trafficking broker and ending up locked in a cage. Meanwhile, the “me” in his dreams was a child born with a naturally weak body who suffered from nervous exhaustion at a young age, trying to please his oppressive father.
And “my” name was Federico. Federico Gostin.
Michael believed himself to be Federico for as long as a year. It was like a second identity, and the impact was greater than expected.
Federico was born and raised in Italy, but his birth mother was a Romanian prostitute, and his father was a Slovenian drug addict.
When he turned six, his parents finally abandoned him, and a poorly-funded orphanage took him in. Being in a remote rural area, adoptions were extremely rare.
Having grown up under incapable birth parents, Federico was happy just not going hungry. He even wondered if adoption was necessary when he was already satisfied with his current situation.
Hello, little one. What’s your name?
While playing joyfully with his friends as usual, Federico encountered a mysterious visitor at the facility. He was a man with a menacing appearance, wearing a hat pulled low over his face and shorter than most adult men, whose persistently clinging gaze was instinctively unpleasant.
The next day, that man adopted Federico. He was the boss of the Gostin organization, Giuseppe Gostin.
Giuseppe was a terrible pedophile. Using the excuse that he needed children to continue his lineage, he secretly adopted children who met his taste and used them as sexual playthings.
Federico trembled in fear as he witnessed the other children, called his siblings, dying horribly for disobeying Giuseppe. Not wanting to die, he dutifully called Giuseppe “father” and flattered him, and when Giuseppe gently stroked his head, he reflexively opened his mouth to pleasure the man’s genitals.
In less than half a year, the siblings who had numbered over thirty were reduced to only about five.
Federico loved and became attached to the siblings who shared his pain. Among them was a twelve-year-old boy named Paolo, the oldest, who had a weak constitution and whom Federico took care of a lot. Perhaps because of this, Federico followed Paolo well.
Behind their cruel adoptive father’s back, the five siblings pledged to escape this hellish place together someday. However, as time passed, two died at Giuseppe’s hands, and another committed suicide the year Federico turned fifteen. Only Paolo and Federico remained.
Federico loved Paolo. It was clearly a love beyond brotherly affection. Paolo also loved Federico, and their only obstacle was Giuseppe.
They plotted. They planned to kill Giuseppe when he was under the influence of drugs. They promised that if they succeeded, they would leave this place forever with the souls of their other siblings and spend the rest of their lives enjoying the freedom and happiness they had dreamed of.
But it was ultimately an unrealistic hope. They had anticipated that failure meant death, so mistakes born of excessive fear and tension turned everything to nothing. They should have shot and killed Giuseppe with a gun when he let his guard down, but the gun wasn’t loaded.
When Giuseppe regained his senses, he tightly bound his two sons who had attempted to kill him, then stroked their heads and said he would spare only one who obeyed him well. And he persistently stroked their heads.
Paolo didn’t move. He had long lost his sanity due to hatred for Giuseppe and grief over losing his siblings.
What about Federico?
He thought. He thought and thought again. How to escape this situation, how both he and Paolo could survive together. When Giuseppe’s hand stroked his head, he almost opened his mouth out of habit but barely managed to resist.
Federico.
When Giuseppe’s chilling voice called his name, he instinctively screamed. He didn’t want to die. He couldn’t die like this. Somehow, the instinct to survive trampled his pride and reason.
Federico had to accept it. That cruel moment when he would lose his only remaining sibling. He couldn’t blame others or resent God. He knew better than anyone that this tragedy was of his own making.
That was the content of the dream.
Michael, awakened from the dream, cried endlessly inside the cage. I’m sorry. I was too afraid. He begged Paolo for forgiveness as if he were actually Federico.
My, how sorrowfully you cry.
The sound of polished shoes echoed through the basement. Looking toward the sound while shedding bitter tears, Michael saw a man with a thick coat draped lightly over his shoulders approaching with interest.
Michael stared blankly at the man with his hat pulled low, then began sobbing again. The sorrow of losing Paolo still lingered. As he grabbed the bars and cried more loudly, the man’s eyes gleamed.
Federico.
Both the man and Michael turned their heads simultaneously. Another set of footsteps was heard from the opposite side, hidden in darkness where the light didn’t reach.
Look at this. I’ve found something interesting.
I thought you didn’t come here for that this time.
He looks pitiful when he cries. It keeps weighing on my mind.
The man slightly lifted his hat and gave Michael a kind smile.
Hello, little one. What’s your name?
Michael’s lips twitched. He debated whether to answer. The faint silhouette visible beyond answered for him, unable to stand it any longer.
He must be an abandoned orphan. How would he have a name?
Ah, is that so?
The man, now fully removing his hat, reached his hand into the cage. Michael, who had been staring at the fidgeting fingers, carefully took hold of them, and the man opened his mouth with satisfaction.
Nice to meet you. My name is Federico.
Michael blinked dumbly. Next to him, who was greeting cheerfully, an Asian man with a fierce expression finally revealed himself and glanced at Michael. Beyond his glasses, his eyes were distorted with displeasure.
And so, the connection between Federico, Hunter, and Michael began with the damp basement air.
