Watermelon 13, Blue Raspberry 7, Apple Pie 24
Author: Casey
Story: Nothing is Ever Easy universe, Post-NIEE
Challenges: Watermelon 13 (don’t talk to strangers), Apple Pie 24 (welcome mat), Blue Raspberry 7 (handshake)
Toppings & Extras: Chopped Nuts (Triple D), Sprinkles
Word Count: 2,889
Rating: PG
Summary: Melinda Barnes isn’t quite sure what to do about these two.
Notes: This just popped into my head. Not entirely sure where it came from, hence the name. A modern AU. Also, something new instead of just backlog. Hopefully this means I'll start up again after almost a month off :) Also, been away all weekend - will try and catch up on comments soon!
Melinda Barnes had retired from her day job two years ago and now checked out groceries at the local Stop’n’Shop two afternoons a week, just to bring a little income in and keep herself out in the community. She’d only been working there maybe two weeks, enjoying working in A/C during one of the hottest summers on record, when she first met the girl. Melinda placed her about ten and noted her immediately. The girl entered her line, set her basket down on the ground and gravely set each of her small pile of items on the conveyer. Melinda watched her out of the corner of her eye as she chatted with the patron right ahead of her before smiling at the girl herself as she moved up to pay.
“Good afternoon!” she said and tried not to be too obvious about looking around for a well-meaning parent teaching her child about the cost of food, but the child was obviously alone. Automatically, Melinda began swiping her items across the scanner. “Doing the shopping, hmm?” she asked, as diplomatically as she could manage, returning her gaze to the girl.
Solemn blue eyes stared back. “Yes,” she said.
“Where are your parents?”
“My mother is handicapped and can’t walk well, so she asked me to do the shopping.” Those blue eyes just dared her to disagree, something in them world wary enough that Melinda found herself snapping her jaw shut. When the total popped up, the girl pulled a few bills out of her pocket, carefully counted out the total, took her bags and disappeared out the door.
*
Over the next week, Melinda barely thought about the child, busy with retired life, so she was surprised when she reappeared exactly a week later. If Melinda hadn’t known better, she would have said exactly down to within a half an hour of the previous week but she shook that off as ridiculous. This time, she didn’t question the girl, instead inviting her to make small talk about the heat wave they’d been having.
The girl did but with note that made Melinda think, for a moment, that she was saying it only to divert suspicion, but she reasoned with herself that it was after school hours, plenty of kids had handicapped parents and there was nothing unusual with the situation.
*
The first real doubts began to creep in about a month later. There was just something about this girl that had started ringing faint alarms in the back of Melinda’s head, but she stayed quiet. The child was polite, almost to a fault, would smile at Melinda’s jokes, and never hesitated in her answers about her mother, seeming quite willing to provide details whenever Melinda tried to subtly drop a question. In a way, the older woman felt flattered - she was rarely the only line open but no matter how long it was, the child always chose her aisle.
*
The fact the girl was so regular - Tuesday afternoons around 4:15pm - was actually reassuring. It had to mean there was stability in the girl’s life if she could show up every week at the same time. After six months, something in the routine changed. Melinda’s line was empty when the girl appeared, this time clutching her basket with her usual load in one hand and the hand of a small boy in the other. Melinda would have placed him as school age as well and somewhere around six or seven. He had the same somber blue eyes as the girl but his hair was a few shades lighter. As usual, she stacked her goods, never releasing the boy’s hand. He bounced at her side as she moved up, never once glancing at the candy that adorned the other side of the narrow aisle, which Melinda absently noted as unusual. Even the well-behaved ones, who never made a peep about the candy to their parents, still at least looked.
Melinda smiled at the pair. “Well, hello there!” she said to the boy.
He hesitated, glancing at the girl before smiling. She tugged on his hand and he finally piped up with, “hi!”
“And who are you?”
“This is my-” the barest hesitation- “my brother. He usually waits in the car with our mother, but he didn’t want to any more. This is Mrs. Barnes,” the girl told him.
