ROMAN #2
“Back clear.”
“Side clear. He was running. In the rain. Like a lunatic.” Riggs’ ragged breathing comes through like he’s been chasing someone through the garden and a smile tugs at my lips despite myself.
“All doors are cleared,” Atlas says through the comms.
“Stack up fellas,” Felix follows.
We move without speaking as muscle memory takes over.
Victor, Riggs and I fall into our stack formation against the wall.
It’s a tactical command that tells us to stand one behind the other.
The first man breaches, the second clears the opposing angle and the third fills the gap and seals the rear.
Victor takes the door as I slot in behind him, close enough to feel the tension in his shoulders.
Riggs presses in at my back and for the first time since we started, he is quiet as the rain soaks into us all.
Taking small steps, we converge at the front door with our weapons held low but ready.
I glance up toward the darkened windows once more as Victor bends down to start on the lock.
“Ready?” he questions as he picks it with the ease of a locksmith.
The door gives with a soft click and the warmth inside spills out into the cold night like a lie.
We move as one. The cottage is quiet. It smells faintly of damp wood and old stone.
We clear the ground floor in practiced formation.
First the kitchen, then living room. There is a small dining area with a table that is set and there are papers stacked neatly on a sideboard.
I spot a closed laptop with a cold mug of tea next to it.
Coats and shoes line neatly across one of the back walls but there is no sign of Fisher.
No sign of Fae. My pulse begins to climb as I tighten my sweaty grip on my gun.
“Upstairs,” Felix orders through the comms as we clear the last room.
We take the stairs two at a time but keep our feet light.
The upstairs landing is narrow and the carpet is soft under my boots.
There are doors either side of it as we make our way to the first one.
I hold my breath as Victor slowly twists the handle.
A bedroom with a bed that’s been made sits in darkness and we fan out with our weapons drawn, checking every corner.
Once it’s clear, we get to the second room.
It has boxes stacked against the wall that seem to be half unpacked but there is no other sign of life.
We double back into the hallway and take the last door on the left into a bathroom.
Victor clears it in two steps, but I’m already scanning the shelves.
Feminine products are lined neatly along the ledge.
There is a half-used bottle of vanilla perfume with make-up left haphazardly around the sink.
My stomach plummets when I see it is the brand of make-up Fae uses.
My heart doesn’t stutter. It slams.
She’s here.
She’s been in this room.
Recently.
My grip tightens around my gun as I step back into the hallway, scanning the walls like they might split open and give her back to me.
Where the fuck is she?
Taking a breath, I scan the hallway.
Only one door left.
It sits at the end like it’s been waiting for us.
It’s narrow and plain and I grind my teeth as I notice the deadbolt.
The metal gleams faintly under the low light.
Is she locked inside this bedroom? Does he force her to sit downstairs like some twisted dinner guest?
Every second we stand here is another second she’s breathing somewhere I can’t see.
Riggs gives a tight nod and we move toward it as our shoulders brush and our weapons stay ready.
Victor reaches for the bolt and for the first time since we entered this house, my hands aren’t steady.
Pulling the door open, it takes my brain a moment to catch up to what I’m seeing.
Dark crooked stairs lay out in front of me.
“It must be an attic,” Victor says in a deep and muffled voice.
He signals for us to follow and Riggs nods once as his face pinches tight.
We make our way up and I cringe when each step creaks under our weight.
My heart thumps, the element of surprise dwindling with every second.
Frigid air rushes down from above as the stench of damp and rot assaults my nose.
The telltale sign of blood also lingers and it makes my stomach drop.
As we clear the last step, we fan out automatically.
The attic is smaller than I expected. The ceiling slopes sharply on either side with exposed beams that are dark with age.
Insulation bulges unevenly beneath the thatch and the sound of the rain is louder up here.
It is as if every drop lands like a finger tapping against bone.
The water has managed to find its way in somewhere.
I can see it in the dark stains blooming across the timber.
Cobwebs cling to the corners of the beams, thick and layered as dust floats in the thin strip of light that spills from a single small window at the far end.
