Flashback

Chapter Two: Juno

When I awoke, I realized that I'd had no dreams or nightmares. Then I remembered that upon my rescue, I had been carefully introduced to the psychologist assigned to me multiple times because of my distraught and confused state. I remember he had prescribed me a couple of bottles of recuperative medication.

I was still waking up when the child who had brought me breakfast earlier entered the room with another tray of food, this time not as heavily laden. I looked for the breakfast tray from the morning and concluded that he must have taken it away as I slept. The letter still remained on the bedside, unrolled, and lying over the blue ribbon, the logo of the institute visible, reminding that the days of torture and terror were indeed over.

This time, as the child came closer, I made up my mind and decided to try and talk to the little boy. He looked like such a sweet kid. I wondered what he could have possibly done, or perhaps not done, to deserve this job — one for older servants and maids, not for 8-year-olds. His presence still confused me beyond belief. He approached me with the tray and I made no move towards it. As he lay it down in front of me on the bed, I spoke for the first time after my kidnapping.

"Hello." I said. My voice came out hoarse and dry, like the same parchment as the letter. His eyes immediately widened and I noticed that they were the most beautiful shade of green I had ever seen. Genetics, I thought happily. The first happy thought in what seemed to me an eternity. He took a step back but didn't run away like the last time. He didn't even look as worried as before. Maybe he was the one who had called the maid as I wept in the bathtub. Eventually, he did answer me, though.

"Hello." He replied in a childlike Irish accent. My heart melted and cried for his sweet child voice. He had not been affected by the rough nature that boys would begin to develop by this age. He was still merely a child.

"I'm Emma. What's your name?" I said to the child. I had to clear my throat often in between the two sentences.

"I'm Juno. I heard you crying in the morning. Are you okay now?" He asked me, rolling his r's and lilting his vowels.

So it had been him. Bless him.

"I don't know." I said, unsure of the words coming out of my mouth, knowing that this was all I knew: that I didn't know if I'd be okay.

"Yeah, I get it. I get to hear a lot of stuff." He says slyly. "Not on purpose, though! Please don't think of me like that! I promise!"

I froze. The same fear had taken over his green orbs, flooding them with new, glowing tears.

"Juno...I'm not saying anything." I shrugged, then said, "I just – don't know." Unsurety seeped into my voice as I noticed the irony of the moment. I should have been the one scared and there I was, the one thinking that maybe I should sooth the kid.

"Oh. Well, yeah I do know. I'm sorry they hurt you."

His sincerity and concern warmed my heart and a pained smile passed over my features.

"These people have promised me security. At least that's what they said to me." I said as a means of conversation and hope that the question in my statement is conveyed to him for some confirmation of it.

"They promised me my mother back. I never saw her again. Don't believe these people, Emma." He replied with such a sense of understanding of the ways of the world that it ended up further saddening me. What he said though, the words themselves and the underlying meaning behind them, worried me. I chose to ignore it for the meanwhile.

"Juno, don't worry about me, at least for a few months. That's how long they'll keep me here and provide me with my living." Another question in my voice. Would they keep me that long? "Then...then I guess well, then I guess we'll see, won't we?"