The little boy smiled, not quite as somber as his sister.
As Melinda checked them out, her eyes darted from one to the other, the alarm bells suddenly louder, especially when the boy never said another word. She had two grown sons and she knew seven-year-old boys. They rarely shut up if you got them started.
“How’s your mother?” she asked as she counted the change.
“Good. Hoping to get a knee replacement soon,” the girl said absently, obviously already checked out of the conversation.
“Which leg did you say it was again?” Melinda asked shrewdly.
“Her ri-” she started until the boy hit her in the left side. “Left. Her left,” the girl said, panic briefly crossing her face.
“Tell her I hope so too,” Melinda said.
The girl quickly nodded, handed the boy one of the bags and hustled him out of the building.
*
Still, something in Melinda hesitated. Christmas came and went - the girl explained away the same old load by saying her father did the big shopping during the week and she got the small weekly stuff, but Melinda Barnes hadn’t missed the small extra things that went into her basket that week. Nor did she miss when a small pre-made cake snuck in during March and another in mid-April or that the boy continued to come every week and never said anything more than a polite hello but also never took his eyes off her, except occasionally to look at the girl, who Melinda had a gut suspicion was not his sister despite an obvious resemblance.
Finally, she made up her mind to push. “I’d really like to meet your mother,” she said one day out of the blue.
Definite, unmistakable panic sparked in the girl’s eyes. “Why?” she blurted.
“I just thought I’d compliment her on what polite children she’s raised. Every parent likes to hear that.”
“Our mother doesn’t like people,” she stuttered before grabbing the boy’s hand and retreating from the store.
Melinda didn’t follow but she made a note to pursue that train of questioning the next week and push it all the way.
*
At 4:00pm the next Tuesday, Melinda began looking for her. It was a particularly slow afternoon and she had nothing to do but wait. About 4:15, a mother and three children pushed a heavily laden cart into her lane. The girl never appeared behind her.
Another week passed and Melinda Barnes felt real worry. Almost a year had passed since the girl had first graced her aisle and she’d been as regular as clockwork. She realized, with some regret, that she had ignored all the warning signs because she just enjoyed chatting with the girl and feeling as if she earned every smile from the boy each week. Her husband had died almost five years ago and her four children were spread across the continental USA, nowhere near her.
Two more passed and Melinda resigned herself to the fact she had completely failed the two children. She should have done more to figure out what their situation was and do something about it when she’d had the chance and now it was gone. She could only hope that everything the child had told her was true and they had just moved or their father was doing all the shopping.
*
Exactly six weeks to the day after their last visit, the duo appeared at the end of her aisle. Melinda almost fainted in relief. Then she looked more closely at the pair. Before this visit, they had always been dressed in clean, if sometimes well-worn clothes, faces and hands clean, looking well fed - all of these had been a large part of Melinda’s reluctance to call any sort of social services. This time, they were nothing of the sort. The boy’s jeans had holes in both knees and, visible through one, was a nasty looking scrap that wasn’t bandaged, staining the loose jean material red where it was ripped. His hair was mussed, eyes a bit too wide to be normal, with small scraps across his face matched only by the dirt streaks. The only clean parts were under his eyes, like he’d been crying. Not only that, but it was obvious he’d lost weight in the previous month and a half, just as dirty t-shirt hanging loosely on his frame.
The girl wasn’t much better. She had a nasty cut up one arm, haphazardly covered with a couple of standard sized band-aids. Her hair was greasy and hung in limp strands. The circles under her eyes were unusually dark, especially for a child her age, and stood out prominently, even despite the layer of dirt on her face. If anything, she’d lost even more weight than the boy, t-shirt practically dwarfing her. In her hand, she clutched a small pile of bills.
The look she gave Melinda as they slunk into the aisle could only be described as haunted. Carefully, hands shaking, she unloaded her basket - smaller load than the usual - and stepped forward, the boy practically glued to her side.
