Family Don't Break

CHAPTER 24

ALEX'S POV:

Oh my God. This place looks like something out of a Dickens novel. The building is built out of bricks, the red mostly eroded. It's giant, two stories tall and at least a block long. "Welcome 'ta the workhouse.'' The police officer pushes me forward and I stumble. "Hey! Careful!" Race shouts. The cop smacks the back of Race's head, telling him to shut up. I give Race a sympathetic look but stay silent. No point in arguing with the officer.

He leads us to the front door and knocks. The door swings open with a thud, and a lady peeks her head out. "Got two more for ya, Ms. Heathrow." he shoves us towards her. The lady has a small button nose and dark beady eyes. Her graying blonde hair is tied back into a tight bun with not a hair out of place. She opens the door wider, revealing her full form. She's clothed in a starched grey dress with a spotless white apron. Her black shoes are shined to perfection, glinting in the light.

"I'll take it from here, officer. Thank you for the help." The officer tips his hat and walks back down the muddy pathway. Ms. Heathrow studies us for a second, taking in our messy appearances. "Hm. Inside, follow me." she orders. She watches us as we enter, her eyes daring us to try anything.

The inside of the building is worse than the outside. The floorboards are molding and I can hear people crying. A rat skitters over my foot and I scream, attempting to kick it away. "Better get used to those." Ms. Heathrow smirks. "Don't worry, they won't hurt you." Race whispers. Ms. Heathrow leads us up the stairs. I worry that they'll collapse right under my feet but we make it to the second story.

"Welcome to your new home." Ms. Heathrow watches the horror on our faces with glee. Beds are stacked against the walls, barely a foot between them. Three or four children are in each bunk, staring at us warily. The beds only have a moth-eaten brown blanket covered in a myriad of stains, a mattress, no pillows or anything. Ms. Heathrow directs us to a bunk near the back of the room. "You two will share this bunk. Consider yourselves lucky, usually you would have to share with another child."

The two of us gingerly sit on the bed. I swear I feel something squelch out from under the mattress. "Now. The rules. The washrooms are down the hall. You are only allowed to bathe once every week, and only if we have enough water. Food will be brought every night at six. The guards will constantly keep an eye on you and the others. If you misbehave, you will be punished. Understand?" Race and I nod, unsure of what to say. With that, Ms. Heathrow turns on her heels and goes back downstairs.

"You two must be new." a voice says. A boy hops down from the bunk above us. He smells something awful and his clothes are much too big, his pants held up by a scrap of fabric. His hair is oily and his skin is pale from lack of sun. "I'm Peter." He sticks out his hand for us to shake, and we do. "Welcome to hell," he says. He has a gap toothed smile and freckles dotting his nose. He can't be more than ten.

"Let me give you some advice. Keep your head down, don't argue, and take what you're given. Don't mess with the guards, they get away with anything. We've lost more than a few kids to them. It's survival of the fittest here. This ain't home." he sounds so serious. "By lost-" he nods his head to confirm my suspicion. "Also, girls ain't common around here. Make sure to keep an eye on her. She won't do well in here on her own. You better tuck your hair under your cap." he's straightforward and serious. It doesn't fit a

"I can handle myself." I argue. "Doesn't matter. There are maybe twenty girls in here, so they get picked on. You're lucky you ended up with a gentleman like me above you." he gives a confident smile and crosses his arms. He's a spunky kid. "Thanks for the help, Peter." I give him a soft smile. "No problem, miss. I had someone help me when I first got here, thought I should return the favor."

"That's very kind, Peter. I'm Alex and this is Race." Race nods his head in greeting, chewing his cigar nervously. "You better get some sleep before tomorrow. Chores start early," Peter says. "Alright. Thank you again, Peter." I give him another smile. He clambers up to his bunk and I hear him move above us.

"He's right. Let's get some rest, we'll figure out more tomorrow." I whisper. "Take the side nearest to the wall." Race orders. I do as he says and climb in, pulling the scratchy brown blanket over me. Race does the same. I stare at the bunk above us, my eyes refusing to close.

"They're gonna get us out of here, right?" I ask. "Of course they will. We just have to tough it out for a bit." I turn to face Race. "I'm scared." I admit. "Me too. But we'll be fine. You got me to protect ya." he jokes. In all honesty, I'm grateful that he got taken too. I feel guilty just thinking about it, but I wouldn't want to be alone here. Race knows what he's doing, he's been in the refuge. He has experience with this sort of place. As long as he's here, we'll be okay.

A/N: This is a fictional workhouse, not the infamous Blackwell one. I don't know much about workhouses, so a lot of this is fictional. I apologize for any historical inaccuracies!