Open the Door
She heard yelling as she tops the stairs, but that's nothing new. Probably her dad -the shit- yelling at her baby brother again. Why couldn't he just leave him alo-
Why was the glass broken? That glass could take her dad beating on it, what would...? Oh. Oh, shit, there's been somebody shot. Who was that creep standing at her door?
What did she just hear?
You killed a four year old.
Blood leached from her face. NO! As she walked closer, she saw a hand, a head, her dad, dead on the ground.
Jesus. What was she supposed to do? She couldn't go in there, they'd kill her for sure. She couldn't even scream or cry. God, she was so afraid!
Milk! The milk! Take the milk, he'll protect you. That guy could stand up to any of these creeps! His face swam into her vision and she knew she'd be safe with him.
Putting one foot in front of the other, she carefully made her way past the asshole at her door and walked up to his. She hit the buzzer, "Please open the door. Please?"
Her fear started caving in on her as she worried that maybe he wasn't there. No, he was always there. He just wasn't answering the door. Maybe he was asleep? She buzzed again. "Please open the door?"
Her body shook with shock and fright, thinking maybe he had the TV on. How could anyone not hear gunshots? What if he was looking at her, right now, through his peephole? "PLEASE." She wanted to cry and scream and beg at the top of her lungs, but the asshole behind her would find out about her and then...
"Please open the door!" She buzzed again and again, hoping and praying that he would help her. Her mind shrieked in panic, OPEN THE DOOR! I'M GOING TO DIE IF YOU DON'T! PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD OPEN-
It opened. He was like a dark angel, his window lighting him from behind and she smiled up at him in relief. Slowly, she made her way in and he shut the door behind her. Clinging to the grocery bags, she carefully made her way to his kitchen on shaky legs. She was with him now. She was safe.
LMLMLM
These men. These men were like his clients. They were so messy, so careless. It was to his own advantage that they were, but these were not his clients. He would leave them be, but it made him so angry when he heard them say they'd killed the boy. No women! No children! This was not his business, but these were rules easily followed. If they were this frantic in killing, they could easily turn on anyone else in the apartment building. So he watched, listened, and waited.
Leaning against the door to hear the commotion, he firmly held his pistol in his hand, ready to keep his own peace should they invade it.
Wait. That was the girl's apartment. She said she was going to the market...he calculated in his head the steps it took to get there and back, then knew she was due back any moment. He lifted the peephole cover and waited.
Yes. There she was. What would she do? Scream? Run? She should run away. She was so little, she could run much faster than the cretins at her door. He hoped she would run away.
Then again, she was a hard-headed little scrap...
To his horror, she kept walking to his door. No! Child, I cannot get involved! Young Thing, go away! They will find you here!
His mind reeled with the realization that she could not easily go back past her own door. She was weeping, her face in a rictus of pain. He knew that face, he'd felt it many times in his past. It was a clear reminder of the danger she was in, losing her family and her innocence in one day.
She kept pressing the doorbell, crying and begging for entry. How could he let her in? This was not in the plan. The books said to raise a plant, first, then maybe a pet. They never said anything about the stage where it was okay to raise a child.
But then, he didn't have to raise her. He just needed to watch her until those reckless barbarians left her home. There were plenty of places that would take her, now. He'd been an orphan, he knew very well about government facilities for children.
She buzzed again. What should he do? If he opened the door, the man at hers would see him and that was part of the deal: no one could ever see him.
Maybe that would be alright. None of his clients had seen him, or lived to tell, and this one man would not recognize him. He'd find him later. Especially now that he was turning to advance on the girl. Damn! His only choice was to protect her for the moment, or they'd kill another innocent.
He looked back down at her through the peephole and thought of her earlier attempts at flirtation. Despite that, she was innocent. He had to do this.
He opened the door and it was like all the angels of God stepped down to light her face.
He would remember that look for the rest of his life. Standing there, watching her face recognize safety and rescue...that warmed his heart and he felt a fierce want to protect this little girl. He stepped to the side to let her in, keeping an eye on the man at her door that was steadily watching back.
At least this man showed some restraint, unlike his compatriots that were tearing into this girl's family.
They watched each other as he slowly shut the door, then removed the gun from being tucked into his suspenders at his back. He watched though the peephole to see if anyone realized she was part of the people they were killing.
The fierce need to protect this girl that remembered his milk was so shocking, so aberrant, that he forced it down to focus on the hallway outside his door.
As soon as they were clear, he'd find a way to remove her. This place, this hovel of death, was no place for a young girl. Innocence was so precious, he could not have her here.
He turned around for a moment, looking at her shaking form and remembering those dark, haunted eyes. It was then that he realized: It was too late.