The woman briefly looked over the items, glad to see a box of large sized band-aids. Then she turned her gaze to the two children. “I have to call social services,” she said, glad she didn’t have a bagger and no one was in line behind them.
“Please don’t,” the girl said wearily. “I took a risk just coming here, but we…wanted to see a familiar face,” she muttered, sounding much older than her eleven or so years.
“There is obviously something not right about your home situation, dear,” she said gently.
Both kids stared at her for a moment before the girl let out a huffing laugh and the boy looked about ready to cry again. “Give us two more weeks, okay? It should be done by then.”
“What are you talking about?” Melinda asked, feeling a bit of confusion slink in, automatically beginning to check them out.
“Just trust me.”
The woman glanced briefly at her monitor. “That’ll be 27.11,” she said and then studied the pair again as the girl carefully counted that out of her pile of ones and fives, offering it. Melinda took it and realized almost immediately there was a harder piece of paper underneath. Her gaze darted to the girl.
“I’m Sage and this is Dean,” she said and the boy smiled tiredly. “If something happens, just follow the directions on that card.” Their eyes met, the girl’s as somber as ever, and Melinda realized just how serious they both meant it - there was a life and death element here. The girl offered her hand and she took it without thinking about it.
“I should call social services.”
“That’ll only trap us. We’re better off being able to move.”
Dean nodded at her side, since Melinda didn’t feel they were lying about that. “Can escape that way,” he said seriously, still clinging to Sage’s hand.
She stared at him, as surprised to hear him speak as she was to hear what he said. “I don’t understand,” she said, spotting someone heading for her lane out of the corner of eye.
“We’ll be okay, I promise.”
“Be back next week, even just to say hi.”
“Every week until it’s done,” Sage promised and then the two kids were gone.
Without looking at it, Melinda slipped the business card into her pocket.
*
It was a little less than a week later, coming around 1:00pm on Tuesday and Melinda’s antennae would have gone up for any kids since school was still in session, but it shot through the roof at the sight of the two of them. Sage again held the basket but her other hand was being gripped by a rough young man - visible tattoos on both arms, a deep scowl on his face and white knuckles where he gripped both children’s hands. It took a moment of tugging before he’d even release Sage enough that she could empty the basket.
“Hello, Mrs. Barnes!” Dean said, aiming a big fake smile at her and then directing it at the man, like he wanted his approval on his sincerity.
Melinda glanced at Sage but starting checking them out. “Good afternoon, kids. Home sick today?” It was certainly believable to a degree: both kids were pale with fresh scraps and Sage had a nasty looking black eye, which was still swollen. The only good sign was the dirt was gone and their clothes looked new.
“Yeah. Cold,” Sage said solemnly as the man tightly gripped her shoulder. The girl winced like she couldn’t help it.
“And you are?” she asked the man politely.
“Their father.”
If he was their father, they’d gotten all their genes from their mother and he’d had them when he was barely older than Sage. “Well, I’ve had a great time getting to know Tommy and Caroline.”
There was only the barest hesitation. “Yeah, they’re good kids,” he grunted.
“And how’s your wife’s knee?”
“Still bad,” he said and although Melinda was now almost fully certain that had been a lie, by the timetable that Sage had given her a while ago, she would be fully in recovery now.
“That’ll be 26.87,” she told him with a sunny smile, resisting the urge to reach into her pocket and finger the business card.
He glared but doled out the cash. “C’mon, kids,” he said, digging his fingers into both of their shoulders as they grabbed the bags and hustled them towards the exit.
Melinda instantly spun to her next customers. “Sorry, I’m closed,” she said breathlessly, digging the card out of her pocket and quickly scanning it. She pulled her cell out of her opposite one and immediately dialed 911 as it instructed, heading after the man. She stopped just outside, watching him shove the two silently protesting kids into a van. As the operator picked up, she popped the phone into the crook of her neck and jotted down a description of the van as well as the license plate.
She spoke to the operator only long enough to repeat the instructions on the card. Within ten minutes, a man picked up on the other end. “Hello?” he said briskly.
