Morgan was driving home late at night, after finally leaving work, when she ran in front of him. He swerved, and pulled to the side of the road. A little girl was running across the road. Then two men went running after her. Morgan didn't need years of FBI experience to know something was off about this. He grabbed his badge and gun, and ran after them. He ran to them until they stopped in an ally way. The little girl was trapped. One of the men pulled out a knife.
"Freeze!" Morgan said.
The man grabbed the girl and out the blade to her neck.
"Put the knife down, and slowly walk away from the girl."
The man was about to drag the knife across her throat, when he was shot in the head. The other man ran up the fire escape. Morgan had to choose between taking care of the girl, or going after the criminal. He chose to help the child. She was curled up in a ball. He eyes were on the dead man next to her.
"It's okay,"Morgan said," don't look at him. Look at me. Your going to be okay."
She looked up at him with fear in her eyes. But she didn't pull away from him. She was wearing a T-shirt and leggings, and no shoes. She had to be freezing. It was the middle of winter. He wrapped his own jacket around her and carried her to his car. He noticed that there were cigarette burns and knife wounds that had scarred over all over her arms. He put her the back seat and buckled her seat belt. Then he called Garcia.
000000
The little girl was confused. None of the men had been nice to her before. They all just did what they wanted with her, and got rid of her.
"Garcia,"the man said," I just found a little girl. I think she was being held prisoner somewhere. I had to kill one of the men, and the other one got away. Call local police. Let them know about the body, and the girl."
The person he was talking to spoke.
"I think so," he said," but she hasn't said a word to me. I'm taking her to the hospital. Call the rest of the team. Tell them to meet me there."
He hung up and looked at her through the mirror.
"Can you tell me your name?"
Her name? She didn't have a name. She wasn't even allowed to speak. Who was this man? Why was he trying to be nice to her? He killed John. That was dangerous. He killed her handler's son. She had to get away from him, or her handler would have her killed.
"I know your scared,"he said,"and I know you think they're coming back for you, but they're not. I promise."
She stayed silent. If she was quiet it would be over with quickly. She could forget about it. If she spoke-
She reached for the first scar she had ever gotten. She had worked for years to suppress her feelings. They never had to hurt her again. Then this man had destroyed all of it.
She was going to die. He had signed her death warrant the second he pulled the trigger. She shrugged the jacket away, and crossed her arms. She didn't want to get to attached to him. It was his fault that they were going to die slowly and painfully. If he had just let her go she would be dead. It would be over with quickly. No one would be able to hurt her after that.
"Can you speak?" the man finally asked her.
She shook her head. Then she pointed to her mouth, and then to the burns on her arms.
"Did they hurt you every time you tried to speak?"
She nodded her head. Tears formed in her eyes. No one had ever asked about the burns before.
"Sweetheart, I promise I will never hurt you for trying to talk to me. If you want to try right now, you can," he said.
She had the words formed in her head. There had to be a time when she knew how to speak, or she wouldn't have gotten punished.
"Y-y-y-yo-yo,"she stuttered.
"It's okay,"he said,"I don't expect it to be perfect right now. We can try again when you're ready."
Every time a sound came out of her mouth she felt the cut of a knife or a cigarette burn on her skin. What she meant to say was "you are going to die."