Chapter 2.

That 2 and a half hour drive out of the city to who knows where were Little Jayden's favorite. It meant that, even at 5 years old, she got to sit in that front seat of their 1980 Jeep Cherokee. It meant that they would sing along to their favorite country songs. It meant that she got to hear him laugh. He barely laughed. But there-- when it was just the two of them, dad, daughter and not a care in the world, the wind breezing through the opened windows and the warm summer sun setting, all the worries of the world couldn’t steal what they had in those cherished moments. At a young age, Jayden was forced to learn what it meant to cherish a moment because she knew that the good ones didn’t last, and that the only way to get through the bad ones was to think of those momentary good ones. This one was a good one. Her red hair matching the bright orange sunset, and the warmth of his laugh matching the warmth of the sun, accompanying Cody Johnson to “Never Go Home Again”, she was holding her breath and hoping for this moment to never end. But she knew that as soon as she saw the first trailer home, that they were close and that this dream would end in a blink.

Turning his attention from Scott and Sherri Marllow to his 5 year old daughter, who was now busily playing with a tumbleweed, he said with a voice holding no confidence and more pain then he was wanting to show, "Okay darling, take uncle Scotty's hand. You'll be having a sleepover with auntie Sherri and uncle Scotty again tonight. Daddy's got some business to finish up. But I promise I'll pick you up for lunch tomorrow, we will even get ice cream after! How does that sound?" Shrugging away from her uncle's outstretched, dirty, calloused hand, she desperately clung tighter to her daddy's leg. At 5 years of age Jayden already knew what fear was. "Uncle Scotty's house" meant no daddy for the whole night, meant things done to her she didn't even know how to explain, meant that she was in trouble. With a fear stricken face, tears began to well up in her eyes, and without giving a fight she allowed to be picked up and carried inside the two bedroom trailer home; what to her symbolized prison.

* * * * *

Him. Shivers ran down Jayd's spine. Him again. She'd barely started to become numb to the day to day duty of "pleasing", but this one - this one she despised every time. She would never get numb to something like this. A familiar face, in a place like this was never a good thing. But a face so familiar and from so long ago, was a plain horror story. The scent is what got her. She didn’t need to be next to him to smell that nauseating scent of a nightmare. It's said that the best trigger to a memory is scent, and this smell sent her back to when she was barely old enough to understand all that was going on around her. Every time his rough, patchy beard caressed her breasts or those dark, piercing eyes looked at her as though she had no soul - nothing more than an object of pleasure, or a tool to numb his confused heart - her thoughts shot back to that day. That day her innocence, by no proclamation of her own, was taken from her. The day her childlike sparkle was snuffed out. Five years old-- it was her uncle Scottie who held the medal: first place in stealing her mystery.

* * * * *

Giving Jayden one last tight hug, he kissed her head, and ruffled the already wind spun hair. Turning around, head hanging low Sammi walked back to the car leaving the only person he had in his life that he really cared about, the only being that held so much meaning, the person that meant the whole depth of the ocean to him, behind. He forced himself not to look in the rearview mirror as he drove off, he hated himself every time he did that! And just like every other time he promised himself that this will be a fast sell, and an even quicker buy. These were his best paintings yet, 2 were split paintings; on 2 canvases, but putting them together would make it one big one, and 3 just regular 40” x 60” ones. In the bunch he was selling his favorite one, an abstract silhouette of his daughter. No one would know, to everyone else it's a dark wine red silhouette of a girl spinning, her hair and dress relating the same unspoken message of freedom. The calm, soft baby blue color slowly turning into a navy blue, and at the very bottom, almost swallowing the silhouettes feet, black. It was his masterpiece. His excuse for selling; He needed the money. He borrowed money from some people who he thought of as friends up until he became indebted to them. Now his life hung on the line, so you could say that he was pretty desperate.
Sweat was beading on his forehead, his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so hard, he was nervous. He was late. Lance was a punctual kind of guy, and he was going to let Sammi know how much he hates it when people are late. Pulling around to the back of the abandoned warehouse building, he saw that Lance and his boys were already there. Screeching to a stop, nervously he approached the men.
“You’re late.” Lance made it very clear in his tone of voice that he was not happy.
“Yes! Yes, I know I’m very sor--” Samuel tried to justify himself.
“I thought I had made myself crystal clear that I do not tolerate being late. You better impress me with these paintings.” Lance interrupted, not caring to hear what excuse Sammi had this time. Following Sammi to the car, Lances men opened the trunk and pulled out the paintings. Barely looking at them even two minutes, Lance waved his hand and the men carried the paintings, to the 3 black Yukons parked not far from where Sammi had stopped. Only then did Sammi notice that Lance was holding the yellow envelope that held his next fix, and whatever else was left after. Without a word Samuel grabbed the envelope, and got into his car.
Opening the envelope he could tell that it wasn’t what they had agreed on, it was short. Getting out of his car, and maybe a little too late he yelled, “HEY! THAT’S ONLY HALF OF WHAT YOU PROMISED!” as the 3 SUV’s flew by. He knew that this meant he would need to cut corners somewhere. He would need to say no to something; No to the poison that calmed his nerves, even for a bit, or no to being able to feed himself and his daughter something more than just boxed mac and cheese, and canned green beans, though Jayden never complained. A black Chrysler 300 slowly made its way toward Samuel. It was his dealer, he was the only one that he knew of that sold hydromorphone and suboxone together. He convinced himself that he wasn’t addicted and that he could stop whenever he wanted, but maybe he was addicted to both? He had to decide now-- No fix or no food, himself or his daughter. Getting into his car he decided to prove to his Jaydy that he was a good father, and just as the Chrysler was pulling up he drove off, in the rearview mirror seeing 3 police cars turning the corner full speed toward the Chrysler. They had been followed, this would turn into a messy drug bust. Choosing his daughter may have just saved his life.

