Mini-Story 3

Chapter 5: Layla's Admission

As Layla drives towards our destination, Headquarters of "The Savers of Justice," I absentmindedly look out the window, lost in thoughts about my parents. I'm feeling awful about the way I've viewed them...and disappointed in myself for the disrespectful notion of my thoughts where they are concerned. The Bible says to "honor thy father and thy mother." I've certainly not done that.

I didn't die back there, I remind myself. That means the next time I see them, I have a chance to make up for my actions, the harsh way I constantly acted around them. I have a chance to resolve our dissension, and I am eternally grateful for that. In fact, there never was any. It was all in my head. We never really got along before, because I thought they didn't care...they care so much more than I realized. All this time, they were protecting me, to keep me safe from harm. They always were good parents.

I was the corrupt family member, the bad daughter. Tears fall slowly from my eyes as I think about my mother and father. Not wanting to let Layla notice, though I'm sure she has, I quickly dry them. I don't like being perceived as weak, not that tears are a sign of weakness, but still.

"How are you feeling?" She asks me softly, but she keeps her eyes on the road, giving me some privacy.

I was grateful for that. I've never been a fan of publicly displaying my hurt for others to see and judge without knowing all of the facts. Maybe she already knows them. I answer hesitantly, regardless, but with a curiosity I've always been known for.

"Did you ever go through this?" I ask.

I wonder if mentors had also been a part of the secret group who saved potential slaves from the cruel fate that some were still experiencing when they came of age. I couldn't imagine having been raised in this type of environment...being in the know of activities that went unseen around the world. Who didn't notice several people just up and going missing? Were people really that blind? It seemed to be a secret trading society that many didn't know went on, or if they did, they didn't know what to do about it.

Layla looked over at me for a moment.

"Let me think, so I can word it carefully, and explain it in the least scary way possible."

Her eyes returned to the road, as she thought. Her posture seemed stiff, as if she was remembering something terrible. She finally answered, minutes later.

"Yes, I went through it," she said, voice muted, and full of sorrow.

I closed my eyes, allowing her to have seclusion, too. I just listened.

"I was one child, among nine others. Six brothers, and three sisters. All of them were younger than me. As the oldest, I had to set an example, and look after them. Especially when...our parents were captured."

A gasp came from my mouth before I could even try to stop it. My shock was evident, but I kept my eyes shut.

"They are still alive. I get weekly voice messages from them. Their captors allow my parents to make them so they can still torment me by allowing me to hear their voices, while I remain unable to know where they are being held."

She went silent for a while, and I plucked up the courage to comment.

"That's terrible. I'm sorry you're having to go through that."

I paused myself, wanting someone to talk with about my parents, but wondering if it would upset her. As if sensing my distressed thoughts, Layla patted my hand.

"If there's anything you want to talk about, we can. Everything we speak of is one-hundred-percent confidential."

"Well," I ventured. "My parents gave no indication of any of this. Why didn't they tell me? Don't they trust me?"

"Count them lucky, and smart. Any couple that has revealed even a little bit of our organization's missions, is dead now. They swore their oaths, and must uphold them. No matter what personal feelings are involved."