The Flower Girl
There was a girl with flowers, standing on the corner. She had big blue eyes, and long black hair. Her skin was unhealthily pale, and she was tiny.
John made his way over the road, planning to walk past her, but her little voice stopped him.
"Sir, would you like a flower. They're 50 cents each." Her eyes were hopeful, and her voice had a pleading tone to it. She was desperate.
John pretended to consider it for a moment, but he was listening to the voice in his ear, "Buy the flower, Mr. Reese."
"Yes, I would like a flower," John said to the child softly, handing over the money, "Thank you."
She had handed him a red rose, and she looked like someone had just brought the world from her. John smiled, and continued on his way, wondering why Finch requested he buy the flower. He turned into the street, and discreetly slipped into the library.
He quickly made his way up the stairs, curiosity burning in his veins. When he reached the top, he entered the library to see Finch peering out the window, a small smile on his face.
"You may have just saved that little girl's life," Finch murmured, "She hasn't sold a flower all day, and her father beats her if she doesn't sell something. Her name is Hope."
"Is she our new number?" John ask, placing the flower on the table, and he looked at the old board. Her photo was taped up, with pieces of information written around the outside.
"It's not the first time," Finch murmured with regret, his smile vanishing, "And I barely saved her that time. I think this time… It would be mission impossible."
"You mean that I may fail to save her? That I'll be too late?" John questioned, almost offended.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Reese, but I'm afraid that you might already be too late," Finch said, walking away from the window sill, "If it comes to it, don't leave her in her final moments."
John nodded, and left the library, making his way back down the stairs, and out onto the street. He checked his watch, and walked to the corner, where the little girl was packing the flowers away. John sighed, and watched her give one sorrowful glance at the table, before walking down the street.
John followed, wondering why anyone would want to kill her. He wondered every day, but this time it was different. She was an innocent child, who probably hadn't done anything wrong in her life. It wasn't fair that innocent children were targeted, all the time.
But then again, life isn't fair, is it? John scolded himself for allowing himself to think like that. Life was never fair, so why should he wish that it was?
He focused on the girl ahead of him, who had just entered an abandoned alley. She walked down to the end, and found a little house, hidden away. She tucked the flower boxes under her arm, and used the opposite shoulder to nudge the door open. The door shut behind her, and John had to settle in the alley for the night.
Later that night, a hand on John's shoulder startled him, and he pulled out his gun. However, it was only Carter, and she just smiled.
"Finch sent me to help. Want to tell me why you're spying on an abandoned house?" She explained, sitting down opposite him.
"Abandoned? What do you mean?" John asked, confused, "A family live there, I saw her go in."
Carter sighed, "John, no one lives there, not anymore. Not legally, anyway. I arrested the man who lived there."
He sighed, and dropped his head, "Just stick with the idea. Okay?"
She nodded, and they lapsed into silence, waiting for something that may not happen.
Early the next morning, John and Carter rose as a tall man left the house.
Joss groaned with frustration, "How is he out? Come on."
"Okay," John responded, smirking as she reached for her gun.
"Mr. Jackson, could I speak with you a moment?" She said politly, approaching him. He smirked.
"Oh, no. You can't. It would be a waste of time. You can just arrest me for murder now, because there is no way she will live," He said, smiling.
John's eyes widened, and he ran past the man, and into the house, "Hope? Hope?"
He found her on her back in the kitchen, tears streaming down her face. He kneeled down on the floor, and held her in his arms.
"Finch, I need an ambulance!" He said, but the girl in his arms didn't take much notice.
"It hurts," The child whispered, "Please make it go away. I don't wanna hurt anymore."
"Just hold on, sweetheart, help is on the way," John told her, holding her fragile body closer. The girl he was meant to save was going to die.
How could anyone do this to an innocent child?
"Don't leave me," She softly begged, and John realised that she knew she would die.
"I won't," He promised, trying not to show his own distress.
"Thank you," She whispered, "For buying that flower."
Her eyes closed with those words, and he felt her go limp in his arms. He took a deep breath, before rising to his feet, holding her body close. He could hear the sirens, and he knew they were too late.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Reese. I told you that this job was practically impossible, and I knew you would be too late." Finch told him, guiltily, "I should never have mentioned this number."
John ignored Finch, carrying the body outside, and he ignored his own guilt. This child deserves proper treatment, and recognition.
He found Mr. Jackson being driven away by a random cop, and Carter was talking to Lionel, both their faces a picture of pain and guilt.
They couldn't save a life. None of them could, but it wasn't their fault.
Finch had never thought about the little flower girl, but when he looked out the window the next morning, and didn't see her, he felt a little lost, like he wasn't in the right place.
Like he had failed yet again to save a life
And that would always hurt, and in years to come, Finch will think back to the day when a single flower was enough to save a life, and he will think back to the mistake he made by telling John about her number.