“Please don’t hurt my mommy,” she heard Miranda say tearfully and her heart tore but before she could respond she saw movement.
The man in front of her lunged toward her, and she screamed in fear, clutching her daughter. The man on the right snatched the small hand out of hers and quickly took hold of her, locking her in a fierce grip. The terror that made her try to scurry away boiled off in a sudden flood of rage as she kicked at her assailant, screaming at the top of her lungs.
Her leg connected with his body and she got a slap in return, but it did not scare her into submission. If anything, it only sent her into a wilder frenzy, wrenching her hand away from her captor. She turned and punched him in the face, her knuckles raw with pain.
"You bitch!"
She barely had time to brace herself before the man’s fist rammed into her face.
Falling back against the concrete ground, she flinched as she anticipated the men taking her or kicking her.
She curled into herself, more tormented by her daughter’s cries than the pain wrecking her body. She could not afford to black out or surrender to the pain. She could not allow these men to rape and possibly kill her in the presence of her daughter.
She continued to struggle, scratching at the hand that was plucking at her blouse, but the fist struck into her face again and she lost the battle with consciousness.
?MICHAEL?
Michael heard the scream and whipped his head to the side, trying to find the source of the sound. Initially, he only saw a little girl who appeared to be trying to get on a man’s back.
But then he caught sight of the body on the ground and the man crouched beside it tugging on the woman’s...blouse?
He screeched to a stop and was out of the car before he could even pull the keys out. He turned around and grabbed the baseball bat that was in his backseat of the car and advanced on the group.
The girl remained to the side, screaming her head off and calling for her mom. Her screams, combined with the fact that the men were so intent on what they were doing, made them not notice his approach. He swung the bat hard at the man who was trying to rip the woman’s blouse off.
It connected with a sickening thunk of hardened wood on flesh and bone, and the other three men jolted backwards, momentary releasing their victim.
They turned straight for him when they realized he was there, and tried to gang rush him since there were more of them. He swung the bat and landed a few strikes on one guy, only narrowly dodging the attack by the second guy. He turned on the guy and started to swing the bat in his direction.
After a few blows, the men finally learned their lesson. They limped away into the dark, bloodied and cursing. He followed them for a small part of the distance to ensure they were actually leaving and not just waiting for him to drop his guard.
Satisfied at their continued retreat, he returned to find the little girl clutching her mother, crying — at least he assumed that was her mother, even if she looked a bit too young to have given birth to a child.
She looked worse for wear, her cheek already swelling where a vicious blow had landed; when she woke up, she would be in serious pain, since he assumed every blow the miscreants delivered had landed on her body.
Still, she looked impossibly young with hair in tangled disarray. In repose she looked beautiful — if a little bloody and bruised. He clenched his fist at the sudden rage that roiled through his body as he realized how close the assailants were in undressing her. They had gotten off too light. For every single mark on her body, they deserved a million more.
He unclenched his fist and tried to read her pulse; it was faint but steady. He needed to call an ambulance.
Remembering his cellphone was in the car, he ran briskly back to the car and snatched it off the dashboard. Returning to their sides, he called both the ambulance and the cops, then turned his attention to the little girl.
"What's your name?" he finally asked the child. She was whimpering beside the unconscious woman
"My mommy says that I should not talk to strangers," came the small but fierce reply. She hugged herself and turned away from him in a move that killed him inside.
"She’s right, but I want to help your mommy," he replied, making sure to keep his voice soft.
"You’ll wake mommy up?" she asked.
He blinked at the sudden glare of the streetlamp flickering to life. "I’ll try."
"Are you sure?" She looked at him skeptically.
"Yes, sweetheart, I’m sure," he promised. He prayed the woman wasn’t already dead.
She looked at him for the longest time, as if coming to some internal decision. She uncoiled and stretched her hand towards in an entirely formal gesture that seemed incongruous given the setting.
"My name is Miranda, and this is my mommy," she said while pointing to the woman lying on the ground and soon large tears were rolling down her face.
