The Devil Child

Chapter Thirty-Five

 Polly had no idea what was happening to Kenzie. She had no idea what was happening to Elliott. She was ignorant as she drew up a sketch of Mary, wondering if her drawing would be realistic enough. Probably not.

She felt fear tight in her gut as she sat at the kitchen counter, wondering if things would be fixed in time.

Her uncle sat with her at the counter, a mug of coffee in his hands. He looked tired and worn, just ending a phone call with the surrounding police departments. He looked worse for wear, though Polly knew that Elliott's life was probably at stake, and it all came down to them. To her uncle. To her sketch.

A knock at her front door had her uncle jumping up, staggering only a small bit as he made his way to the front door, his clothes suggesting that he'd gotten no sleep the night before. As he opened the front door, his partner rushed in, a teenage boy behind him. Polly wasn't used to the life of a police officer, but she was aware of how incredibly urgent her uncle's life was.

"We have a lead. And we need to act now." Said her Uncle's partner. Polly leaned over to get a better look at the teenage boy, who looked no more than her own age. A cigarette hung loosely in his mouth, and the bags under his eyes suggested he, like her uncle, got no sleep the night before.

Polly didn't want to be rude, didn't want to stare, but she couldn't help herself. He reminded her of someone she once knew, someone from the camp she considered Hell on Earth, but she couldn't place his name or even really a hint that he was the same boy.

Polly's uncle was already pulling the two into the house. "Yes, yes. What's the lead?"

Polly listened to what the teen had to say, his words causing panic to fill her body. Today would be a kidnapping, and possibly a massacre. Her uncle was already grabbing his bulletproof vest and gun, pulling on the outfit quickly. He looked at Polly, then reached into the coat closet.

Polly was shocked to find another bulletproof vest. "You're coming, Polly."

She couldn't say no; she was too invested in Elliott's story, too invested in Mary and her crimes. She wanted to put the woman away, just like she wanted to destroy her own parents for throwing her into that camp and leaving her for good.

"Did you say your name was Gryphon?" her uncle asked, and Polly's eyes lit up in remembrance.

She spun on her heel to look at the boy, and she realized with sudden clarity that he was the boy from the camp, all those years ago. When she closed her eyes, she could picture the young boy, only a year older than her. She could see his cocoa-colored skin and the sadness in his eyes. Young Gryphon, only a year older than herself, was gay.

She felt comfort in the fact that he was here, because it told her he was alright. That he made it out alive. And so could she.

When the two had a moment alone, she looked into his light eyes. "Gryphon?"

His expression matched hers. "Polly? Is that really you?"

She smiled tentatively, not knowing how to move forward. He was alive and well, and he understood her more than anyone else because he was just like her. He'd gone through the camp, dealt with Tanner, and came out stronger.

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. Years and puberty had done him well, as he was tall and lean and certainly handsome. Tanner had left his mark on Gryphon, but the boy was stronger than his scars, and Polly admired that.

"I can't believe it. I thought something bad had happened to you," Polly gushed, hugging him tighter.

"Same here," Gryphon pulled back to look in her eyes, and he could see the relief in them. He could see how genuinely happy she was to see him, and it filled his chest with warmth. He could remember a young Polly, with a strength unlike his own. He could remember the fear in her eyes, the betrayal she felt. But she, like many children, never deserved the hardship she came by.

"Has Tanner come to see you?"

Polly flinched in his arms and pulled away completely, hugging her arms tightly. Just the mention of his name brought chills down her spine and panic filled her veins. "Yes."

And then it was over; her uncle entered the kitchen once more and was yanking them out the door and to the cruiser that sat in the driveway, running. Her uncle's partner was in the driver's seat, hand on the wheel. He didn't have to tell Polly or Gryphon to get in the back, as both did immediately.

Polly's uncle took her drawing. "This will work. I just hope we aren't too late."

Polly fidgeted in her own seat, imagining the consequences if they did arrive too late. In her mind, she pictured a frightened Elliott and his younger brothers, all bound together, awaiting their deaths. It made her sick to her stomach, just thinking about it.

Her uncle knew more than she did, of course, when it came to the case. She knew the basics: Elliott, Adrian, and Mat Cole had escaped their mother Mary after she had abused them. Hiding away in the foster system, but Mary was bent on taking them back, and used means of kidnapping to do so.

And now, Polly wondered if that was all the Cole siblings would ever be: a case.

The sirens made Polly's eardrums throb, and she tried to suck in deep breaths. Beside her, Gryphon watched with wide eyes. Last night, he knew what he had heard had been important, but never did he think that it would be this twisted. Three siblings, running from an abusive mother who would do anything to get them back.

He was suddenly thankful for the party. Suddenly thankful for his sleeping habits.

When the police car pulled up to the house from the previous night, Polly and her uncle jumped from the vehicle. The partner, who sat in the driver's seat, turned to look at Gryphon. "Sit tight, kid. This'll be messy, and you're not allowed on scene."

So Gryphon sat, watching as the group ran into the house, not hesitating to bust down the door. He was fascinated with Polly, and how the timid little girl had turned out to be stronger than he felt. She was out saving other children, and it gave him a sense of pride, knowing that Tanner didn't mess her up permanently.

Inside, Polly and her uncle tore through the bottom of the house. Her heart was thumping hard in her chest, and she felt like she couldn't breathe. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and followed her uncle.

Polly felt like she didn't belong. Of course she didn't: she was not involved with the police. But there she was, gripping her sketch tightly in her hands, her ears straining to hear anything.

And then, she did. Down below, she heard a gunshot, although it was muffled. Her hand grabbed her uncle's jacket, fear sliding down her spine. Her uncle had heard the sound as well, his body tensing in position as he looked for the basement door.

Polly didn't dare say anything. She watched as her uncle's partner reached for the basement door, twisting the door handle that was unlocked. And then, she jumped into action, following her uncle down the stairs. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she felt almost sick as she ran down the stairs, her vest suddenly feeling tight against her skin.

"Police! Put your hands where I can see them!" her uncle yelled, and she almost tripped into the room, her eyes widening at the sight. There, in the center of the room, was Kenzie. She held guns in her hands, looking completely badass. But, she looked like a deer caught in the headlights as she handed the weapons over.

Then, she looked at Polly, and the fear in Polly's gut seemed to evaporate at the sight of the purple haired girl. Polly hadn't even realized that Kenzie was involved in this, that she was down here, and Polly tried to come with with scenarios and reasons why she would be involved, but she couldn't.

Instead, she lifted the sketchpad of Mary. To the room she asked, "Where is this woman? She's under arrest."

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