Kyrthira ran down the street. Inside, she screamed at herself to hurry the hell up, that if she got there in time, she would be able to save her children.
She got into the car, slamming the door shut and almost forgetting her seat belt. She blasted through traffic, the determination of a mother's instinct pushing her reflexes and emotions to the limit. Thanking every single god she could think of for the light traffic, she brake-checked the car to a stop at the Safehouse. She almost ripped the car door off getting out.
Throwing the door open, something inside her screamed wrong. She ran down the hallway, eyes burning with fury and protectiveness. She reached to her belt, yanking off the carabiner keeping her keys, finding the appropriate one at a glance. She put the key in the lock with shaking hands – adrenaline does wonderful things to people – and threw that open.
A sight of destruction presented itself. The furniture and bookcases were tipped over, claw marks on the wall. She stepped almost timidly into the living room of the small apartment. She moved her eyes around while heading towards the children's room, not seeing a thing. The complete and unnerving silence, broken only by the almost-imperceptible sound of her footfalls, hurt her ears.
A wave of panic rose as she pushed the remains of the door open, catching her hand on a splinter from a claw-furrow in the door and barely taking the time to numbly pull it out. The cribs were still in their place, but the edge of a blanket, a corner of a tiny pillow, hanging over the edge betrayed the seeming normality and rightness.
She ran to the first crib with a blank face, devoid of emotion in stark contrast to what she felt. Inside, the small form of her son, William, lay still. She reached out a trembling hand, her breathing roaring in her ears as the only slight noise in the room – quiet, too damn quiet for the room of three small children who should be sleeping. She retreated her hand before touching him, and almost before she realized it, she stood in front of Sarah's crib, reaching out a hand again. She clenched it into a fist, her uncut and ragged nails digging small furrows into her palm.
She turned to the last crib slowly, ignored tears working their way down her cheeks the only betrayal of emotion on her face, keeping everything locked up inside for fear of what she might do if the instincts came alive.
The crib was empty.
Kyrthira trembled, and her face twitched. Her other hand clenched, and for the first time, she felt pain. Looking down and opening her hands, she frowned at seeing a tiny bit of blood forming on her palms. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she didn't even notice the slight wounds knit themselves together.
A small noise from under the dresser. Kyrthira turned towards it, left hand snaking around her waist to find the Beretta at her hip. Automatic reflex took over, and she recalled that yes, the pistol was loaded with silver. Every minute detail of the ammunition flooded into her brain, was analyzed, and gone in the briefest instant.
Another noise, and Kyrthira dropped to her knees, hand falling from the butt of the pistol. She stared into the shadows under the dresser, whispered a name. It cracked like lightning in the silent room. 'Edana ... '
A whine. 'Edana ... Little Fire ... ' A tiny hand detached itself from the shadow.
A small voice, hinting a Scottish accent. 'Momma?' The hand became an arm. 'Momma, dat you?'
Kyrthira felt her heart try to leap its way into her throat and out her mouth. 'Edana!' It came out as a strangled whisper, a murmured shriek.
The arm became a shoulder, joined by a shock of gray hair. A face, looking up fearfully with gray eyes. The shoulder and face became a toddler, rushing at her mother.
Kyrthira opened her arms, and hugged the little girl as tightly as she dared. She crooned reassurances in Gaelic to the small child, rocking back and forth slowly, eyes closed, face the very image of pain and anguish.
'Little Fire. My little fire … Are you all right?' Kyrthira detached herself from her daughter to look at her. Tears rimmed her eyes, and her face was dirty. The little girl didn't seem to pay any attention to the forming bruises on her knees.
'Aye, momma, I'm fine, but the bad men did sumthin' ta Will an Sarah.'
'I know, love, I know. You stay right here for a moment, momma's going to get a few things together.' She started to detangle herself from her daughter's grip, but Edana refused to release her.
'No, momma! They'll come back!' Fear caused the little toddler's voice to waver dangerously.
'Tis all right, Edana – I'll be right here, I won't let you out of my sight.' Slowly, Kyrthira detached Edana's arms and stood.
She gathered a duffel bag and filled it with some of Edana's clothes. She carefully avoided looking at her other two children – there was nothing she could do for them now. Where's Eric?
'Edana, come with me,' she said, holding out a hand for the little girl to take in both of hers. They walked into the living room, and from there to Kyrthira's and Eric's room.
It was ransacked, clothing and personal effects everywhere. No blood, though, and no body. Eric hadn't been here when this happened. Kyrthira gathered some things of hers, and then led the girl outside to the car.
'Momma … where we goin'?' Edana asked as her mother secured the carseat.
'Far, far away from the bad ones, Edana. You'll be safer there.' Edana looked doubtful, but didn't speak further.
Eric, I know you didn't do this, Kyrthira thought. This wasn't one of your rages. I would have known.
As they drove, Kyrthira pulled out her cellphone to call up Chris, the owner of the Safehouse. The answering machine beeped, and Kyrthira grumbled, 'Chris … dammit, Chris, answer the damn phone already…'
'What?' a sleepy voice finally responded. 'Do you know what time it is?'
'Chris you fool, the Safehouse was attacked. William and Sarah –' Kyrthira paused, looking in the rearview mirror and seeing Edana's curious, wide-eyed face staring back at her. 'Edana's safe, at least … Where's Eric?'
There was silence on the other end of the line, as Kyrthira reached I-70. 'I was about to ask you … I didn't hear about this.'
'Probably because they were intelligent enough to disable the alarms at the Safehouse. They might've gotten the ones at the club, too…'
A sound of astonishment made Kyrthira wince. 'They got the club, too? How do you –'
'I was there, Christopher. They tried to – uh, yeah. Eric's brother was there.' Edana's trusting, frightened gaze stalled Kyrthira before she could say she'd almost been killed.
Silence reigned again on the other end of the line. Kyrthira eyeballed the signs for the eastbound exit. 'You were there … with Eric's brother. And you're still alive?'
'Don't ask me how, I don't know. I woke up in the local Gnawer caern.'
'Well, are you going –' The voice was cut off by the sounds of automatic gunfire, and the phone dropping. A howl of rage came through the earpiece before Kyrthira could end the call.
There's nobody for me to go to, now, she thought.
I'm on my own.