The Numbers on Her Wrist

41

I can hear the quickened footsteps of 521- Peter- as he chases me down the empty hallways that are screaming my past, the white walls holding the forgotten lives of all the lost children within their paint and inside the wooden beams. There are so very many scars and stains that are etched over all of our bodies and souls, I'm not surprised that the building we lived in retained some of the abuse- and I know that even though I have rescued all of the children tonight, they will still have a long while before they are completely free.

But they will never truly be whole again.

The slight feeling of panic slithers through me as I hear Edward Carter- whom is laying prone several meters behind me- shouting into a radio, his screams a mixture of unadulterated rage and agony from his wounded shoulder. I notice his only anxiety is for himself, not for the boy whom he has twisted. I stretch my legs farther apart, bringing myself flying down the long passageway that goes towards the exit, and I tune out Edward's shrieking. Raising my own voice above the noise, so that the man listening over the earpiece can hear me more clearly, I warn him. "Lawson!" I yell- breathlessly- not even bothering to conceal his identity any longer. "Lawson, I am on my way outside!" I suck in a puff of air far too quickly, but I am able to swallow the cough that builds in my chest long enough to get out my final statement. "You need to get your men into the orphanage before the Association can scatter!"

There is a heart pounding pause.

Then, his mumble of an 'understood' tickles the inside of my ear, and Daniel's voice becomes a distant shout as he begins to order his men to begin to head down the street- to get into position.

"Amelia!"

Concern begins to bubble within my chest cavity as Peter calls out my name over the sound of our feet slamming on the tiles, the venom and bitterness that his voice held earlier is gone completely, replaced now with pure desperation, and he matches my stride in an attempt to catch up.

I ignore him; I don't stop.

Sprinting the last, short span of the hallway that leads me to the door, I listen attentively to the sound of the boy's labored breathing behind me. The numbers, the name, '564' are repeated in a winded whisper several times- it is vain effort to stop me, to grab my attention, but I only glance back hastily to check on his progress. With the gap between us only a mere twenty feet, I curse as my fingers fumble to grab the doorknob, and I twist it roughly when I finally get a grip. I pull myself through the door frame just before he can reach me.

I throw myself free of the claustrophobia-inducing confines of the orphanage, the dread and apprehension in my stomach easing to an extent and the cold air whipping the loose edges of my clothing around my body as I stumble the first few steps across the grimy front porch. My eyes search the darkness until I catch glimpse of all of Lawson's men that are walking steadily down the alleyway. Their bodies are protected by black bullet-proof vests and helmets, with grim looks of determination set on their faces, and all armed to the teeth. I let out an audible sigh of relief and start towards them at an even faster pace as they form a straight, horizontal line, parallel to the orphanage building's front side.

Watching with curiosity when they raise their weapons higher as one, I hear a sole man scream something indistinguishable to my ears. I slow my jog to a walk, listening to the sound of an agent shouting orders dulled by my racing heart- but they are not given to be, but to the boy that I once knew. I come to a dead stop at about twenty meters away from the still barricade of amoured men.

The words suddenly become clear to me. "Sir! Drop the gun and get on your knees!"

My hair is tousled and pressed against the scratches on my face as I turn around a little too abruptly, the red wisps dancing in the strong wind and my legs shaking when I see the silver gun clasped within Peter's right hand. He has seemingly disregarded the clear order, advancing at a moderately fast rate, and 521 then narrows his eyes to focus his gaze on me.