It hurt. Everything hurt. I couldn't put any one point on the pain that seeped through every vein in my body, but all this was physical. My mind was numb and blank. I felt so detached from what happened or I detached myself of what was happening. I don't remember. I don't want to remember, because if I do it makes it real. I don't want it to be real. I never want it to be real. This should never happen. Not to me. Not to other women or to anyone. Not ever.

But it did. Oh God! It did! I can't believe I let it happen! I should have done something, anything. I never should have been walking alone. I never should have taken that short way home. I should have ran. I should have fought back, but he was too strong. I had a gun in my purse. My dad made me carry it when I moved here. I should have used it, but I didn't. Why didn't I use that damn thing?

I'm cold. I need to get out of here. I try to get up, but my legs fail me and I fall back against the brick wall. I try lifting myself using the dumpster as leverage. It does nothing and ends up sending a flare of pain up my side. Something was definitely broken. As the pain died away , I had the vague notion that I wasn't going to live to see tomorrow. I wasn't going to be able to do the things that I've always put off of doing. I always thought I would have the time, but time is a cruel thing. It can be cut short.

I didn't want to die, but at that moment I didn't really care. I could feel my heart slowing. I could feel my lungs becoming that much harder to use and my body, propped up catty-cornered on the wall, sat perfectly still. I couldn't do it. This was the one time that I have ever given up and I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to sleep. I wanted it to all go away and leave me alone.

'Hey, Mom!'

Huh? What was that?

'Mom! Will you help me practice my pitching?' came the squeak of my 9 year old.

'Sure, baby,' I smile as I watched a head of black hair bound out of the kitchen and when he smiled a toothy grin back at me through the glass door, I felt my heart break. Adam will never know who his father is.

Adam! My son! He's 18 and out on his own! My son is still out there! I prayed to whatever god was out there that he was home. I had to get to his house! I had to keep him safe! I could feel the panic restarting my slowing body. No one is going to hurt my son! There WILL BE Hell to pay if anyone so much as looks at him the wrong way! I started to move again, this time determined to get up and make as much noise a possible. To get someone's attention in this God forsake place!

I some how made it back to the dark open street, screaming for someone to help me. I kept stumbling. I had lost the feeling in my legs as soon as I started walking and the only thing that was keeping me up right was wall of the building next to me. I screamed louder this time, yelling for someone to at least look this way. I felt something warm come up my throat, burning my nose, but I just spat it out when it filled my mouth. I could feel my vocal cords wanting to break as I kept yelling with every ounce of energy I had. If they were going to snap, then I was going to get my use out of them before they did.

I veered slightly from the wall and I could feel my knees wanting to buckle. After one more yell I let them, but the ground never connected with my body. Something was holding me up or I should have said someone and even better or worse, it was two someone's. It felt so good to have someone help you. Even if I hadn't looked at their faces, their body's radiated something that warmed me to the core, sending the coldness away. My eyes puffed and filled with tears that were a mix of happiness and relief. I could feel everything go slack and it felt good.

"Th-thank y-y-you," I was able to stutter as my voice cracked and finally went out.

I felt my legs fold onto the ground, but something was supporting my back. I held onto it and buried my face into a soft fabric.

"Miss?," I heard, muffled from the fabric.

I moved my head towards the sound into a pair of dark blue eyes and dark brown hair. It was a man. He couldn't have been that much older than my own son. I was never going to make it. I had to have someone help me protect my son. I looked into his eyes as best I could, searching for that part of him that might help my son.

"Miss? Can ye hear me?"

He was Irish. I smiled and nearly laughed. My son was trying to learn about his ancestors. My great-great-great grandfather emigrated from Galway, Ireland. Adam was so proud of that.

"Can ye hear me, Love? Come on, now. Look at me, Lovely. Look right here,"

It was the same voice, becoming a little more urgent. I felt a warm hand on my cheek, pushing gently to have me look into those eyes again. He was such a pretty looking man. I hope Adam would look that handsome when he grew just a little. I smiled again, tilting my head just slightly to have a different angel. He was still pretty.

"Connor, we ha'e te get 'er inside,"

The voice seemed panicked and that scared me out of my own delusion.

"She's comple'ely incoherent,"

Whatever was behind me, whisked me up into their arms, cradling me to their chest. The arms that carried me were running fast and the sound of another set of feet were running right beside me. I heard the sound of a heavy door swig open, followed by an all-around echo, like a stairwell and then something was pounding fast. Gravity was pulling on my body. I must have been rising and fast. I soon felt myself laying flat on my back, unable to open my eyes past little slits. I was so tired.

