Jaden Baker

by Courtney Kirchoff

  Jaden didn’t hesitate. Without looking up at the man, he crawled toward the tray of food, his stomach inches from the ground. He did not eat right away. He stared down at the eggs.

  The man laughed again. “Don’t be afraid. I’m giving you permission. Eat it while it’s warm.” He retrieved his rod, knocked it on the floor next to his face, then tapped it against Jaden’s cheek.

  All hunger was gone, but Jaden took a bite of the lukewarm eggs. They had no taste. He chewed slowly, watching the man’s shoes walk around him. He stayed with Jaden until the food was gone.

  “There,” the man said, “now doesn’t that feel better?”

  Jaden fought to keep the sob from escaping his chest. “Yes,” he answered with a whisper.

  “Good.”

  The man picked the tray off the floor, dropped a single napkin in its place, then walked to the elevator.

  “Oh,” he said, “I almost forgot. Who am I?” he asked.

  Jaden wet his lips. “You’re my master,” he said.

  “And who are you?” the man asked. Without seeing his face, Jaden knew he smiled.

  “I’m your slave,” Jaden replied.

  “Thank you,” the man said. He stepped onto the elevator, which took him up. “Wipe your face when I’m clear,” he said, before his feet disappeared.

  Jaden lay on the floor, too sore to sleep. His mind replayed his encounter with the old man. He analyzed everything he did, and thought of what to do in their next meeting. Jaden should’ve waited. Next time he would wait. He wouldn’t move until the man told him. It was the only way to avoid torture.

  Thinking about it made him want to cry. He would have to control that, too.

  It was a while before the man returned. Jaden’s heart thrummed when the elevator came down. His mouth dried, and his body trembled when he heard the man walk toward him. Jaden shut his eyes and tried to make his breathing heavy.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Lying down,” Jaden said quietly.

  “Are you tired?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want you to sleep. You do not have my permission.”

  Jaden licked his lips nervously. “Okay.”

  “You won’t sleep?”

  “No.”

  “Do you promise not to sleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what will happen if you break that promise?”

  “You’ll hurt me,” Jaden whispered, and shut his eyes tight to keep from crying.

  “Yes I will. You don’t want me to hurt you, do you?”

  Jaden shook his head. “No.”

  “Then you’ll stay awake until I say it’s okay to sleep.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now I want you to take a shower. I’ve brought you fresh clothes and a bar of soap. When you’re done with the soap, leave it on the elevator with your old clothes. Do not stand on the elevator, though. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Jaden said.

  “Good. Now, who am I?”

  “You’re my master.”

  “And who are you?” he asked, smiling.

  “I’m your slave.”

  “Yes you are.” He put fresh clothes and a towel on the padded floor, and a small bar of soap on top of them, then left.

  Jaden sat up, wincing as he moved. He pulled one arm out of a sleeve, then the other. He lifted the shirt over his head and looked in the observation mirror. His chest was covered in large bruises. It looked like his left side had been dipped in blue ink; his face was swollen and turning purple.

  He walked to the shower, bracing himself on the wall to take off his pants. His legs were bruised as well, it hurt to stand. Turning the shower knob with his mitten-like cast wasn’t as hard as he anticipated. The water poured from the shower head, like tiny cold arrows. Using the soap wasn’t going to be easy. It was on top of his clothes. He stared at it, but it didn’t come to him. Sometimes reaching helped. He extended his left hand.

  The soap rolled of the clothes to the floor.

  Jaden sighed. He stepped from under the pounding water to better focus. The soap slid across the floor to him.

  Please come up. Please.

  The soap lifted into the air to Jaden’s eyes.

  It’s going to hurt. It’ll sting, there’s no getting around it.

  And it did. The soap dropped many times before Jaden mustered enough control to keep it sliding across his body, gently, enough to leave a trail of bubbles across his discolored skin.

  He rinsed, summoned the towel, and dried. Dressing was almost as hard as washing, somehow he managed it. Now he was clean, however, another problem emerged. Showering, even in cold water, relaxed him. Jaden’s eyelids were heavy, he wanted to sleep. He was sure the moment he shut his eyes for any period of time, the man would come and break his legs.

  His forearms itched again. Then he remembered the rest of the man’s instructions. He got off the floor and gathered his old clothes, towel, and soap, then dropped them on the elevator. It rose as soon as he stood back.

  Jaden held his breath, waiting. After several moments, he was in the clear. He sat and tried thinking of something to keep him awake.

  What was his favorite movie? It had been so long since he’d seen a movie, it was strange to think they still existed. He hadn’t seen many. So which was his favorite?

  Oh yes. The Mask of Zorro. The sword fighting scenes were the best, and he liked how Zorro fooled his enemy and escaped from prison. If only Jaden could fake his death and get out of here. He could escape undetected, get a fast black horse, and take revenge on his captors.

