I was in Quebec when I found them. He was small, and was holding on to his
baby
brother as best he could. I was spending the night behind a mall, trying to find a way to
make some quick cash without leaving a trail. I heard a baby crying, but never thought of
it, until I heard the baby again an hour later, this time it didn't let up, so I went to
investigate. Sitting behind a garbage bin bundled in six blankets were two small children,
the baby crying. The older boy looked up at me with curiosity in his eyes. They were
freezing, it was only late February and still cold, so I picked them both up and carried
them to the car. Turning the heat up as high as it would go, I unwrapped them from the
blankets. The baby was wearing a diaper and shirt, and the older one a ratty pair of jeans
and t-shirt. It had holes in it, so I stripped it off. There was a huge hand shaped bruise on
his back, as well, a red mark going from his left shoulder blade to his right hip. I was
shocked! I took the baby's shirt off and found finger shaped bruises around his shoulder,
as if someone grabbed him. If I could find the person that did this I would murder them. I
asked the little boy what was wrong with his brother, but of course he only spoke French.
I moved the car to a better hiding spot, leaving it on for warmth, then I managed to let the
little boy know that I would be back in a few minutes. I took the door key, locked all four
doors and walked to the nearest convenience store. It was the middle of the night and
closed. Great. I looked over the alarm, the four numbers most worn, and how many
combinations I had. Twenty seconds to get the right one. I cracked the door lock easily,
and it took me six tries and fifteen seconds to get the right code. Perfect. I grabbed a
basket and started filling up. Baby formula, diapers, milk, and some bread and peanut
butter. I cracked the till, but it was empty, then I spied a small door under the counter
with a combination lock on it. Thirty seconds later, I had a thousand dollars in my pocket.
Re-locking the lock, I went back into the store and grabbed a bottle of oil for the car,
some windshield fluid and a couple of frozen meals I could warm up. I went to the
microwave and did just this with one. It would still be warm by the time I got back to the
car. Then I reset the door alarm, locked the door and went back to the car.
I changed and fed the children, then let them sleep in the backseat. I sat and thought.
What now? Drop them off at a hospital or with the cops? What were the chances that
their parents would get them back? The little boy crawled up into the front seat beside
me. He sat there and stared at me. I stared back. I had known few children in my life.
Very, very few children. Digging into the deep recesses of my mind, I started to
remember some of the French training I had taken as a child. I tried talking to him. First I
asked his name, he told me it was Nicolai, and his brother, Patric. He wouldn't tell me his
last name. Smart kid. I guessed that he was two, and Patric was about six months. I asked
him how old he was, anyway. He put up three fingers, so I asked him if he knew how old
Patric was. He shook his head no, but pulled a piece of paper out of his jeans pocket. I
took it and opened it up, written on it was "Nicolai: 23 Octobre, 2019 Patric: 17 Juin,
2022". So, he was eight months old. Nicolai was starting to yawn, so I sent him back into
the backseat. It was still the middle of the night. I was sitting there thinking when I heard
a tap on the window. There was a man standing outside my car. Pulling one of Logan's
ball caps on, I cautiously got out and locked the door.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Yeah." He said, with a thick French accent.
"Well?"
"T'ose my kids in your truck."
"I'm sure they're not, sir."
"Ya? What you know, hah? Dat my son, Nicolai, an' th' bebe, c'est Patric."
"Really? So you can tell me what happened to them."
"What do you mean? My woman stole dem, probly left 'em out 'ere in the cold."
"I meant the bruises." I tried my best to keep my voice level and calm. He was a large
man, and probably had a temper to match. I didn't want to have to fight him, lest I expose
myself and have whoever was after me back on my trail.
"Ah, just a lil' discipline. You know. They noisy when I try to sleep. What? You never
let your woman 'ave it? You gotta keep 'em in line, tell 'em who's boss, non?" That's
when I realized he thought I was a guy! I was wearing some of Logan's clothes because
mine were all dirty, but I didn't think I looked like a guy! I didn't like the way he was
talking, either, by the sounds of it, his wife looked like his children. I was so angry, I
decided to risk it and take him out. I started by running behind him, before he even knew
what hit him, I wacked him in the shoulder, hard. I wasn't going to let him go
unconscious for this one. He turned, hollering, and that's when he noticed.
"Hey! You just a chick! I'll teach you fir takin' my kids!" He ran at me, fists flying. I
casually stepped out of the way. Then, I ran at him, jabbing and kicking him all over.
"How do you like it? Huh?" I hollered. "If I EVER hear of you HITTING a WOMAN or
CHILD again, I will PERSONALLY HUNT you DOWN and KILL YOU!" I accentuated
each word with a hard punch. "GOT IT?" I let him fall. He lay there on the pavement for
a minute; I almost thought I had knocked him out. Almost. Luckily I didn't let my guard
down. He suddenly jumped up and ran at me, full force. I sidestepped him again, but he
got me in the shoulder, knocking me off balance. He swung around and managed to
punch me in the back before falling to the pavement again, wheezing.
"I can do whatevea I want ta, wheneva I wanna to my wife an' kids. I OWN dem!" he
whispered, struggling to get up again.
"Wrong answer!" I said. I punched him in the side of the head, knocking him out for a
few hours. I casually walked back to the car, checking on the children, then I rummaged
around until I found some change, relocked the doors and went to find the nearest
payphone.