Now that she’d gotten through the instructions, she wasn’t sure what to say. “I…I think I just witnessed an abduction.” Then she got herself under control. “No, I definitely just witnessed an abduction.”
“Two children?” the voice asked sharply.
“Yes, sir. A boy and a girl. Their names are Sage and Dean.”
Silence. Then, “Details?” he barked.
Without even thinking, she rattled off everything she could remember about the young man, the state of the two children and the information on the van.
Silence again, but shorter this time. “Thank you, ma’am, you might have just saved my son and niece’s life,” he said and then hung up before she could respond.
*
A month later, Melinda Barnes received an envelope with her name and address handwritten and a return address name and sender she didn’t recognize: a Mr. Sorin Dakamar. She frowned but slit it open and pulled out the handwritten letter, instantly identifiable as a child’s writing.
Dear Mrs. Barnes, it read.
Thank you so much for all that you did for us during the last year. I’m afraid I can’t explain everything and Uncle Sorin insists I don’t know everything either and can’t know it all, but what I do know is that you helped so much. You were a familiar face and you reminded both Dean and I of our grandmother. That’s why he finally said he wanted to come too. I’m so sorry I had to lie for you for so long but it wasn’t safe for anyone to know who we were or for child services to be called because we had to stay off the grid. Uncle Sorin says that’s a technical term, but it meant your instincts were right when you always questioned us. We weren’t in a proper house and we actually lived in abandoned buildings most of the year. We’re back home and safe now, though, and Uncle Sorin promises it will never happen again. I believe him for a lot of reasons and hope you do too so you won’t worry about us.
Most importantly, thank you for trusting us that last time we came in alone and being so observant about the van and the man who had us. Uncle Sorin was able to track us down almost immediately and before they could hurt either of us more. Don’t worry, none of our injuries were bad.
Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say and that Dean and I will never forget you ever.
Love, Sage Opalin.
Melinda wiped away the tears and then popped the letter and envelope on her fridge, just as she had once done with her children’s art projects.
After a week of staring at it every time she passed, she sat down, picked up a pen and wrote back.
Story: Nothing is Ever Easy universe, Post-NIEE
Challenges: Watermelon 13 (don’t talk to strangers), Apple Pie 24 (welcome mat), Blue Raspberry 7 (handshake)
Toppings & Extras: Chopped Nuts (Triple D), Sprinkles
Word Count: 2,889
Rating: PG
Summary: Melinda Barnes isn’t quite sure what to do about these two.
Notes: This just popped into my head. Not entirely sure where it came from, hence the name. A modern AU. Also, something new instead of just backlog. Hopefully this means I'll start up again after almost a month off :) Also, been away all weekend - will try and catch up on comments soon!
Melinda Barnes had retired from her day job two years ago and now checked out groceries at the local Stop’n’Shop two afternoons a week, just to bring a little income in and keep herself out in the community. She’d only been working there maybe two weeks, enjoying working in A/C during one of the hottest summers on record, when she first met the girl. Melinda placed her about ten and noted her immediately. The girl entered her line, set her basket down on the ground and gravely set each of her small pile of items on the conveyer. Melinda watched her out of the corner of her eye as she chatted with the patron right ahead of her before smiling at the girl herself as she moved up to pay.
“Good afternoon!” she said and tried not to be too obvious about looking around for a well-meaning parent teaching her child about the cost of food, but the child was obviously alone. Automatically, Melinda began swiping her items across the scanner. “Doing the shopping, hmm?” she asked, as diplomatically as she could manage, returning her gaze to the girl.
Solemn blue eyes stared back. “Yes,” she said.
“Where are your parents?”
“My mother is handicapped and can’t walk well, so she asked me to do the shopping.” Those blue eyes just dared her to disagree, something in them world wary enough that Melinda found herself snapping her jaw shut. When the total popped up, the girl pulled a few bills out of her pocket, carefully counted out the total, took her bags and disappeared out the door.
