Phantom Universe Read online

CHAPTER 12: SOLD

  4 years old

  Johnny’s right—it’s invitingly warm outside. It is midsummer, and the sun’s rays bear down on Summer until she’s no longer cold but 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 that 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 is 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 you can see 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 is no telling how many times she has been whipped with it, let alone all the other people that came through that 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 it’ll be Captain Jones, or Master depending on what he wants, to you,” 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. Jag nods to two men she’s never seen before as they reach the car.

  “Get in,” he orders.

  She hastily opens the door and slides inside at his command. Jag lowers himself into the driver’s seat and starts the car. He quickly 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.

  But the longer they drive, the sweatier her palms become. Jag is unconditionally cruel, but what if Captain Jones is more ruthless? She sits as motionless and noiseless as a stone combating the ravages of time and tries to camouflage her mental state, which is about as easy as slaying a fire-breathing dragon in the depths of Hell. Her captor probably sees right through her, down to her jumping heart, tightening muscles, and dancing nerves.

  The sun finally fades, and the moonless night’s sky is full of illuminated clouds from the city lights below. Jag parks the car outside a port where fleets of ships are docked. Summer’s nerves are so stressed, strained so tight, she’s not sure if she can move.

  Jag circles around the car and opens the door. His beady black eyes stare holes in her forehead as if they are laser beams, and a frown dominates his face, clearly annoyed.

  “I’m not here to service you.” He places his hand on his gun. “Get out of the car and stay ahead of me. I’ll tell you where to go and if you don’t listen and obey . . .” He taps his fingers lovingly over the gun.

  Summer is so quick to get out of the car at his threat that she’s faint for a few moments and sees stars. She stumbles forward as she tries to recover her full vision. Being starved is undoubtedly damaging her body as she becomes increasingly weaker daily.

  The ships tower over them like pillars of a vast city. When he demands that she stops before a huge vessel, the panic kicks in with such absolute ferocity that it’s like her breath is being stolen right out of her lungs by some soul-sucking creature. Her heart skips a beat; it’s as if the entire two weeks are finally catching up to her. Tears leak out in a torrent, though she stays completely silent, weathering the storm better than any four year old should be able to.

  A figure steps from the shadows like he’s part of the night. Everything about him is sinister—his eyes, hair, and clothes. His scruffy beard canvases the majority of his face, and his cheeks are pitted with scars like craters on the moon. His exposed arms have faded tattoos and are also scarred with the sun and other marks that she couldn’t even begin to guess the source. The man grins widely at Jag, and she assumes this is the Captain.

  “You’ve trained her well, I see. Not a single peep,” he says in a smooth voice that doesn’t seem right with his outer appearance. He has an accent she can’t place.

  “We need to talk.” Jag points a little ways away. “You stay right there,” he adds to Summer. “If I see you even take a single step remember what I promised.” His eyebrows lift in challenge.

  Summer nods and wipes the tears away hastily. She’s embarrassed that he saw her cry. The two men step away from her and into the shadows. She can’t hear their words, but she can tell it’s a heated conversation. She wishes she could at least see their facial expressions to gauge their emotions, but it’s useless in the dark. Suddenly, the Captain laughs and claps Jag on his lanky shoulder, nearly knocking him over.

  They shake hands, and Jag walks deeper into the shadows until she can’t see him anymore. The Captain glances in her direction and comes over. He seems genuinely pleased, his dark eyes light with humor. “Jag told you who I was?” he asks.

  She nods, uncertain of what his mood might mean. To her it is ambiguous at best.

  “Good. You can call me Captain Travis or Captain Jones. I’ll answer to either.” He pauses as if he’s waiting for her to give her name. She remains silent. “I was told your name’s Summer,” he continues, unperturbed. “You won’t have to see Jag ever again, but you’ll be stuck with my ugly face for a while.” He laughs at his own joke, and she still doesn’t speak.

  Captain Jones gestures in the direction of a massive ship and explains, “This is the Cosmos, my ship and your new home. Tonight I’ll show you to your quarters, and tomorrow morning we’ll start with your training.” He grins and walks away. When she doesn’t move he calls out, “Follow!”

  Summer swiftly catches up to him as he boards the Cosmos. In the dark she can’t make out much except the ship is huge. Her eyes grow wide as she takes it all in—the thing is larger than several houses combined.

  The Captain chuckles at her expression when he checks to make sure she�
��s still behind him. “You sure are well behaved fer a four year old. I think we’ll get along great here. You’re so quiet—it’s a nice change from my ex-wife.” He laughs at himself again and motions for her to follow.

  They enter through a massive metal door and descend several stairs into the depths of the ship. The grey, aluminum walls are closer together than any normal hallways, and it feels like they are closing in on her. She folds her arms around her torso and tries not to shake at the constricted sensation. He halts so abruptly that she almost runs into him. He pushes open a smaller version of the door to the stairs, and it squeals like a piglet.

  “Ah, piss on it. Needs oil. Anyway, this is yer room. As long as you behave things will run smoothly. I won’t expect you to be perfect immediately, but I won’t hesitate to punish you if you continue to make mistakes as time goes on.” His eyes convey it isn’t an idle threat.

  She trembles at the warning, knowing it won’t be five minutes in the corner. No, it’ll be a whiplashing and then all night in the corner licking her wounds. She steps past the threshold and advances into the shadows of the unknown. There are no words she can say to him as he closes the big metal door and leaves her in the blinding dark. It’s practically a relief to be alone again.

  Welcome home, she thinks gloomily. Dispirited, she understands what she must do to survive. Silence is the only way to preserve. I will never talk again, she promises herself.