Save The Children

I Hear You

 He grunted as his radio sounded, "How is the case going?" The voice of his supervisor spoke into his ear. He adjusted his gun and stared at the house his team were watching.

"Slow," He muttered, "I wish...." He barely knew what he wanted. He wanted to burst inside, to free and help and save the girls that must be so terrified. But he didn't...didn't want to see the despair, the abuse and the pain that he knew they suffered.

"Any...evidence?" His supervisor asked calmly.

"None." His voice was bland, flat, hopeless even to his ears.

"We need to do something!" His supervisor lost his calm facade and shouted. He heard the bang of something as if he had hit something.

"What can we do?" he returned, "But sit here and wait? We haven't got the permission to do anything more....and yet every moment we wait, the more they could be abused!" He heard his supervisor sigh.

"We can't do anything more than wait," his supervisor sounded hopeless.

"Then we'll take matters into our own hands," his partner growled, cutting the radio off.

"But what will we do?" he whispered, his voice breaking and full of sorrowful despair.

"You'll go inside as a buyer; the bastard posted an ad to buy one. You'll gather the information we need and work to free the girl," she stated firmly, meeting his gaze.

He swallowed, "And if I fail?" He asked quietly, though he knew the risks.

She said, "If you live, you'll lose your job, your life." Pain fisted his heart but he knew he had to do this, had to do something where others weren't.

She continued, "And even if you succeed, your job is on the line. Will you do this?" She met my gaze. I could only nod, the barest of motions.

"Then get ready," she turned to her laptop and began to type away. He hesitated, his mind going haywire. I can back out now, he thought, but then those children, those girls can die. They could be mine, the words whispered through his mind, Mine. He steeled his frame and left to prepare himself.

He greeted the sick-looking man with a smirk, allowing his eyes to carry emotions he didn't feel. The man unsettled him, though there was nothing wrong with his appearance. He was handsome, even, and had this calming aura around him. But something about the man threw him off.

"You here ta buy?" the man chuckled, his voice grating against his ears. He resisted the urge to shudder, to flinch away. Instead he allowed the smirk to deepen, meeting the man's gaze.

"Why else would I be here?" he purred, a dry, mocking chuckle escaping him. He hated the darkness that seeped in his words.

"Wonderful, folla mah," the man grinned as he turned, stumbling towards a stairway. He would be easy to take out, to knock down and kill; an easy death in the name of good. But I don't know how many men are in this house, the warning drifted through his mind. His fists clenched as their flesh whitened from the pressure. He forced himself to follow the man, blanking his expression. The stairs creaked under his weight.

The man switched the light on, the sudden brightness blinding him. He grunted as they came to a stop in front of a cage. There was a girl inside, no older than 13, her features grimy with dirt and filth. She was thin, malnourished and she stared at them with sunken eyes. A burning fury seared his veins and he struggled to remain calm, wanting nothing more than to kill this sick man before him. He bit his lip.

"This one's 11," the man laughed, his voice taunting, "She's a good little slave," the man leered.

He forced himself to speak, "Oh?" he purred, his voice scathing his own ears, "How so?"

The man smirked, "Just tell her to do somethin' an' she'll do it....She's a...good little slave."