She always taught the children to be fighters. There was always a plan, even when there was no plan. Action. Move. Never give up. There was always a way. Look for options and choose one. Just don’t lie still and take it. That’s what she had taught them. And right about now, she was trying to take her own words to heart.
She was in agony. After her failed attempt to punch the life out of Williams, his thugs were given a free hand to teach her a lesson. She gave up trying to assess what was broken or bruised or ruptured. Everything hurt. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to blink. Even the air on her skin hurt.
She had never been so close to death, even when she was in the military special ops and her helicopter crashed into a mountain. Even then, she could still feel the adrenaline pulse through her veins, pumping her full of a strength she had never felt, deadening the pain so she could perform her directive.
This is what dying felt like. She realized that and with a very saddened heart was having to come to terms with it.
Her poor babies. She remembered the night she stole them away from here. She only had two arms and there were three children. She couldn’t just waltz right out the front doors with the kids in her arms.
Even if she could carry all three of them, there was no way she could slip under the radar so conspicuously. So, she devised a simple plan. She would ask the janitor for a laundry cart to help her load items from her car and bring them back into her new office so she could set up. She remembers smiling sweetly at the man whose name tag read Kevin. He happily passed a cart to her, even offering to help her, if she liked. Margo remembered politely declining his offer and promising to bring the cart back when she was done. It was late so the corridors were eerily vacant as she pushed the empty cart toward the children’s rooms. She remembered hearing the one squeaky wheel that spun stupidly as she pushed.
When she arrived at the first door, she only had to swipe her badge gently across the metallic keypad and the door clicked, unlocked. She was sure the little girl would be asleep considering the hour and how quiet her room was. But as she stepped closer to the bed, her breath caught in her throat stifling a surprised gasp. The little girl was sitting up, her dark curls framing her face and her dark eyes watching expectantly.
Margo remembered feeling a moment of panic that the child would scream and give them away before she could explain she was there to help her. But before she said a word, the little girl raised her arms to Margo in the universal baby sign of, pick me up. Without a word exchanged, Margo lifted the three-year-old with those dark-brown eyes and held her for just a moment in a gentle hug before she placed her carefully at the bottom of the laundry cart. Margo remembered adding one of the blankets from the child’s bed to the cart before placing her index finger over her lips showing the child they needed to stay silent. The baby girl nodded, as if she completely understood.
Margo quickly and quietly wheeled to the next room where the little boy would be and repeated the swiping of the badge, opening of the door and silent walk into the dark room.
Feeling the top of the bed empty, she knelt down and felt around under the bed. Sure enough, a warm little bundle moved under her searching hand. She gently scooted the baby boy out from under his bed, lifted his still sleeping body and watched as the dark-eyed girl tried to make room for the next child to be rescued. Margo remembered praying that the little boy wouldn’t wake crying and give them way. But that’s all she could do, pray. And in the end, that was more than enough.
The last room held the newborn. The cart was heavier this time as she pushed it. In the darkened “nursery,” Margo had to feel around for the metallic crib she saw earlier that day. It was exactly where she remembered it. Reaching into the crib, Margo felt the softness of the baby’s arm. He was so soft and so cold.
Oh, dear God. Please don’t let him be dead, she remembered praying as her blind hands moved further up toward the baby’s face waiting to feel any movement, breath, anything. She held very still and waited for what felt like an eternity for his chest to rise and fall. He was breathing, but not very well. Oh God, please help me save this little guy. Please.
It was as though the pain wracking her body with such precision awakened clarity to her memories. Margo remembered exactly how it felt to lift that cold little baby into her arms. Her heart was screaming for strength, for a way to save them.