Helping Sarah

Chapter 37

Michael

James' text directed me to an address closer to the city centre, but it was only ten minutes from Sarah's flat. It could have been in a whole other city from the difference in upkeep.

Hands on my knees and heaving for breath, I stared at the place from across the narrow street. The semi-detached house was separated from the pavement by a front garden with knee-high grass and weeds fighting for supremacy in between crammed bins and soggy cardboard boxes. A large crack ran up through the window facing the street, held together by strips of duct tape, and a dark curtain screened from anyone trying to look inside.

My first instinct was to barge my way in and let my anger carry me past any and all obstacles, however large and menacing they were, but for once in my life I forced myself to use my mind before I acted. I didn't know who or what or how many were in the house, only that somewhere in there was a small, terrified boy.

But then I crossed the street and walked up the cracked path towards the front door, and my resolution to think first flew out the window. I all but sprinted the last steps when the unmistakable sound of a child crying reached me, the heart wrenching, deeply unhappy sobbing that rips at your heart, and I knew it was Charlie.

So no, I didn't knock politely. I hammered my fisted hand against the door so hard it rattled until it was wrenched open by a man a shaved head taller than me. The sound of crying grew louder, and I sent my fist into his eye before he could glare at me or demand what the hell I wanted. Before he could try to stop me.

Then I shoved him into the wall behind the door and hurried down a narrow hallway.

"Charlie?"

My heart was pounding frantically as I came into the first room. It was bare but for an old mattress in the corner, a TV on a wooden crate, and a tattered armchair before it. My nose scrunched at the stench of old takeaway and sweat. I hurried on, following the sound of crying to a closed door across the room.

Behind it was another smaller room, also bare except for the blanket draped across the window. Only a few rays of light seeped past, and the air in there was even more stale, but all I noticed was the small, huddled form in the corner. He was shaking from sheer misery, and the sobs were raking his entire frame.

I crouched down a few feet from him so as not to scare him. "Charlie?" Holding my unsteady hand towards him, I kept my voice low and calm, though I wanted mostly to throw some things around. "It's me. It's Michael."

Charlie looked up with trembling lips and red eyes. "I want my Mummy!"

I gently brushed his matted hair away from his face. "I know. She's on her way. Do you want–"

"Oi!" Lenny appeared in the doorway behind us, holding onto the jamb with one white-knuckled hand and the other covering his already swollen eye. "You get away from him! I ain't letting him go until I get my money!"

I smiled at Charlie. "I'll be right back, okay? I'm just going to talk to the bad man there, and then I'll come right back for you."

Hiccupping for breath, he chewed his lip, but nodded.

I stood, straightened, and turned to face the man in the doorway. My smile vanished as I met his gaze.

Lenny stumbled backwards into the other room, his one good eye widening as he swallowed repeatedly. "Hey. Hey, I didn't mean no harm. I just want what I'm owed." He held up his hands, palms towards me as he backed up.

I followed.

"My missus wants money for my kid, and that bitch Graves wouldn't pay. It ain't my fault her old man popped his clogs before he could–"