Page 70 of Dock

Long clothing racks of vacuumed sealed coats.

Wrapped mirrors.

Even exotic animal taxidermy creatures, which boil my blood in new ways.

Who the fuck hunts down a horned screamer to be a wall decoration?!

Suppressing my enraged rumbles grows in difficulty, but I push on.

Nudge another lamp out of my path.

Scour the fairly dark area to the best of my ability for the source of the sound.

Just when I prepare to lower my weapon, I hear it again.

To the right.

In the corner.

My slow approach to the wrapped standing dresser thing – I think they’re called wardrobes? – allows plenty of time and distance to react to whoever is clearly waiting to attack.

Post visually checking around the space – seeing nothing of concern – I deliver a swift slice down the middle of the packaging wrap, step back, and use one hand to yank open the door to reveal the noisy contents.

Despite the dim nature of the scene, it’s impossible to mistake the two shaking children inside as anything else.

Rage gets replaced by remorse and has me instantly tucking away my knife.

Showcasing my empty hands afterwards.

Lowering to a squat to further prove I’m not a threat.

I’m not here to harm them.

Simply help.

“Hi,” escapes me at a muted volume, tone still not gentle enough to stop the little curly redheaded boy from shying away. “My name’s Dock.”

Unlike the boy, the jet black haired little girl looks interested.

“You wanna get out of there?” I offer with both palms turned upward. “Go outside?”

“B̂ān?” she eagerly questions, tears collecting in her dark gaze. “B̂ān?!”

Fuck, I don’t know what that means.

Or even what language that is.

Ache deepens in my chest, prior to me pointing behind me. “Out?”

Fairly certain that the pointing helped translate my word, the little girl quickly scurries from the furniture and into my arms rather than merely grasping my hand. Instinct leads to me curling one arm protectively around her.

Squeezing tightly.

Whispering, “Safe.”

My eyes shift back to the boy child that’s still shaking.

Still unconvinced to move.