He holsters his weapon and takes a breath.
Closes his eyes for a moment—composing himself, maybe, burying the rage.
Finding the gentleness these kids need.
He knocks softly on the door.
"Hello? My name is Tor. I'm here to help you. The bad men are gone. You're safe now."
Silence.
Long.
Heavy.
I can almost feel them in there.
Huddled together.
Terrified.
Waiting for the next horror.
Then—a small voice.
"Are you going to hurt us?"
Tor's jaw tightens.
I see something shatter behind his eyes.
Something that was barely holding together in the first place.
"No, sweetheart. I promise. We're here to take you home."
More silence.
Then the click of a lock.
The door opens slowly.
A girl.
Maybe eight years old.
Matted hair that might have been blonde once.
Tear-stained cheeks.
A bruise on her arm that makes me want to resurrect Womack just so I can kill him again.
Eyes that have seen too much.
Eyes that belong to someone much older.
Behind her, five more children.
Huddled together on one of the beds, clinging to each other.
