Phantom Universe

Chapter 12: Sold

4 years old

Johnny's right—it's invitingly warm outside. It's midsummer, and the sun's rays bear down on Summer until she's sweating. This is the first time she's been outside since her mummy took her to the bistro outside the shipyard. She may only be four years old, but she feels as if she's matured to the age of six. Maybe even to the ancient age of seven. The cage is especially uncomfortable—noticeably meant for large animals and not people. The bucket is at least clean, though there is no comfortable place to sit, so she stands and leans against the bars. She jumps away from them quickly; the bars are so hot from the baking sun they burn through her clothes and make the healing sores on her back sting with fervor.

With no other comfortable options, she stands in the middle of the cage, her arms folded. She wonders why she's out here—Jaden never mentioned anything about cages outside. The sky is slowly growing pink as the aloof sun slides dispassionately toward the horizon. After two hours of cooking in the aggressive heat, Jag strolls from the building and unlocks her cage. His tall frame casts a shadow across the grass, and in that shadow is the outline of what he carries in his left hand. It's the whip, and, instinctively, Summer flinches away from its offensive leather.

"You stay in line, and we won't worry about this," threatens Jag as he pets the whip affectionately. There's no telling how many times she's been whipped with it, let alone all the other people that came through this place. Summer had only heard one other person being whipped during her two week stay at Hell. She recoiled every time the boy shouted, almost like she could feel the leather slicing into her own skin.

Summer nods at Jag, letting him know she understands perfectly what the consequences of disobedience are.

"Good girl. I've got someone who wants to meet ya. His name is Travis Jones—but to you it'll be Captain Jones, or Master, depending on what he wants," explains Jag as they walk in the direction of a car with tinted windows. "We'll have to drive there, though. If you cause me any trouble at all I'll whip you. And if you try to run away I'll shoot you." He points to his pants where the outline of a gun is barely noticeable.

Summer almost gasps but is able to quickly contain the sound with her hand. She's only seen police carry guns in movies. Not even in real life. Jag nods to two men she's never seen before as they reach the car.

"Get in," he says.

She hastily opens the door and slides inside at his command. Jag lowers himself into the driver's seat and starts the car. He flips through radio stations until he finds some grunge music he likes. It's strange for her to see him so relaxed and rocking out to some tunes on the stereo. This makes her hate him even more. He puts the car in gear, and they start down the road.

"There's a comb in the glove box," he barks. "Brush your hair. You gotta at least have brushed hair." He mumbles a curse to Johnny under his breath.

Trepidation crawls up her nerves like a spider, engineering its web of anxiety. I'm being sold, she tells herself, seeing if it sounds more real when she says it inside her head. She doesn't dare say it aloud. So many different emotions latch on and devour as her heart drops and pumps wildly with all the warring emotions inside her.

This may be the last time I ever see Jag, she realizes hopefully. The feeling is short lived because she knows that being locked up at Jag's means the possibility of her mum finding her again. Being sold tonight signifies the end of hope—or it would have if she hadn't already lost it. Her mum, always so patient, kind, and accepting will never be in her life again, and she has to come to terms with it now. Her mum always told her to be a big girl, and now is the time. Regardless of how crestfallen, there's still such a gratifying relief at never seeing Jag's face again it almost puts a smile on her face.