The Night I Was Saved

Chapter Six

I'm tossing and turning, the sheets a wrinkled mess around my limbs and my pillow feeling like a brick stone underneath my head. My eyes are burning, my throat is dry, and my head is throbbing, yet sleep just doesn't seem to be able to overtake me.

Every time I close my eyes, I see her. I see how she looked at me, positioned on that hard, wooden floor, her eyes oozing fear while she clutched her belly in her arms.

I see how she desperately cried that her baby couldn't come out. How she fought it until nature overtook the matter and she didn't have any other option but to push.

And although I know that she is now safe, I also see that old fucking bastard. Without ever meeting him and without Josephine talking to me about him, I can't seem to get him out of my head.

In my imagination, he looks old, has grey hair, and maybe even has those tiny glasses that just fit onto his nose. He is fat, with hairy arms and a dirty buttoned shirt that's just one size too small. He is sweaty, I have no fucking clue why, but he is.

And the worst part is; every time I close my eyes, my imagination takes me on a nightmare cruise and shows me what that asshole did to her.

Those images are not based on anything more than my guesses since Josephine hasn't told me anything about her life in that dump, but it still feels so fucking real that every time my eyes open just as fast so I don't have to see it anymore.

I'm in bed for God knows how long now, and I've come to the terrifying conclusion that this case will not let me go, no matter what will happen next. It has marked me. Josephine and her daughter have marked me, along with their story.

It's not a case anymore anyway. It has a face now. It's not some meaningless, faceless file that I've closed now that the person in question it's safe. This case has a name. A story. And whether I want it or not, I'm part of that story. Their story.

After Josephine ate the two slices of bread, Mercy walked into the room with new clothes. They went to the bathroom, so Josephine could shower while Mercy helped her, and Daisy stayed with me.

Being alone with Daisy felt familiar and comfortable, and it gave me a bit of time to reflect on why I was feeling the immense need to protect them while I hardly knew them.

The conclusion came rather fast. I realized that although I don't know Josephine for longer than a few hours, I do know Daisy. I've known her from the moment she took her first breath and was the first one that held her, even though it was just a few seconds before I gave her to her mother.

Hell, I think I'm the one that held her most in her short life, even including Josephine.

And Josephine trusts me with her completely. She didn't hesitate when Mercy asked her if she wanted to take a shower to warm up. She just turned to me with a questioning look if I was okay to hold her for a bit longer.

When I said I was, she let Mercy, whom she seems to feel comfortable around as well, help her into a wheelchair. She then left me with the little thing she loves most in the world and quite honestly, the only one she has.

While Josephine and Mercy were gone and I gave my thoughts some much-needed rest, I suddenly felt how tired I was. Physically and emotionally, I felt drained, and the warmth of the little bundle that lay across my chest wasn't helping in staying awake.

I woke up when the two of them returned, and like the worried sister she is, Mercy ordered me to go home and get some sleep.

I was hesitant. For some reason, it felt wrong to leave Josephine and Daisy alone, especially since I knew that Mercy's shift was also coming to an end shortly.