There in the center of the circle, with the sixteen-year-old weeping, the young boy lies motionless, his eyes open on the concrete ceiling.
“Yes!” The other man with an empty chain shouts, joy radiating on his perfectly groomed face. He collects his winnings from the other fellows in the room, pocketing the cash before whistling a sharp tune. The champion, with his head angled toward the dead boy, shuffles to the man, allowing himself to be shackled without a word.
“Seems like I missed a great show, gentlemen! But no matter, I have something even better for us tonight.” Marone, walking to a chair higher than the others in the room, gestures to me, still restrained by the guards. “This is my new pet! As you can see, he’s much stronger than the last! Exciting, isn’t it?!”
A round of applause sounds in the room, its booming beating its way into my chest.
“Do I have any challengers?” Looking around the room, gazing at all the men who avoided his eye. “No? No takers? I guess I’ll just have to choose myself.”
That smile is back, looming over the rest of us. “Eenie. Meenie,” Marone begins to count, stare bouncing over the twelve heads, “Miney…Mo.”
I lose the ability to breathe when I see who he’s selected. “No,” I snarl through my closing throat, “I’m not fucking doing it!” but the child, no more than six, enters the circle anyway, fists balled loosely at his sides.
Cutting me loose, the guards throw me forward. Still somewhat numb, I can’t stop myself from falling in. On my knees with my heart in my throat, I shout, “I’m not doing it!”
“But you will, my boy,” Marone calls out, smiling from up above, “you’ll get in there, and you’ll fight, or I will kill you, but not before I let every single person in this room do whatever they want with you. I’ve seen these men work,” he chuckles. “I know what they’ll do to you.”
Glaring around the circle, I take in their expressions as I come to a stand. With some of them, it’s very clear what they’d like to do to me. Their grins and bulging pants are enough of a giveaway.
Sick to my stomach, I look at the small boy again. His white cheeks are red. He takes a deep breath, his tiny fists clenching to hide the shakes. Despite his size and the obvious disadvantage I have on him, his eyes burn with defiance. This little boy does not want to die, and I—I-I do not want to hurt him. Still, he’s conditioned to know that if he doesn’t fight, he’ll die anyway. So, without another moment passing, he lunges forward, swinging a wild punch at my face.
I tower over the child, so it’s easy to dodge his swinging fist that misses my face by miles. I’ll give the boy credit, though. His reflexes are quick. Landing a delicate punch in my gut, he goesto swing again. I catch his arm mid-swing and spin him around, slamming him to the ground with a thud.
“I’m sorry!” I snap, “I’m not trying to hurt you! Stop fighting!” But the boy grits his teeth and tries to get back up in an instant. It’s hard to think when everyone is shrieking and roaring in my face. From every corner of the room, the men shout at us to fucking kill each other. Unease forces me to take several steps back, searching for the space to breathe.
This time, with anger fully controlling him, the little boy charges again, faster and more focused, throwing a series of punches at any part of me he could hit. Jumping, one grazes my cheek. Instinctively, I shove him away, throwing a quick but sharp jab to his gut, making the air rush out of his lungs.
The kid stumbles back, gasping while holding onto his middle. “Stop!Pleasestop!” But he refuses to be done. He shakes off the pain, wiping a bit of blood from his lip from where he bit it, and charges again—this time, more determined than ever.
Feeling helpless and hopeless, I quickly circle the makeshift ring, eyeing a way out of this. Right there, diagonally to me, I watch one of the men pull a knife from his belt.Perfect.
Running for it, I think of a way out. I’ll use the knife and cut my way out of these assholes. The man, tall and slinky with pitch-black eyes, isn’t expecting me to charge him, too focused on using it on the teen kneeling before him. My actions catch everyone by surprise, thankfully making them too stunned to stop me.
I grab hold of the handle and swing it around, ready to threaten anyone who comes for me, but it wasn’t supposed to be the little boy. Before I can correct myself, the sharp edge sinks into his stomach, stopping at the hilt. His eyes—I didn’t notice how green they were—widened in shock and horror, a gasp caught in his throat.
Stumbling back, the little boy frees himself from the blood-coated steel, hands instinctively falling to cover the wound. I fall to my knees with him, pressing on the gushing opening.
“I’m sorry! Please!I’m sorry!” No apology can stop the bleeding. It poured out of him in a hot, sickening rush, soaking our clothes and the ground beneath us.
When his ragged, desperate inhales fade to nothing, I kneel there, expression falling.He was supposed to stop…
“My Blade, gentlemen!”
Marone’s cheers erupt in chorus, everyone shouting my name.
I don’t hear anything but this little boy’s breathing, the ghost of it echoing around my brain.
Hands touch my shoulders, that much I know, and then his voice is in my ear. “I am going to give you what you’ve always wanted, Cade. But first, I am going to break you. I am going to unravel every fragment that holds your mind together. But this,” he says, taking hold of my jaw to bring me closer to the bloodied child, “this was on you.”
Cade
Time passes.
I don’t know if it’s days, weeks, or months, but it goes on without interruption—as if that little boy’s dying gasps don’t haunt me.
“Let me out!” My scream is nothing but a hoarse whisper because I’ve yelled it so many times.Please let me out of here, I’ve begged. Give me something to replace the death of the little boy in my mind. I know they’ve heard my calls. I know they’ve told him, but Marone leaves me locked in my cage, surrounded by darkness, starving for food, and to forget.
Curling into a ball, I sink into the dark recesses of my mind, reliving that moment for the millionth time. Every time I revisit it, my thoughts on what was worse change—his death or the cheers I got for it.