~~
brother as best he could. I was spending the night behind a mall, trying to find a way to
make some quick cash without leaving a trail. I heard a baby crying, but never thought of
it, until I heard the baby again an hour later, this time it didn't let up, so I went to
investigate. Sitting behind a garbage bin bundled in six blankets were two small children,
the baby crying. The older boy looked up at me with curiosity in his eyes. They were
freezing, it was only late February and still cold, so I picked them both up and carried
them to the car. Turning the heat up as high as it would go, I unwrapped them from the
blankets. The baby was wearing a diaper and shirt, and the older one a ratty pair of jeans
and t-shirt. It had holes in it, so I stripped it off. There was a huge hand shaped bruise on
his back, as well, a red mark going from his left shoulder blade to his right hip. I was
shocked! I took the baby's shirt off and found finger shaped bruises around his shoulder,
as if someone grabbed him. If I could find the person that did this I would murder them. I
asked the little boy what was wrong with his brother, but of course he only spoke French.
I moved the car to a better hiding spot, leaving it on for warmth, then I managed to let the
little boy know that I would be back in a few minutes. I took the door key, locked all four
doors and walked to the nearest convenience store. It was the middle of the night and
closed. Great. I looked over the alarm, the four numbers most worn, and how many
combinations I had. Twenty seconds to get the right one. I cracked the door lock easily,
and it took me six tries and fifteen seconds to get the right code. Perfect. I grabbed a
basket and started filling up. Baby formula, diapers, milk, and some bread and peanut
butter. I cracked the till, but it was empty, then I spied a small door under the counter
with a combination lock on it. Thirty seconds later, I had a thousand dollars in my pocket.
Re-locking the lock, I went back into the store and grabbed a bottle of oil for the car,
some windshield fluid and a couple of frozen meals I could warm up. I went to the
microwave and did just this with one. It would still be warm by the time I got back to the
car. Then I reset the door alarm, locked the door and went back to the car.
I changed and fed the children, then let them sleep in the backseat. I sat and thought.
What now? Drop them off at a hospital or with the cops? What were the chances that
their parents would get them back? The little boy crawled up into the front seat beside
me. He sat there and stared at me. I stared back. I had known few children in my life.
Very, very few children. Digging into the deep recesses of my mind, I started to
remember some of the French training I had taken as a child. I tried talking to him. First I
asked his name, he told me it was Nicolai, and his brother, Patric. He wouldn't tell me his
last name. Smart kid. I guessed that he was two, and Patric was about six months. I asked
him how old he was, anyway. He put up three fingers, so I asked him if he knew how old
Patric was. He shook his head no, but pulled a piece of paper out of his jeans pocket. I
took it and opened it up, written on it was "Nicolai: 23 Octobre, 2019 Patric: 17 Juin,
2022". So, he was eight months old. Nicolai was starting to yawn, so I sent him back into
the backseat. It was still the middle of the night. I was sitting there thinking when I heard
a tap on the window. There was a man standing outside my car. Pulling one of Logan's
ball caps on, I cautiously got out and locked the door.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Yeah." He said, with a thick French accent.
"Well?"
"T'ose my kids in your truck."
"I'm sure they're not, sir."
"Ya? What you know, hah? Dat my son, Nicolai, an' th' bebe, c'est Patric."
"Really? So you can tell me what happened to them."
"What do you mean? My woman stole dem, probly left 'em out 'ere in the cold."
"I meant the bruises." I tried my best to keep my voice level and calm. He was a large
man, and probably had a temper to match. I didn't want to have to fight him, lest I expose
myself and have whoever was after me back on my trail.
"Ah, just a lil' discipline. You know. They noisy when I try to sleep. What? You never
let your woman 'ave it? You gotta keep 'em in line, tell 'em who's boss, non?" That's
when I realized he thought I was a guy! I was wearing some of Logan's clothes because
mine were all dirty, but I didn't think I looked like a guy! I didn't like the way he was
talking, either, by the sounds of it, his wife looked like his children. I was so angry, I
decided to risk it and take him out. I started by running behind him, before he even knew
what hit him, I wacked him in the shoulder, hard. I wasn't going to let him go
unconscious for this one. He turned, hollering, and that's when he noticed.
"Hey! You just a chick! I'll teach you fir takin' my kids!" He ran at me, fists flying. I
casually stepped out of the way. Then, I ran at him, jabbing and kicking him all over.
"How do you like it? Huh?" I hollered. "If I EVER hear of you HITTING a WOMAN or
CHILD again, I will PERSONALLY HUNT you DOWN and KILL YOU!" I accentuated
each word with a hard punch. "GOT IT?" I let him fall. He lay there on the pavement for
a minute; I almost thought I had knocked him out. Almost. Luckily I didn't let my guard
down. He suddenly jumped up and ran at me, full force. I sidestepped him again, but he
got me in the shoulder, knocking me off balance. He swung around and managed to
punch me in the back before falling to the pavement again, wheezing.
"I can do whatevea I want ta, wheneva I wanna to my wife an' kids. I OWN dem!" he
whispered, struggling to get up again.
"Wrong answer!" I said. I punched him in the side of the head, knocking him out for a
few hours. I casually walked back to the car, checking on the children, then I rummaged
around until I found some change, relocked the doors and went to find the nearest
payphone.
~~