rescue

I was with my family, driving along a road in the late afternoon. It was a grey day and the waning light was casting shadows across our path of the tall trees growing either side of the road. We started to drive over a bridge crossing a river, wide enough for only one car. At the crest of the small bridge, a car sat, blocking the way, its doors open and with no-one inside. We knew that whoever had been inside the car needed our help—we knew they were in the river. We all hopped out of the car and ran to the edge of the bridge to the right of the car and, sure enough, we could see something floating on the water. We ran down to the river and my father and mother jumped into the water, urging me to stay on the bank. My father rescued a woman with long brown hair and a very pink face, whilst my mother pulled out of the water a little girl with blonde hair—the woman’s daughter. When they were on the bank I connected particularly with the little girl; I felt bonded to her. They had a terrible problem with a man, who I understood to be a family member (possibly her older brother or the woman’s husband) who terrorised them. Suddenly he was there, dragging the little girl away by the arm, and I called after her to get a restraining order, to get out. We couldn’t stop them being taken away. I began to cry and my mother affirmed the connection I had had with the child. We went back to the car.