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I take a step toward the pull. It’s coming from the bed.
Slowly walking to the side of the bed, I bend down, getting to my knees and leaning to the floor, I look under the frame along the wall for an amulet.
Balls of fur and dust coat the ground. There’s a disturbance of the thick layer of grime in a long line as if someone had pulled something out from underneath the bed.
Towards the wall I catch a glimpse of a round object, partially obscured by dirt or grime. It appears to be bronze, but I can feel with every fiber of my being that it’s the amulet.
I reach out, grasping the light metal with my fingertips and slide it to my palm before backing out to sit on my knees. As I wipe the pendant with my shirt, I notice the clear fluid surrounding an intricately carved dual-faced head at the center, each face staring in opposite directions. I peel my eyes away from it, tucking it securely into my shirt with a relieved sigh.
The floor beneath me creaks as I push to my feet and I hear a sharp, muffled gasp from the closet. My head snaps in the direction of the sound and I move slowly to the doors, every memory I have of avoiding people with cruel intentions flickers into my mind.
I keep my voice calm and level, but it comes out no more than a whisper, “I’m going to open the door. I’m not here to hurt you, please stay quiet and take deep breaths.”
Gently tugging the handles to the side, it groans loudly, and I hear a whimper, along with a muffled cry.
Two pairs of brown eyes stare at me with a level of terror I’m all too familiar with as they hide amongst the rows of hanging garments. My heart sinks in my chest at their tattered clothing that does nothing to hide the bones jutting out from their filthy, bruised skin.
I grit my teeth but keep my emotions masked in an attempt to soften my features to be as open and welcoming as possible. The two girls look no older than seven. One is maybe half that age.
The eldest child is desperately trying to muffle the younger girl’s cries, her hand pressed firmly against the little one’s mouth as tears streak through the layers of dirt on her face.
“My name is Lara,” I say softly. Both children look at me and then glance to the door with wide eyes.
They’re petrified.
I meet the gaze of the youngest, “No one will hurt you while I’m here. I used to be like you.” Shifting my attention to the older girl, “Do you want me to help?” The younger child glances up to the older one, and after a moment of hesitation, the eldest nods in agreement.
“Okay, we need to get to my friend in the front room. I want you to stay behind me, no matter what. I won’t let them take you back. They’d have to get through me to get to you, okay?”
I hope you’re ready, Caspian.
I hold the hand of the older child, the youngest tucked into her protectively. Part of me wonders if the older one is doing this solely to get the younger one out of here.
If only we’d had that luxury.
My chest tightens and resolve coats my veins as I walk confidently down the with both girls in tow. As we round the corner, Caspian is facing us and his eyes widen as he glances between me and the children.
Whatever he sees from the three of us must be enough for him to know I won’t leave them here.
The woman turns around and her face contorts in a mixture of surprise and rage as she sees the girls beside me. She reaches her arm toward them, but Caspian has quickly positioned himself between us.
“They are our foster kids! You can’t just take them!” She shouts, as she steps to the side and Caspian matches her movement.
He glares at her, “By the looks of it, they’re extremely underfed and I’d be willing to bet that after a proper bath, those bruises would look much, much worse.” his voice is cold, vicious and lethal, sending a chill down my spine.
“Tim! Tim! They’re taking the children!” She shouts frantically, and loud steps resound through the house and the youngest, now trembling where she stands, begins to cry.
“Lara. Take the girls outside.” His calm, commanding tone grabs my attention amidst the chaos.
I nod and escort the children out, ignoring the woman shouting behind us. With each step, their pace increases until they’re both running, and I’m having to jog alongside them to keep up.
The moment we get out the door, the two hug each other while sobbing.
Shouting ensues and I wrap my forearms protectively around them as they cry harder. Caspian steps out of the house with his phone against his ear, his knuckles covered in blood as he speaks to someone.
I can’t hear him over the crying and sniffling of the children, so I just tighten my grip on them. The eldest has her arm wrapped around my thigh and has buried her face in my leg as silent tears fall while she holds the youngest’s head into her chest as she wails.
“I called a friend, he’s about 10 minutes away. He’ll pick us up until we can figure out what to do next.”
