05-29-2014, 07:51 PM
The door he thought was a closet was locked. There was muffled talking on the other side, but between the doorway and his helmet, the sound was far too distorted to make any of it out. It didn't sound heated, whatever it was.
He tried the handle again and the speaking stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder and found the boy urging him on.
Jensen sighed and licked his lips again. Hurling his shoulder against it would make too much noise. The Gift could be hurled, somehow, he assumed, but without knowing how to reign in the magnitude of the blow, the very door itself could break from its hinges and hurt someone behind.
He reached for the handle again, praying that perhaps he'd been wrong about the lock just as a click sounded from the other side and a face peeked through the opening.
It was a girl, maybe fourteen years old, with matted brunette hair and full cheeks. From what Jensen could tell she was in an oversized t-shirt and tennis shoes and clearly not expecting to meet the fiberglass face before her.
Jensen spoke before she could slam the door in his face, "Its okay! I'm here to help."
He urged and raised his hands innocently.
The little boy somehow managed to squeeze by the doorframe. He clearly knew the teenager. "He's a superhero!"
Jensen smiled, warmed by the child's faith, despite the seriousness of the situation. The teenager looked between the child she seemed to trust and the stranger with the strange appearance.
He wanted to put her at ease, "I'm going to get you all out of here, tonight. I have a friend coming to help, too."
The girl's eye went wide, "Pulisa?!"
she clutched a hand to her chest and hurried back into the room. The boy, meanwhile, pulled open the door, grabbed Jensen's hand and made him follow.
The teenager wasn't alone. There were two pairs of bunk beds, but otherwise the room was identical in layout to its neighbor. She'd gone to the lower bed of the nearest bunk, where she huddled next to a similarly appearing girl, dark brown hair and full cheeks, but below tilted green eyes. They must have been the two he could hear whispering through the door. They spoke hushed and hurried now in a language he guessed was Hindi. Perhaps?
The boy climbed the rungs of the bunk ladder sprite as a bunny. The girls didn't seem to mind, like perhaps he did as much often.
A third girl sat up from the top bed of the other bunk. She, like the other two, was in her young teenage years, and similar in appearance. They cattle them by product? Jensen thought, horridly, to himself. She wiped sleep from her eyes and watched him with a terribly flat expression that ran Jensen's blood cold.
The final bed was occupied by a lump of blankets that had yet to stir. Already on edge, he feared what he would find beneath them, but was soon kneeling alongside nonetheless. The girl above hopped to the floor, but moved away to get a drink of water rather than hover protectively over someone she likely didn't know. Or perhaps was too fearful to be seen associating with.
She was curled in the fetal position, but when Jensen pushed down the blanket from her chin, he found a wide-awake little girl about thirteen or fourteen. The same dark hair was splayed around a thin pillow. Her jaw was clenched tight, and upon realizing the strange shape hovering over, jerked the blanket back up. The cringe of pain was clear.
Jensen said nothing, simply laid a hand on her forehead and another on the lump of her body, and bowed his head. The Gift sang to him a joyful, powerful song and as he had that child's next door, he fleetingly knew each and every one of her injuries. They were deep and aching, like bruises widespread around her body. There was worse, but a few minutes of concentrate washed them clean as freshly fallen snow. Like the boy, she gasped in disbelief, and soon came to sat up after it was all over. Jensen pulled both hands away to give her room, but also because he was a little worried how she might react.
She rubbed her hands over her stomach and found tenderness washed away. She touched the back of her head, and no wince darkened her expression. "Who are you?"
She asked, surprisingly in English.
The little boy jumped by him before he could respond, "He's a superhero!"
he bellowed with a laugh and pointed at his own belly. "He did me too!"
There were quiet gasps from across the room.
Jensen put a hand on his shoulder to quiet him down, but he spoke to the girls, "I'm here to get you all out of here and taken somewhere safe. There's a church that will help."
He grasped the little girl's hands in his own, "Can you tell me how many others there are? And if anyone else is hurt?"
He spoke softly, muffling his accent as best he could.