*
Over the next week, Melinda barely thought about the child, busy with retired life, so she was surprised when she reappeared exactly a week later. If Melinda hadn’t known better, she would have said exactly down to within a half an hour of the previous week but she shook that off as ridiculous. This time, she didn’t question the girl, instead inviting her to make small talk about the heat wave they’d been having.
The girl did but with note that made Melinda think, for a moment, that she was saying it only to divert suspicion, but she reasoned with herself that it was after school hours, plenty of kids had handicapped parents and there was nothing unusual with the situation.
*
The first real doubts began to creep in about a month later. There was just something about this girl that had started ringing faint alarms in the back of Melinda’s head, but she stayed quiet. The child was polite, almost to a fault, would smile at Melinda’s jokes, and never hesitated in her answers about her mother, seeming quite willing to provide details whenever Melinda tried to subtly drop a question. In a way, the older woman felt flattered - she was rarely the only line open but no matter how long it was, the child always chose her aisle.
*
The fact the girl was so regular - Tuesday afternoons around 4:15pm - was actually reassuring. It had to mean there was stability in the girl’s life if she could show up every week at the same time. After six months, something in the routine changed. Melinda’s line was empty when the girl appeared, this time clutching her basket with her usual load in one hand and the hand of a small boy in the other. Melinda would have placed him as school age as well and somewhere around six or seven. He had the same somber blue eyes as the girl but his hair was a few shades lighter. As usual, she stacked her goods, never releasing the boy’s hand. He bounced at her side as she moved up, never once glancing at the candy that adorned the other side of the narrow aisle, which Melinda absently noted as unusual. Even the well-behaved ones, who never made a peep about the candy to their parents, still at least looked.
Melinda smiled at the pair. “Well, hello there!” she said to the boy.
He hesitated, glancing at the girl before smiling. She tugged on his hand and he finally piped up with, “hi!”
“And who are you?”
“This is my-” the barest hesitation- “my brother. He usually waits in the car with our mother, but he didn’t want to any more. This is Mrs. Barnes,” the girl told him.
The little boy smiled, not quite as somber as his sister.
As Melinda checked them out, her eyes darted from one to the other, the alarm bells suddenly louder, especially when the boy never said another word. She had two grown sons and she knew seven-year-old boys. They rarely shut up if you got them started.
“How’s your mother?” she asked as she counted the change.
“Good. Hoping to get a knee replacement soon,” the girl said absently, obviously already checked out of the conversation.
“Which leg did you say it was again?” Melinda asked shrewdly.
“Her ri-” she started until the boy hit her in the left side. “Left. Her left,” the girl said, panic briefly crossing her face.
“Tell her I hope so too,” Melinda said.
The girl quickly nodded, handed the boy one of the bags and hustled him out of the building.
*
Still, something in Melinda hesitated. Christmas came and went - the girl explained away the same old load by saying her father did the big shopping during the week and she got the small weekly stuff, but Melinda Barnes hadn’t missed the small extra things that went into her basket that week. Nor did she miss when a small pre-made cake snuck in during March and another in mid-April or that the boy continued to come every week and never said anything more than a polite hello but also never took his eyes off her, except occasionally to look at the girl, who Melinda had a gut suspicion was not his sister despite an obvious resemblance.
Finally, she made up her mind to push. “I’d really like to meet your mother,” she said one day out of the blue.
Definite, unmistakable panic sparked in the girl’s eyes. “Why?” she blurted.
“I just thought I’d compliment her on what polite children she’s raised. Every parent likes to hear that.”
“Our mother doesn’t like people,” she stuttered before grabbing the boy’s hand and retreating from the store.
Melinda didn’t follow but she made a note to pursue that train of questioning the next week and push it all the way.
*
At 4:00pm the next Tuesday, Melinda began looking for her. It was a particularly slow afternoon and she had nothing to do but wait. About 4:15, a mother and three children pushed a heavily laden cart into her lane. The girl never appeared behind her.
