Jaden Baker (30 page)

The man kicked, tripping Jaden, who fell.

“My goodness, you are a glutton for punishment, my little slave.” He held a new device in his hands. It started like a regular rod, with a rubber handle. It was metal, and ended with a U-shaped prong. The man jabbed it under Jaden’s shirt into his stomach.

It crackled as it sent electricity through the ends and burned his skin, like it wasn’t a tool but a blow torch. Jaden screamed.

The man pulled the device away. “Cattle prod. Very useful. One gets tired of hitting, and finds that pushing a button can be just as effective. For example,” he said, and jabbed Jaden again, this time sliding it in his pants.

Jaden screamed louder. The pain was unreal.

“Call me ‘master,’” the man said calmly.

Jaden rolled on his stomach.

“Kill me,” Jaden gasped.

“Wrong again,” the man replied. He prodded Jaden’s lower back and pushed his button.

The pain didn’t pass, it got stronger. Jaden had no voice after a while, he’d screamed himself hoarse. How long had it gone on? Surely hours. The adrenaline was gone, dried up, it abandoned him. Exhaustion combined with the magnificent pain.

I can’t do this anymore, Jaden thought. The pain is too much, and it won’t end. He’ll make me suffer for the rest of my life, however short it is. I can’t stand it anymore.

“Call me ‘master,’” the man said lazily, for probably the hundredth time.

Jaden lay flat on his back, now on the other side of the room. He’d crawled each time he was hit with the cattle prod. His progress surprised him.

The man pushed the prod into Jaden’s ribcage, and it crackled, making Jaden twitch, his face contort, his back arch.

“Call me ‘master,’” he said, bored.

He had to do what the man wanted. Just for now.

Jaden opened his mouth and breathed, “Master.” He hardly heard himself, his voice was gone.

The man jabbed the prong in Jaden’s stomach, but nothing happened. “Say it again,” he said.

“Master,” Jaden said in little more than a whisper.

“Again.”

“Master.”

“And you are?” he asked.

“Your slave.”

“And I am?”

“My master,” Jaden murmured. The pain was lessening. It was abating, and his exhaustion was coming, ready to take him into a deep sleep.

“What is your name?” the man asked.

“Jaden,” he answered. His throat was raw.

“And that’s all?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Jaden, I want you to do something. Are you listening?”

Jaden nodded his head.

“Wiggle your toes.”

Jaden did.

“Smile.”

It was work, but Jaden managed a small smile.

“I’m going to count to three. When I say three, you’re going to fall into a deep sleep.”

“Great,” Jaden said.

“One, two,” the man paused. “Three.”

And Jaden passed out, slipping into a deep sleep, just as he was commanded.

When Sam cut the plaster casts of Jaden’s arms, he rubbed them between his knees, desperate to scratch them. Sam chuckled pleasantly and didn’t stop Jaden’s efforts.

“It’s common for some patients to stick clothes hangers down their casts and break skin, causing infection. I’m glad you don’t have access to any sharp objects.” Sam took Jaden’s forearms and examined the damaged hands.

The swelling had lessened considerably. His scarred hands and wrists looked like they’d been thrust into a lawnmower. Jaden stared at them, glad the casts were off yet horrified by how mangled his limbs were.

Sam wrapped Jaden’s hands with a soft, stretchy bandage material to create a flexible cast. He was at least glad he could use his hands again, even if it was with limited functions. The pain from the initial breaks in his fingers had diminished to a dull throb, an easier pain to deal with. Sam bent the fingers gently. They hurt. Sam said flexing his fingers would keep the joints loose.

Moving was easier now too. The bruising on his torso had turned from blue to yellow, and the stitches had been taken out of his back, so his movements were a little freer than before.

With the casts finally gone, Jaden was pleased. They were an obstacle to something planned…

After the examination, Jaden was deposited in his cell. Alone. Quiet. Peaceful. His reflection greeted him with a tranquil expression. He walked to it.

Jaden looked nothing like his mother. She had sandy blonde hair, blue eyes and a pointy sort of face. She’d always been artificially thin. He wondered, as he stared at himself, what she looked like now.

He remembered the last time he saw her, how sad she was. Their hands had met together, Plexiglas between them. Despite the many ways she had disappointed him, he longed to see her one last time to say goodbye.

He thought of his father, whom he never knew. Child Protective Services asked his mother about Jaden’s father. Not surprisingly she didn’t know who he was, could hardly remember his face. Jaden must resemble him, though, if he looked nothing like his mom. Dark hair, gray eyes, straight nose, a chiseled face. A handsome man, maybe. Strong and powerful, perhaps. But a loser nonetheless. He probably didn’t know about his bastard son’s existence.

And lastly he thought of the Kauffmans, how kind and gentle they had been. Desperately wanting a family, they had found Jaden and accepted him with all his faults and baggage. They had liked him; he was happy with them. That one week was the best of his life. Surely they never thought of him, now they had a fresh, new child. At least that’s what Dalton had said.

Jaden sat gingerly on the floor. His mom and the Kauffmans were told he was a runaway. After four years and no sign of him, they must assume he was dead. They had said their goodbyes long ago.