  Was he ever going to get out of here? He had come so close, had tasted the free air, only to be captured again. How was he going to break out this time? The stranger wasn’t going to be fooled and he wouldn’t ever feel sorry for Jaden. Was it hopeless?

  No.

  It seemed that way. Malcolm and Curtis showed no mercy, and Sam, despite his one kind act of morphine administration, insisted it was safer for “everyone” if Jaden stayed here. So they would never let him go. He was a prisoner for life.

  Never give up.

  But he had nothing left. That man, whoever he was, had taken everything from him in such a short amount of time. Jaden had no one.

  He wanted to fall asleep. His head kept falling to his chest. If he could stay awake, keep his promise, then the mast—that man, could not hurt him. Jaden started counting again. It worked last time, it should work again.

  It was ten hours before anything happened. His stomach grumbled violently. He didn’t care that he had to eat food off the ground, so long as he could eat. So it was a pleasant surprise when a tray of food came down the elevator alone. Jaden retrieved it.

  A note sat beside it, reading:

  You have my permission to eat this food.

  ~Your Master

  Jaden wolfed it down as fast as he could, hardly noticing what he ate. It felt good to be full. He even licked the plate.

  It was a few minutes later, while he leaned against the wall, determined not to sleep, that he realized he was drowsy. He slid to the floor and crossed his legs. How long had he been awake? Twenty hours? More? It had to have been more than a day. Jaden couldn’t remember how many hours he had counted since being discharged from the mini hospital. It seemed like forever ago.

  His head felt heavy. He wanted to lie down, fall asleep. He had to stay awake or be punished for disobeying his mast—the man. Old man. Old, sadistic, evil man. Satan in human form.

  His plastered hand slipped, and he fell, his face on the floor. He tried pushing himself up, but his arms wouldn’t move. Stuck. Crap, this isn’t good.

  Maybe if he kept his eyes open, everything would be okay. The moment he thought it, though, it became challenging. The time between blinks shortened, and his eyes were closed more than open.

  Stay awake for just a little while longer.

  Jaden opened his eyes and looked around the room. No one here.r />
  “I’m tired,” he said, slurring.

  I know. Just another minute. That’s it.

  “How do you know?” Jaden mumbled, his eyes closing again.

  Because you’re falling asleep, and if he wants you to stay awake, he’ll come down to you.

  Jaden opened his eyes again. “Will he hurt me again?”

  Probably. He enjoys it.

  “I know,” Jaden murmured. “But I don’t want him to.”

  He won’t ever kill you. Everything he does can be fixed.

  “It hurts so much.”

  The pain always ends sooner or later. You can survive this, Jaden. You’re strong.

  “Is he coming soon? I want to go to sleep.”

  Yes, he’s on his way now. But you have to stay quiet. He didn’t give you permission to speak. Don’t give him any excuse to punish you.

  “Okay,” Jaden whispered.

  The elevator lowered into his cell, and the man stood with a rod in hand.

  Jaden tried sitting—the lack of energy made it impossible. He stared at the man instead.

  “You’re awake after all?” said the old man.

  “Yes,” Jaden said. “You told me to.”

  “Indeed. I’m pleased you followed my command. Now I want you to sit up.”

  Oh no. Jaden rolled to his stomach and tried pushing himself up, but his arms and legs had no strength.

  “Sit up,” the man said again, an edge to his voice. “Don’t you dare disobey me.”

  “I’m trying,” Jaden said, his voice higher than usual. He was trying, but he couldn’t sit up. The man wanted Jaden to fail. This was all part of his master plan.

  The rod struck the back of his legs, and Jaden cried out. He scrambled to get off the floor, but the man kept hitting his legs.

  Don’t scream, that’s what he wants.

  Jaden bit his lip and didn’t let the howls of pain escape. The man hit him twice then stopped. He grabbed Jaden’s upper arm and heaved him into a sitting position, shoving him against the wall. He squeezed Jaden’s cheeks in his hands and shook his head.

  “Why do you push me?” he growled.

  Say you’re sorry.

  “I’m sorry,” Jaden said.

  “Since you couldn’t follow my last order, I’m going to have to punish you later. But I won’t let you interfere with my schedule. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Jaden said.

  “You deserve to be punished. I gave you a command and you ignored it. You know you deserve to be punished, don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry,” Jaden said, fighting back his tears. “I tried to do it.”

  The man back-handed Jaden then put his hand around Jaden’s throat. “Answer my question, and use the proper appellation, slave.”

  The man was squeezing Jaden’s throat in his anger. His face was inches from Jaden’s.

  “Fuck you,” Jaden said. He regretted it instantly.

  The man’s face went from white to red in less than a second. He lifted Jaden by the throat and dragged him to the elevator. Off the elevator, Jaden was pushed down the hall and into room E. The man shoved Jaden to the padded floor, then collected something from the corner. Jaden scrambled to his feet, powered this time by adrenaline, and bolted for the door.

  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.

  thirteen

  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 wondere
d, 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.