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Get the kids, get them safe. Get the kids, get them safe.
The mantra plays in my head as I quietly keep to the shadows of my sister’s house. Breaking the back window to get in was a risk, but I heard the gunshots through the phone and my sister’s screams. It’s a risk I must take.
Get the kids, get them safe. Get the kids, get them safe.
Getting to the room seemed like running through the gauntlet of dangers, but it’s nothing compared to the dangers I faced getting the kids out of the house and to safety.
Flames danced around the living room. The same room my sister was just in while on the phone with me.
“See you in hell, schemer.”
The child on my back squeezes me at the sound of the familiar voice.
Get the kids, get them safe. Get the kids, get them safe.
“Sing to me,nipote,” I tell the little one clinging to me as we make it out into the cold night.
As the sweet little voice fills the air as we run through the darkened neighborhood, I let the image of the killer burn itself into my memory.
I’ll never forget the face I saw through the flames.
I’ll never tell a soul these children survived.
And one day I’ll celebrate the death of the monster because mark my words: these children will make him pay.