She hates cobwebs. The memory hits without warning as I see her shuddering at the smallest one and the way she swats the air with mock fury before laughing.
My jaw tightens so hard it aches.
He put her up here… In this.
My eyes adjust slowly to the low light. Against the far wall, tucked beneath the slope of the roof where the ceiling presses lowest, is a bed. It has a metal frame and is narrow, almost too small for any sort of comfort. But on that bed is a shape that looks to be a woman curled into a ball.
She looks so small.
She looks so still.
“Fae!!!” I scream as my whole body lurches forward with relief so violent it almost drops me to my knees.
I cross the room in three long strides and drop to the side of the bed as my knees hit the floor.
My hands are already shaking as they gather her blanket in my fists.
I don’t think. I don’t check. I just pull, desperate to see her face, to feel her skin, to hear the smallest sound that proves she’s still alive and still breathing.
As I lean over the small, curled shape, my fingers claw manically at the fabric like if I move fast enough, I can undo the last month.
The bundle shifts beneath me slowly and I almost want to shout at her to move quicker.
When her face finally turns toward mine, my entire world collapses in on itself.
Brown eyes. Not green. Freckles scattered across a nose that is too small, with cheeks that are hollowed and sharp from hunger.
The girl staring up at me is all bone, fear and confusion.
My brain refuses to process what I am seeing.
It keeps searching for something familiar in her features, something that matches the image I’ve been holding onto so tightly it’s burned into the back of my skull.
But it doesn’t fit. No matter how long I stare, no matter how desperately I try to force it… she never becomes Fae.
A low and wounded sound tears out of me before I can stop it as I fall back onto the floor.
It is nothing like I’ve ever let anyone hear.
The girl flinches, shrinking back against the thin pillow, and that’s when I see the rope biting into her wrists.
Her skin is raw. Angry and bound tight enough that I know she hasn’t had the freedom to move properly in days.
“What the fuck?” Riggs appears behind me and freezes.
Victor swears under his breath in a sharp and furious voice and I hear Atlas’ breath catch over the comms.
Not because it’s not Fae, but because it’s someone’s fucking child.
The girl whimpers again, louder this time, as her shoulders tremble whilst she tries to shrink into the mattress beneath her.
She pulls against the restraints, but the rope holds firm, cutting deeper into already damaged skin.
My vision blurs at the edges and I think it’s the light, or the lack of it, until something warm slips down my cheek and I realise with a start that I’m crying.
The tears fall heavy and relentless, betraying a weakness I didn’t author and cannot control.
I swipe at them angrily with the back of my hand like I can erase the last thirty seconds out of existence.
But they keep coming, blurring the small, terrified figure in front of me as my chest heaves in uneven pulls and my heart feels like it is physically breaking.
I pull my legs upwards slightly so my forearms rest on my knees as I stare at her.
Movement flickers at the edge of my vision as Riggs lowers himself in front of the girl.
When he speaks, his voice is softer than I have ever heard it.
“Hey. You’re safe. You’re safe now,” he mumbles but she flinches anyway.
Riggs looks at me and for once there’s no humour sitting behind his eyes. No quip waiting to soften the edge of what we’ve just walked into.
“Roman…” he says quiet and uncertain like he’s not sure which version of me is in this room.
I don’t answer him, I can’t get past the tears.
Victor steps in. He crouches beside the bed and reaches for the ropes, his hands seem steady even though his jaw is tight enough to crack a tooth.
The girl flinches again when he touches the knot and I feel my heart splinter even more at the sight of it.
Not because she fears us, that’s expected, but because she has to fear anyone.
Somewhere along the way, she had been taught that every hand that reaches out hurts.
“It’s alright,” Victor says quietly. “We’ve got you.”
There’s a crackle in my ear.
“Roman, are you good?” Atlas asks in a tight voice.
I go to open my mouth, but I can’t. Silence floods the line and I push myself to my feet slowly, wiping at my face with my palm.
“Get her out of here,” I say clearing my throat. “Then we can tear this place apart.”