"Murphy! Call Smecker!" I heard a different voice, but with the same Irish trill.

"Can ye open yer eyes fer us, Love? We jus' wan'te help ye,"

My mind was being pulled in so many directions that I didn't know which one to go first. From what I could see it was another man, around the same age as the other with the same blue eyes, but lighter hair. He said he wanted to help. I wanted to tell him to help my son, keep him safe! I tried moving my mouth, but no sound came out. How was I going to help my son if I couldn't even say where he lived?! Panic shot through me again. I looked the man that kneeled in front of me and touched my throat, hoping that he would understand.

"Ye can't speak? Murph, get me some paper and a pen! She can't talk!"

I soon felt something pushed gently into my hand and something stiff under my arm. I started to write.

Adam McAlley.

He lives on campus.

Boston U.

Kappa Delta Alfa

He's my son

Help him

Keep him save

Tell him I love him

I had done it. I had told them. I don't know who these men are, but they will help my son because I know I can't. I can feel it in my dying body that my son will be safe and live. I will die nameless and leave a story for these men to tell my son. I hope they know that I am eternally grateful for them. I finally had a chance to close my eyes. I can finally sleep.

****

Connor and Murphy stood up from there kneeling positions as they looked down to the beaten bloody woman that they thought they could save. Her skirt was torn, knees skinned raw with a shirt that was never that low on her chest to begin with. Bruises were already forming on her arms and face. Bloody knuckles showed she fought back and fought hard.

The brothers were silent as they knelt down again, bowing their heads in respect and weaving their rosary strands between their fingers, reciting the pray to send this nameless woman up the right path. Connor and Murphy looked up to each other then the woman that laid still before them and said the names of the Christian Trinity together

In Nomeni Patri Et Fili Spiritus Sancti

The door came to life as it was being pounded on, on the other side. Murphy got up off his knees and walked silently answer. Agent Smecker took three steps in and stopped seeing the body of the woman on one of their beds. Surprise and shock was clear on Smecker's face as Murphy shut the door behind him. Life was drained out of the room. No one said anything for the longest time as Murphy went back to kneeling with his brother and Smecker stood staring.

With little more than a squeak of the floorboards, the twin's rose and went to cross the woman's arms, but Smecker stopped them.

"Boys, not now," Smecker's normally annoying voice pitched softly, "We need to get someone in here to look her over and see what happened. You can't touch her,"

Smecker was trying to say it as nicely and gentle as possible. He came slowly over to them and guided the brother's away from the bed onto the couch, where he sat on the beaten coffee table in front of them. Connor and Murphy fell onto their knee's holding their heads in their hands, rubbing away at their eyes.

"We don't know 'er name," Murphy mumbled first, "She never told us. She cou'dn't tell us. She screamed 'er voice out,"

"Tha's why we went outside. She was screaming for all it was worth," Connor muttered right after.

Smecker nodded his head, taking in the information that they gave him. Placing his hands on the twin's knees, he leaned in, smiling softly and said:

"It may not look like much, but you helped this woman in more ways than you think. The last thing she saw was the pure shape of kindness and warmth come out of you two. She witnessed two complete strangers go out of their way to try and save a woman, who probably already knew she wasn't going to make it. That woman probably died the happiest she's ever been,"

Smecker looked to the both twins, who's heads where down and picked them up to make them look at him.

"You did everything you could and then some. Don't ever think you never did anything. It'll eat you alive, you hear me?" Smecker forwarded his brow like a father advising his kids.

Connor and Murphy nodded their heads in unison as Smecker let go of their chins. Tears were slewing in there blue eyes, they wiped them quickly to hide that they were spilling over and coughed some to clear their throats of stress.

"Oi, Con. Why don't ye get the. . ." Murphy spoke quietly, gestured towards the woman.

Connor nodded his head and went over to the bed side. He stood for a moment looking at the woman over again and, without touching her, slipped the piece of paper out from underneath her hand. Connor read the scratchy handwriting as he walked slowly back to the couch. He handed it to Smecker, who scanned it quickly. He looked over the paper to the boys and handed it to Murphy to read.

"Can the Saint's grant a woman's last dying wish?" Smecker eyed the boys and waited silently for an answer.

Reviews are welcome. It'll be a short story. 3 chapters at the least. . . Hope you like!