Another week passed and Melinda Barnes felt real worry. Almost a year had passed since the girl had first graced her aisle and she’d been as regular as clockwork. She realized, with some regret, that she had ignored all the warning signs because she just enjoyed chatting with the girl and feeling as if she earned every smile from the boy each week. Her husband had died almost five years ago and her four children were spread across the continental USA, nowhere near her.
Two more passed and Melinda resigned herself to the fact she had completely failed the two children. She should have done more to figure out what their situation was and do something about it when she’d had the chance and now it was gone. She could only hope that everything the child had told her was true and they had just moved or their father was doing all the shopping.
*
Exactly six weeks to the day after their last visit, the duo appeared at the end of her aisle. Melinda almost fainted in relief. Then she looked more closely at the pair. Before this visit, they had always been dressed in clean, if sometimes well-worn clothes, faces and hands clean, looking well fed - all of these had been a large part of Melinda’s reluctance to call any sort of social services. This time, they were nothing of the sort. The boy’s jeans had holes in both knees and, visible through one, was a nasty looking scrap that wasn’t bandaged, staining the loose jean material red where it was ripped. His hair was mussed, eyes a bit too wide to be normal, with small scraps across his face matched only by the dirt streaks. The only clean parts were under his eyes, like he’d been crying. Not only that, but it was obvious he’d lost weight in the previous month and a half, just as dirty t-shirt hanging loosely on his frame.
The girl wasn’t much better. She had a nasty cut up one arm, haphazardly covered with a couple of standard sized band-aids. Her hair was greasy and hung in limp strands. The circles under her eyes were unusually dark, especially for a child her age, and stood out prominently, even despite the layer of dirt on her face. If anything, she’d lost even more weight than the boy, t-shirt practically dwarfing her. In her hand, she clutched a small pile of bills.
The look she gave Melinda as they slunk into the aisle could only be described as haunted. Carefully, hands shaking, she unloaded her basket - smaller load than the usual - and stepped forward, the boy practically glued to her side.
The woman briefly looked over the items, glad to see a box of large sized band-aids. Then she turned her gaze to the two children. “I have to call social services,” she said, glad she didn’t have a bagger and no one was in line behind them.
“Please don’t,” the girl said wearily. “I took a risk just coming here, but we…wanted to see a familiar face,” she muttered, sounding much older than her eleven or so years.
“There is obviously something not right about your home situation, dear,” she said gently.
Both kids stared at her for a moment before the girl let out a huffing laugh and the boy looked about ready to cry again. “Give us two more weeks, okay? It should be done by then.”
“What are you talking about?” Melinda asked, feeling a bit of confusion slink in, automatically beginning to check them out.
“Just trust me.”
The woman glanced briefly at her monitor. “That’ll be 27.11,” she said and then studied the pair again as the girl carefully counted that out of her pile of ones and fives, offering it. Melinda took it and realized almost immediately there was a harder piece of paper underneath. Her gaze darted to the girl.
“I’m Sage and this is Dean,” she said and the boy smiled tiredly. “If something happens, just follow the directions on that card.” Their eyes met, the girl’s as somber as ever, and Melinda realized just how serious they both meant it - there was a life and death element here. The girl offered her hand and she took it without thinking about it.
“I should call social services.”
“That’ll only trap us. We’re better off being able to move.”
Dean nodded at her side, since Melinda didn’t feel they were lying about that. “Can escape that way,” he said seriously, still clinging to Sage’s hand.
She stared at him, as surprised to hear him speak as she was to hear what he said. “I don’t understand,” she said, spotting someone heading for her lane out of the corner of eye.
“We’ll be okay, I promise.”
“Be back next week, even just to say hi.”
“Every week until it’s done,” Sage promised and then the two kids were gone.
Without looking at it, Melinda slipped the business card into her pocket.
*
It was a little less than a week later, coming around 1:00pm on Tuesday and Melinda’s antennae would have gone up for any kids since school was still in session, but it shot through the roof at the sight of the two of them. Sage again held the basket but her other hand was being gripped by a rough young man - visible tattoos on both arms, a deep scowl on his face and white knuckles where he gripped both children’s hands. It took a moment of tugging before he’d even release Sage enough that she could empty the basket.