* * * * *

The smell of cigarettes, old food, and dirty socks filled Jayden's nostrils causing her to gag. She would never get used to this smell, it didn't hold a bit of what the word "home" is supposed to mean. The small living room looked as though it hadn't been cleaned in years. One tan love seat couch with a broken hand rest sat snug across the door they had just entered. In the opposite corner was uncle Scotties favorite lazy boy. A faded dark brown coffee table sat in the center of the room, piled high with newspapers, evacuation letters, and dirty plates. The carpet was worn out in commonly walked places, it was covered with various stains, beer cans, scraps of paper and cigarette butts, an old fashioned TV stood on top a dresser, facing the couches, other than those essentials the room was fairly empty. Uncle Scotty set her down and she darted to the far corner, as far away from him as she could get.
"Awe. C'mon sweet thing. I ain't that bad." He said in less than a comforting tone of voice.
"Here, wanna watch somethin with me?" He ask rhetorically, plopping down on his well aged, stained and worn out dark blue lazy boy. Fiddling with the lever, the footrest popped up with a loud "clung" scaring Jayd further into the corner. He flipped on the TV with the remote, and automatically something a 5 year old, or anyone, shouldn't watch came on. Hearing his disturbing moans, and occasional grunts, curled up in the corner, crossing her little fingers she hoped he forgot about her, she slowly let sleep take over.
Waking up to a pain that words couldn't express, Jayd opened her eyes and was instantly paralyzed with fear. Over her tiny, 5 year old body hovered her now completely drunk, filthy uncle. How much time had passed? How long had she slept? Little Jayd began to whimper, letting tears freely roll down the side of her face.
"Stop crying!" He bellowed, throwing up one arm threatening to hit her.
She knew if she continued to cry, and show any sign of struggle to get out from under, he wouldn't hesitate to throw the arm down. Where was daddy? Where was auntie Sherri? Why was he being so mean to her? What did she do wrong? So many questions and no one to answers them. Finally letting out a loud moan, he let all his weight fall and practically crush her little frame. Shortly snores followed and she knew this was her moment to escape this evening's horror. This wasn't her first time, and she had already made herself a small safe haven under the trailer where she would stay until she saw the lights from her aunties 1990 Chevy Caprice, breaking the darkness, causing a sense of relief to settle in.
At a young age, without the comprehension of why things were the way they were, little freckle faced Jayd learned in full force what evil was.

* * * * *

This was the first time that Wild Flame could remember, that she thought dying sounded better than what she was supposed to do. Nothing about his hellish look changed since she last remembered. His face didn't show any sign that he recognized who she was, and she tried not to show her fear either. Frozen at the door she stood not knowing what to do. RUN. Was the one word that yelled in her mind. She couldn't do it. She couldn't let him do to her what had been done so long ago that she now blamed her misery on. In that moment of decision, she had decided to run.
In the small room that was reserved specifically for this treachery, up against the wall across the door was a queen sized bed on a squeaky metal bed frame with a wooden headboard, giving the cold room somewhat of a warm touch. Various tools for pleasing took place on top of a bedside table. An empty dresser matching the headboard stood alone on the wall diagonal to the bed. One of Jaydy's masterpieces hung on the wall, giving Jayden an imaginary escape every time the unmentionable, the unimaginable happened. Her head pounded “Run. Run. Run.” She quickly shut the voice down focusing on what she would do next, if she showed her fear, he would remember her, so she had to do the only thing there was left to do-- her job.
“Hey big guy!” She started. Holding her head high she walked toward the man she felt like she could kill.
“You know they were right about you, calling you Wild Flame and all! You are a sight for sore eyes, and a perfect taste for the hungry!” He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close, with not an ounce of mercy in his grasp.
Fear jabbed her in the pit of her stomach she thought she would throw up what little she ate that day, “Stay cool Jayden, don’t you dare lose it!” she was doing what she had to do often, talk herself out of anxiety. He lightly shoved her on the bed as if she was a rag doll, turning her face down he did the only thing he knew to do to drown out his own selfish desires. Slightly lifting her head, she was able to see her painting. She slowly disappeared into her master piece as she was vigorously being torn apart by the thief of her innocence.