I Choose You

Chapter Thirty Eight - Exploration

[Goals for the chapter: READS - 1130 // VOTES  - 73]

I shook my head, looking up at my sister. "I'm sorry," she said softly, rubbing the bruise on her upper arm.

"No, I'm sorry," I said, "For dragging you into my messed up life, for allowing this to happen you and mum." She blinked at me, still rubbing her arm as I sat up. I had gotten punched in the face by the man, yet only came up with a few injuries: missing teeth, a bloody nose (which was now gone), a black eye and a bruise on the right side of my face. Come to think of it, it could have been worse. He could've literally broke me.

"No, no, stop." she pleaded, pushing me with her hip and taking a seat next to me on the tiny bed. The masked man bolted after hitting me, or so i heard, so John took holly and I down to the little shack along the lake - fifteen minutes or so by foot away from the camp - and mended me back to consciousness, all while taking care of Holly and assuring our safety. It was clear he became very busy after i got punched in the jaw by a masked man. I stood up slowly, stretched, then walked to the window. Outside, there was grass and trees, with a vast lake behind it all as the sun set. It was truly a post-card moment. Too bad anypone who bought that card wouldn't know there was a slave-holding camp within walking distance behind it.

I pulled a chair up to the window and stared at, watching the birds as they flew over the water, swooping down occasionall to come back up with a fish or nothing. They seemed so free, despite all the horrors going on around them. They flew through the air with the greastest of ease as my mother was still being held captive to work. My mother. "Mum!" I yelled, jumping to my feet. "We have to find mum." I fell to the floor, crawling under the makeshift bed to find my shoes. I put them on quickly, tying the laces tight before running out of the room.

In the other room by the door, John was siting, reading something on his phone. "There's service in here," he said, holding his phone up to me. I nodded, the walked over to the door. "Wait, where are you going?" he asked, placin his phone on thw worn-out matress that was supposed to be our couch.

"My mum is still there," i said, pointing towards where the camp was.

"You're in no con-" I walked out of the door and slammed it behind me, running up the hill. The fence came into view, barbed wire spiking up at the top. I walked my way to the top, breathing heavily from running upwards. I crawled under the hole in the fence, shimming my way past the dirt, then stood up and brushed the front of my shirt off. Casually, I walked into the little torn-up building, not taking the inovative way in, but instead just walking straight through the door. Inside, ther ewas a man sitting on a couch, watching television as he shoved popcorn into his mouth. A woman stood at the counter, apron around her waist as water splashed over the large pot she held on her hand. I dropped to the floor and crawled behind the couch, behind the table and towards the stairs, then ran up them. At the top, the walls were barely white, more scuffs and dirt than actual paint. The floor creeked beneath me as I walked, yet all the doors were closed and finished. I looked at the five doors in front of me, knowing mum had to be in one of them. One of the doors - the one all alone - was a glossy white with a golden handle and a peep hole near the top. I knew that could not be the one. The one opposite of the pretty door was a dull white with a brass handle, just barely looking like anything had been doneto fix it. I knocked lightly, then took a step back.

A waman opened tbe door, a baby on her hip, looking at me quizzically. "You are?" she asked, popping gum with her teeth.

"Um, Alex," I said, peering through the baby's legsas she squealed, trying to find mum.

"And I care because. . ."

"I'm here with the CIA?" I said, yet it came out like more of a question. She shifted the baby to her oher hand and pushed the door open wider with her foot as another bubble formed through her lips.

"Come in," she said, looking towards the fancy door. I stepped inside, taking everything in. It was clean, yet messy. There were women everywhere - sitting on the couch knitting, in the little kitchen area cleaning, putting clothes up on a qire that stretched across the room and sitting by a little bed, mending to many young children all unde the age of at least three or four. "So, what would like?" she said, sitting down with the little girl in her lap. The baby clapped, smiling.

"I was actually looking for my mum. . ." I said, looking at every lady in the room.

"Wait," a lady said, pink yarn in her hand. She walked over to me, "You're the boy from the news! Bertie!" I sighed.

"I am," I said as all the other people turned, facing me. Murmurs filled the room, probably all about me.

"You know," the lady said, "Your mum cried when she the reports on you." I got a closer look at her now: her hair was graying, eyes tired, face droopy, and probably needed more sleep and better food. Everyone here looked like that, honestly. They were lacking many things, I saw. It was like a look into the past.

"Where is she?" I asked, hopeful that she somewhere near by, so I could take her back and we can free all these women and the babies.

"Well, she's-" the door bursted open, cutting her off. A man with a mask stood there as the room fell silent and everyone basically sunk into themselves.

"And who are you, punk?"

 

[A/N: Well, yes. Thank you for all the reads aw it means a lot.

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