The closet door creaked open, and dimly reflected light invaded his sanctuary. Had they no decency? Had they no respect? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except for her.
“Colby? Colby, it’s time to go back now,” said the voice, sickly sweet but hesitant, unsure. He only retreated further into a ball, the grass stains on his knees filling his nose with memories of schoolyard taunts and humiliation.
“Is he there?” echoed the other voice, the man, the heavy, the big hands. She would not have liked him, no she wouldn’t. He was, oh what was that word? Uncouth?
“Shhhhh! He’s right here.” There’s no point whispering, he thought. She knows you’re there, ready to take me back, away from her. Fragile hands, a boy’s hands, started to tremble in the faint light, their grip on the little legs weakening. He knew. There really was no escape, no return to the past.
“It’s ok, Colby. We’re here to take you back, back to the home. No one lives here any more.”