The girl pursed her lips together as though too afraid to answer. Jensen was about to urge her on, when the little boy practically dragged him out of there.
"What's wrong?!"
He asked, but soon realized voices in the hall.
The boy closed the door to the adjoining room and Jensen fumbled for his Wallet. Connor was there already! Steps outside.
The boy returned to sitting on his cot, and Jensen was standing center in the room, hands on his hips, and for all regular purposes, seemingly annoyed at the interruption.
Baronej was the first through the door, but Connor's shape was familiar behind him.
The salesman looked between the two occupants. That sickly grin sliced his mouth into a smile that while the Gift burned through his veins, Jensen nearly unleashed upon the man. But a very quiet verse in the back of his mind held him from striking: retribution was the Lord's. He would pay, someday, for his sins. We all will.
Baronej's facade soon faded in Jensen's silence.
"You can no invite others. You not Svane. You are-"
but Jensen cut him off by flashing that wad of cash again. Smoothly, despite the desperation in his chest screaming at him to flee as fast as he could.
Hunger quieted Baronej's protests, but he turned to Connor, "I tell you as I tell him. You break, you buy. And that one,"
he pointed at the little boy, "breaks easy."
He pushed by the second shopper and slammed the door behind him on the way out.
Silence struck the tense air for a long moment, until the little boy came and stood behind him, pressed into the back of his knees and peeked around like leering from behind a treetrunk.
Jensen cupped the back of his head, wary of his fear, "Its alright. Remember the friend I said was going to help?"
Before he had another chance to introduce Connor, the side-door opened once more and this time four girlish faces peeked out. Additional voices fluttered delicate like butterflies in the room beyond, English, Hindi and .. Chinese, perhaps, all mixed together.
The girl that had been injured padded her way out first. She was in an old band t-shirt and leggings with holes in the knees. Her eyes were bright despite chewing on her lower lip. How long had she been a slave? Did she know any other way to live?
Torn between going to the children and greeting Connor, he merely said thank-you with a stretch of the hand and a few quiet words. "Thank you for coming. I can't do this on my own."
He dared not lift his visor shield, just in case, but he hoped Connor would recognize the sound of his voice anyway.
He tried the handle again and the speaking stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder and found the boy urging him on.
Jensen sighed and licked his lips again. Hurling his shoulder against it would make too much noise. The Gift could be hurled, somehow, he assumed, but without knowing how to reign in the magnitude of the blow, the very door itself could break from its hinges and hurt someone behind.
He reached for the handle again, praying that perhaps he'd been wrong about the lock just as a click sounded from the other side and a face peeked through the opening.
It was a girl, maybe fourteen years old, with matted brunette hair and full cheeks. From what Jensen could tell she was in an oversized t-shirt and tennis shoes and clearly not expecting to meet the fiberglass face before her.
Jensen spoke before she could slam the door in his face, "Its okay! I'm here to help."
He urged and raised his hands innocently.
The little boy somehow managed to squeeze by the doorframe. He clearly knew the teenager. "He's a superhero!"
Jensen smiled, warmed by the child's faith, despite the seriousness of the situation. The teenager looked between the child she seemed to trust and the stranger with the strange appearance.
He wanted to put her at ease, "I'm going to get you all out of here, tonight. I have a friend coming to help, too."
The girl's eye went wide, "Pulisa?!"
she clutched a hand to her chest and hurried back into the room. The boy, meanwhile, pulled open the door, grabbed Jensen's hand and made him follow.
The teenager wasn't alone. There were two pairs of bunk beds, but otherwise the room was identical in layout to its neighbor. She'd gone to the lower bed of the nearest bunk, where she huddled next to a similarly appearing girl, dark brown hair and full cheeks, but below tilted green eyes. They must have been the two he could hear whispering through the door. They spoke hushed and hurried now in a language he guessed was Hindi. Perhaps?
The boy climbed the rungs of the bunk ladder sprite as a bunny. The girls didn't seem to mind, like perhaps he did as much often.
