A man decided to rob a house.

He drove down a random street, and picked a house on the left. He climbed in through a window in the living room. The click of the flashlight was the only noise in the house, and suddenly the man could see. He quickly scanned the room for any valuables that he would be able to pawn for a quick buck. His light landed on the coffee table.

There was a folder lying there, filled with papers, and photos spilling out.

Curiosity grabbed a hold of him and he looked inside. His birth certificate was there.

Harris James Wellington. That was his name, not the last one, but Harris James was him. And it was his birthday.

He began to look through the pictures that were there. He didn’t recognize the baby, but the brilliant red curls were hard to mistake. He started rifling through them, letting the fall where they may. There was one of his grade 4 baseball team, the year he hit the triple that won them the championship.

Suddenly, the living room lit up. James turned to see an old couple standing in the doorway.

“Welcome James. We’ve been waiting.”

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