Before being placed with the Kauffmans, Jaden lived in a group home with three other boys. How wonderful memories could be. So useful. Travis, the boy in the top bunk, had been taken from his parents house, which they had used as a meth lab. Travis once told Jaden about his brother, who killed himself by slitting his wrists with a piece of glass.

Why had he never thought of it before? There had always been a breakable glass mirror, so Dalton’s henchmen could monitor him. He had thought about breaking it to escape from the facility, knowing it would be impossible but maybe worth it. He had never considered breaking the mirror to escape from life.

Everything was clear. Jaden smiled to himself and took a deep breath. It would all be over. No longer trapped, he would not have to obey someone under threat of pain, would not be humiliated, degraded, treated like something subhuman. His future would end here and now. Life had been cruel and unfair. Jaden never caught a break. He was born into suffering, but would die happily, knowing he would not suffer again. No one would miss him except the people he despised.

Knowing this was the right thing to do, that death was the answer he searched for, Jaden raised his left hand toward the mirror. His heart beat was steady, his breathing calm. His mind reached for the glass—it vibrated. Psychokinesis was useful at times, when he was allowed to use it for his own defense. Now it would free him from yet another oppression: life.

The mirror shattered, splintering into hundreds of pieces, falling to the ground in a sweet symphony of silver sound. The men behind the glass stared, waiting. Jaden chose a long blade of glass, held it in his right fist, then put it to his left wrist. He dug in deep and cut a long gash. Warm blood poured from the wound, the iron smell was strong. The blinding pain was an afterthought, it would be over soon. He transferred the glass to his left hand then cut, just as deep, into his right wrist.

Blood flowed down his fingers and splattered onto the floor, where it pooled dark red.

But Jaden was still alive. Travis said slitting wrists caused death. Yet he was still here. His heart pounded.

Jaden looked up at the sound of the two men screaming at him, scrambling into the room. Obviously Travis omitted something from his story. Was there something Jaden had overlooked?

One of the men on the other side of the wall screamed into a radio, calling for help.

Jaden didn’t have a lot time to finish himself off. They were coming for him.

He put the glass to his neck as one of the men came rushing toward him, slipping on the spilled mirror and blood. Jaden pushed the tip of the glass blade under his chin, piercing the skin. Warm blood trickled down his neck. He tried jerking the blade across his throat when the second man grabbed Jaden’s bloody wrist and wrestled him to the ground.

Running the glass across his throat was impossible, the handler pinned both of Jaden’s wrists to the floor.

“Hurry!” the guard screamed to his partner. “Jesus Christ, he’s loosing so much blood!”

Jaden smiled. Maybe he’d done enough damage they wouldn’t be able to mend him after all.

“Call the team, call the whole fucking team!” the guard yelled again.

His vision dimmed. Jaden was lightheaded and dizzy. Was death coming to save him? Was death darkness, like he always assumed? He saw no white lights, no angels coming to lead him to an afterlife. Just as well. He shut his eyes and embraced the darkness. Life was over, and that was one thing worth dying for.

He was on the swing-set, flying high, swinging low. He extended his legs, then tucked them in once he reached the top. Jaden enjoyed the sensation of flying, watching the world move as he did. The sun was bright and the sky a deep blue.

Another boy was here, swinging the opposite direction, always meeting at ground level. He swung up, Jaden came down. Meet in the middle. Jaden swung up, the other boy down.

He had an unclear face, the other boy, but had dark hair and eyebrows. Though he couldn’t make out a facial expression, Jaden thought the boy smiled.

“Hello,” Jaden said, pumping his legs.

Hello
.

Jaden laid his body flat as he swung forward, watching the sky.

“Is this heaven?” Jaden asked.

No.

Hmm. That was weird. He’d just killed himself.

“What is it then?”

It’s a playground.

“Why are we here?” Jaden asked the blurry boy.

You wanted to be here. I go where you go.

Jaden squinted at the face again, trying to see him clearly. The boy’s face was vague, still smiling.

“Am I dead?” Jaden asked. “I tried to die. Did it work?”

The boy shook his head.

“How do you know?”

The boy shrugged.

“But I wanted to die,” Jaden said. He scraped his feet on the ground and made the swinging stop. The other boy did the same.

I know.

“I don’t want to hurt anymore,” Jaden told him.

It won’t last forever.

“How do you know?”

He shrugged again.
People make mistakes.

How did Jaden being tortured have anything to do with people making mistakes? He left the swing and paced the sand.

“I don’t want to do it anymore!” Jaden said. “I can’t!”

The other boy came away from his swing.
You’re strong.

“No!”

It’s time to wake up.

“I can’t. I don’t want to live anymore, I hate it. Please don’t send me back!”

But you have to go. Be strong.

“Who are you anyway? Why are you sending me back there?” Jaden asked.

I don’t feel it.

Jaden paused. He’d heard that before. He’d dreamed of this boy and this playground before, too. It was bizarre and didn’t make sense.

“Who are you?” Jaden asked again.

The boy cocked his head to the side, and again Jaden thought he was grinning, though the boy had no discernible mouth.

“Tell me who you are,” Jaden said.

You’re waking up now.

“No I’m not.”

You know this is a dream. It’s time to wake up. Be strong. Be brave.

Jaden opened his mouth—