“Hello, Mrs. Barnes!” Dean said, aiming a big fake smile at her and then directing it at the man, like he wanted his approval on his sincerity.
Melinda glanced at Sage but starting checking them out. “Good afternoon, kids. Home sick today?” It was certainly believable to a degree: both kids were pale with fresh scraps and Sage had a nasty looking black eye, which was still swollen. The only good sign was the dirt was gone and their clothes looked new.
“Yeah. Cold,” Sage said solemnly as the man tightly gripped her shoulder. The girl winced like she couldn’t help it.
“And you are?” she asked the man politely.
“Their father.”
If he was their father, they’d gotten all their genes from their mother and he’d had them when he was barely older than Sage. “Well, I’ve had a great time getting to know Tommy and Caroline.”
There was only the barest hesitation. “Yeah, they’re good kids,” he grunted.
“And how’s your wife’s knee?”
“Still bad,” he said and although Melinda was now almost fully certain that had been a lie, by the timetable that Sage had given her a while ago, she would be fully in recovery now.
“That’ll be 26.87,” she told him with a sunny smile, resisting the urge to reach into her pocket and finger the business card.
He glared but doled out the cash. “C’mon, kids,” he said, digging his fingers into both of their shoulders as they grabbed the bags and hustled them towards the exit.
Melinda instantly spun to her next customers. “Sorry, I’m closed,” she said breathlessly, digging the card out of her pocket and quickly scanning it. She pulled her cell out of her opposite one and immediately dialed 911 as it instructed, heading after the man. She stopped just outside, watching him shove the two silently protesting kids into a van. As the operator picked up, she popped the phone into the crook of her neck and jotted down a description of the van as well as the license plate.
She spoke to the operator only long enough to repeat the instructions on the card. Within ten minutes, a man picked up on the other end. “Hello?” he said briskly.
Now that she’d gotten through the instructions, she wasn’t sure what to say. “I…I think I just witnessed an abduction.” Then she got herself under control. “No, I definitely just witnessed an abduction.”
“Two children?” the voice asked sharply.
“Yes, sir. A boy and a girl. Their names are Sage and Dean.”
Silence. Then, “Details?” he barked.
Without even thinking, she rattled off everything she could remember about the young man, the state of the two children and the information on the van.
Silence again, but shorter this time. “Thank you, ma’am, you might have just saved my son and niece’s life,” he said and then hung up before she could respond.
*
A month later, Melinda Barnes received an envelope with her name and address handwritten and a return address name and sender she didn’t recognize: a Mr. Sorin Dakamar. She frowned but slit it open and pulled out the handwritten letter, instantly identifiable as a child’s writing.
Dear Mrs. Barnes, it read.
Thank you so much for all that you did for us during the last year. I’m afraid I can’t explain everything and Uncle Sorin insists I don’t know everything either and can’t know it all, but what I do know is that you helped so much. You were a familiar face and you reminded both Dean and I of our grandmother. That’s why he finally said he wanted to come too. I’m so sorry I had to lie for you for so long but it wasn’t safe for anyone to know who we were or for child services to be called because we had to stay off the grid. Uncle Sorin says that’s a technical term, but it meant your instincts were right when you always questioned us. We weren’t in a proper house and we actually lived in abandoned buildings most of the year. We’re back home and safe now, though, and Uncle Sorin promises it will never happen again. I believe him for a lot of reasons and hope you do too so you won’t worry about us.
Most importantly, thank you for trusting us that last time we came in alone and being so observant about the van and the man who had us. Uncle Sorin was able to track us down almost immediately and before they could hurt either of us more. Don’t worry, none of our injuries were bad.
Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say and that Dean and I will never forget you ever.
Love, Sage Opalin.
Melinda wiped away the tears and then popped the letter and envelope on her fridge, just as she had once done with her children’s art projects.
After a week of staring at it every time she passed, she sat down, picked up a pen and wrote back.