“But who are they?” I ask, but she just shrugs, so I continue, “Are they bad people?”
Her gaze drops, but she nods. I move in close, stooping over so I can catch her eyes. “Do you wanna shoot them too?”
She smiles and replies, “Yes.”
One to always appreciate a good bout of revenge, I return her smile, but then I say, “Not sure I can arrange that, but I can arrange for them to get picked up and taken care of. Would you like that?”
Her smile falls, but she nods again. I step back, retrieve my phone from my jacket pocket and call Mickey. He answers silently, and I say, “Surround the place. We’re going to have visitors. Get ‘em at the door.”
I end the call without waiting for a response, certain Mickey will have it handled without discussion or further instruction. Then I hold the button up in front of me, and press it.
Amber’s eyes widen, a shiver rolling over her. She glances over her shoulder, so I say, “Don’t worry. They’ll never make it inside.”
She relaxes, a shuddering sigh expelled at the same time. After a moment, I ask, “Where is she?”
Amber gives me a slightly vacant look, and for a moment I think she’s going to make me ask again. But then, points a thumb behind her as she replies, “Basement.”
“Show me,” I retort, grabbing her wrist as I walk by, dragging her in the direction she indicated. She only hesitates for a moment then comes willingly, taking the lead once we enter the hallway. She opens the second door on the left, reaches in, turns on the light, revealing a rickety stair case.
Amber heads down, not even looking back, so with a shrug, I follow her down, coming to a stop beside her at the bottom of the stairs. It’s a large room, concrete floor, random piles of stuff strewn about.
“This way,” Amber says. I follow behind her as she walks toward the far side of the room.
I raise my brows,look around. “Where is she?”
Amber’s expression turns sad, her eyes haunted. Her hand lifts and she points at the blanket covered box in the corner. “She’s there.”
“Why,” I seethe, rage seeping into my veins as I eye the filthy looking blanket. “Is she in there?”
Amber shrugs. “She lives there.”
“Lils,” Mickey bellows from above, followed by heavy footfalls. I don’t bother responding, knowing they’ll clear the floor and be down here quickly, which is good because I’m so mad I could spit nails.
I glare at Amber, working hard to stop myself from kicking the ever-loving shit out of her. My initial impression of her is that she’s just another victim of her deranged mother, but that doesn’t change the fact I think she should’ve been able to do something, anything, to at least prevent the child from living in what equates to a dog crate in the basement.
Not even a minute later, the door at the top of the stairs open, then boots hurriedly thump down until Mickey pops into view. It only takes a moment for him to spot me, and he walks over directly, eyeing Amber as he says, “We got them all. Do we need to call a cleanup crew to tend to the mess in the kitchen or are we calling the Canadian authorities?”
I nod toward Amber then respond, “Since she did it, we can call the police. Let this be their problem.”
I give Amber another hard look, wanting to ask her some serious questions but knowing there’s no time for that now. Finally, I turn to Mickey and say, “Get her out of here,” and then watch as Mickey grabs her, hustles her toward to stairs. I closemy eyes, listening to their departure, breathing a sigh of relief as they move farther and farther away and then I’m surrounded by silence.
I give myself a moment to center myself, knowing this next part is going to require every ounce of patience I have. Because it’s going to wreck me. It’s going to enrage me. And this innocent little girl can’t know.
With a last deep breath, I turn my focus on the box. Wishing I had gloves, I grip the edge of the blanket gingerly, slowly pulling it off and then leaving it in a heap on the concrete floor.
At first it appears empty in the dim light, but then something moves in the corner, displacing a pile of blankets to reveal a small child. She’s curled in on herself, skinny legs held to her chest by skinny arms, face hidden in the crook of her elbow.
At first, I think she’s shivering, but a closer look confirms she’s shaking from fear. Seeing no need to delay, I unclasp the door to the cage, opening it all the way so I get a clear view inside. “Hey, it’s okay.”
She stops breathing. Stops moving. Becomes as still as still can be.
I wait a minute until she finally starts to breathe again, but the shaking doesn’t resume. Squatting in front of the door, I whisper, “I’m going to get you out of here.”
She presses herself against the wall of the cage, as if she thinks she can blend in, become invisible. “I understand you’re frightened. I’d be frightened too if I lived down here, alone.”
Her head turns slightly, one eye peeking at me. I smile. Her eye narrows. So I smile bigger. Slowly, her head lifts, turns toward me.
“My name’s Lilith. What’s yours?” I ask, but she just stares back at me, unblinking, and says nothing. Curious, I hold my hand out to her without moving any closer, and her stare travels from my face to my hand, but she makes no move to take it.