A third girl sat up from the top bed of the other bunk. She, like the other two, was in her young teenage years, and similar in appearance. They cattle them by product? Jensen thought, horridly, to himself. She wiped sleep from her eyes and watched him with a terribly flat expression that ran Jensen's blood cold.
The final bed was occupied by a lump of blankets that had yet to stir. Already on edge, he feared what he would find beneath them, but was soon kneeling alongside nonetheless. The girl above hopped to the floor, but moved away to get a drink of water rather than hover protectively over someone she likely didn't know. Or perhaps was too fearful to be seen associating with.
She was curled in the fetal position, but when Jensen pushed down the blanket from her chin, he found a wide-awake little girl about thirteen or fourteen. The same dark hair was splayed around a thin pillow. Her jaw was clenched tight, and upon realizing the strange shape hovering over, jerked the blanket back up. The cringe of pain was clear.
Jensen said nothing, simply laid a hand on her forehead and another on the lump of her body, and bowed his head. The Gift sang to him a joyful, powerful song and as he had that child's next door, he fleetingly knew each and every one of her injuries. They were deep and aching, like bruises widespread around her body. There was worse, but a few minutes of concentrate washed them clean as freshly fallen snow. Like the boy, she gasped in disbelief, and soon came to sat up after it was all over. Jensen pulled both hands away to give her room, but also because he was a little worried how she might react.
She rubbed her hands over her stomach and found tenderness washed away. She touched the back of her head, and no wince darkened her expression. "Who are you?"
She asked, surprisingly in English.
The little boy jumped by him before he could respond, "He's a superhero!"
he bellowed with a laugh and pointed at his own belly. "He did me too!"
There were quiet gasps from across the room.
Jensen put a hand on his shoulder to quiet him down, but he spoke to the girls, "I'm here to get you all out of here and taken somewhere safe. There's a church that will help."
He grasped the little girl's hands in his own, "Can you tell me how many others there are? And if anyone else is hurt?"
He spoke softly, muffling his accent as best he could.
The girl pursed her lips together as though too afraid to answer. Jensen was about to urge her on, when the little boy practically dragged him out of there.
"What's wrong?!"
He asked, but soon realized voices in the hall.
The boy closed the door to the adjoining room and Jensen fumbled for his Wallet. Connor was there already! Steps outside.
The boy returned to sitting on his cot, and Jensen was standing center in the room, hands on his hips, and for all regular purposes, seemingly annoyed at the interruption.
Baronej was the first through the door, but Connor's shape was familiar behind him.
The salesman looked between the two occupants. That sickly grin sliced his mouth into a smile that while the Gift burned through his veins, Jensen nearly unleashed upon the man. But a very quiet verse in the back of his mind held him from striking: retribution was the Lord's. He would pay, someday, for his sins. We all will.
Baronej's facade soon faded in Jensen's silence.
"You can no invite others. You not Svane. You are-"
but Jensen cut him off by flashing that wad of cash again. Smoothly, despite the desperation in his chest screaming at him to flee as fast as he could.
Hunger quieted Baronej's protests, but he turned to Connor, "I tell you as I tell him. You break, you buy. And that one,"
he pointed at the little boy, "breaks easy."
He pushed by the second shopper and slammed the door behind him on the way out.
Silence struck the tense air for a long moment, until the little boy came and stood behind him, pressed into the back of his knees and peeked around like leering from behind a treetrunk.
Jensen cupped the back of his head, wary of his fear, "Its alright. Remember the friend I said was going to help?"
Before he had another chance to introduce Connor, the side-door opened once more and this time four girlish faces peeked out. Additional voices fluttered delicate like butterflies in the room beyond, English, Hindi and .. Chinese, perhaps, all mixed together.
The girl that had been injured padded her way out first. She was in an old band t-shirt and leggings with holes in the knees. Her eyes were bright despite chewing on her lower lip. How long had she been a slave? Did she know any other way to live?
Torn between going to the children and greeting Connor, he merely said thank-you with a stretch of the hand and a few quiet words. "Thank you for coming. I can't do this on my own."
He dared not lift his visor shield, just in case, but he hoped Connor would recognize the sound of his voice anyway.