Chapter Text
CUSTER CLOVE, GEORGIA
THE WALKER RESIDENCE
Caleb Walker was a mean, arrogant, pathetic excuse for a veteran.
If you had asked him two decades ago if he would have had children, he would've told you to fuck off.
Now he has three, and he didn't want a single one of them.
At least one of them did something decent with his life, joining the military after high school.
His youngest, his only daughter, was his favorite. Kate was his angel. She was four years old.
His eldest, Mike, died a year ago. Caleb remembered when he got the call. His son had shot himself. Caleb had thanked the man on the other side of the phone, slammed it down, and went to the bar.
He didn’t come home that night, opting to spend the night with the first hooker he found.
His middle son, John, was a piece of work. He was constantly talking back. He was disrespectful. Caleb never had to whoop Mike as much as he does John.
The boy was smart, he’ll give him that. Eight years old and already skipped a grade. His teachers said that if he kept on, he’d be graduating three years early.
But he was his daddy’s child, and he had a mouth on him.
One day, John had enough. John didn’t want to eat his dinner that night. It was spaghetti, and he didn’t like spaghetti. He’s never liked spaghetti. And his mother made spaghetti, put it on his plate, and got mad when he didn’t eat.
“Eat your food, boy,” Caleb had grunted.
“I don’t like ‘paghetti,” John mumbled, picking at his food. Emily, his mother, huffed.
“I spent all damn day slaving in that kitchen,” she said, pitching her voice up. She hitched her breath. “And you won’t even eat what I make for you.”
She wiped her eyes. Kate looked between them from her high chair.
John shook his head. “Sorry, ma.” he whispered.
Emily turned her head towards Caleb. “Aren’t you gonna do somethin’?”
Caleb rolled his eyes. “Eat your damn food or I'll make you cut a switch.”
John sniffled. They didn’t get it, spaghetti made him nauseous when he tried to eat it. The noodles looked like worms.
He didn’t eat. When Caleb finished his food and looked over to see his son's plate still full, he slammed his hands on the table and stood up.
The action made Kate start crying. Emily mumbled a small “Damnit, Caleb.” and picked her up, walking out the room.
John tightened his body, holding his hands in his lap and looking down. He was trembling and trying not to cry himself. That would only piss his dad off.
Caleb reached into his pocket and pulled out his lockback. He opened it and handed it to his son.
“Go cut me a switch,” he growled out. John sniffled again.
“Now!” Caleb shouted. John shot up, taking the knife from his father, and stormed out the back door. He felt more fear than anger.
He knew better than to get a shitty one.
Once he got back into the house, his father took the switch and smacked John on the shoulder to get him moving to his room.
He had John take his shirt off and lean on the bed with his hands holding him up.
John didn’t know how long he was there. He lost track of the hits after four.
Caleb didn’t stop until there was blood dripping onto the carpet.
When he was done, and John was an inconsolable mess, he snapped the switch.
“Eat your mama’s food,” Caleb barked, and walked out the room.
John left that night.
It was the middle of the night when he got off the floor and emptied out his school bag. He filled it with clothes. He snuck into his parents bedroom, took his fathers wallet out his work pants, and left.
He put his shoes on with the wallet in his bag. He put his winter jacket on, walked out the door, and didn’t look back.
He was reported missing twenty-six hours later.
MORROW, GEORGIA
THE HOSKINS RESIDENCE
TWO YEARS LATER
Tara Hoskins wasn’t home very often.
She worked at the family's flower shop, which took most of her time.
She worked, went home, and went to sleep. Her son took care of most of the house work. And her daughter.
One night, she came home later than normal.
Her son, Lemar, was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV.
“What you doing up?” Tara asked, before glancing at the TV. “And what you doing staring at nothing?”
Lemar looked at her. “You promised to be home early.”
“You know how busy it gets this time of year,” Tara said apologetically. She put her stuff down. Lemar grunted.
“Your sister in bed?” Tara tried to make conversation. Lemar nodded.
“Fell asleep at ten,” he said. Tara nodded.
“Thank you, baby,” she hummed. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m going to bed, I’ll see you in the morning?”
She frowned when she just got a grunt again, but didn’t think about it. Tara went to her bedroom, stopping to check on Aurora. She was fast asleep, just like Lemar said.
Lemar continued to stare at the TV. He waited until two in the morning before moving.
He snuck into his and Aurora's bedroom. Packing his unused bookbag with clothes, he lifted his mattress. Grabbing the couple hundreds he had saved up, Lemar pocketed it and grabbed his bag as he stood up.
He walked to Aurora's bed. She was peaceful. She wasn’t as skinny as he was, as he kept her fed. Lemar bent down to press a kiss to her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Aurora shuffled in bed.
Lemar walked out his bedroom, pausing to listen to his mother snore. He glared at her door, before turning to walk out the house.
Lemar had walked around town for a while, before going into a twenty four hour store.
The cashier looked at Lemar tiredly. He blinked when he saw a ten year old walking into his store at two something in the morning.
Lemar bought a single cupcake and a bottle of chocolate milk. He avoided the cashiers' questioning looks.
He paid, and walked out the store.
He sat in an alleyway, opening the cupcake.
“Happy birthday to me.. Happy birthday to me,” he cut himself off with a sob, quickly covering his mouth.
He didn’t eat the cupcake.
He left town on the first bus.
He was reported missing twenty-four hours later.
ATHENS, GEORGIA
THE ISLES RESIDENCE
THREE YEARS LATER
Alex Isles was a single father.
All five of his children had different mothers, except the twins.
They lived in a trailer park, Alex and the boys – the twins – shared a room. The girls shared the other room.
Olivia was the third child. She was thirteen. She was the only kid who knew her mother.
Delilah and Dawn, her older sisters, were mean. They pulled Olivia's hair and took her cigarettes.
One night, after a long, loud argument between Olivia and Dawn, Olivia packed her school bag and walked out the door.
“Be back by morning!” Alex had called out, causing the twins to laugh. Olivia had rolled her eyes.
She didn’t have any money. Just clothes, cigarettes, and the shoes on her feet.
She never came back.
When Alex had woken up that morning and saw her still gone, he had Deliah and Dawn go look for her.
They spent until lunch looking for her. They never found her.
She was reported missing twelve hours later.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
THE BLACKOUT
Martin Thatcher knew his club was going to shut down. He needed to find a way to make more money.
The club was closed, but it would be opening soon, and he was wiping down the counters of the bar. He jumped when he heard a voice from behind him. He rolled his eyes as he heard Sophie laughing.
“Stupid,” she insulted. Martin scoffed. The eleven year old didn’t look eleven at all. She had a corset on, no shirt over it, making her still growing breast look bigger than they actually were.
She also had on a short skirt with a slit down the side. The only thing that made her look her age were the black Adidas on her feet.
Her blonde hair was in two braids. Amber freckles dotted all over her face, standing out on pale skin. She didn’t go outside during the day.
It was nearly time for her to go out. She had clients, multiple, all of them men who got off on the fact that she wasn’t anywhere close to legal. Martin exploited that.
He hummed in thought as Sophie sat on one of the bar stools.
“How would you like a friend?” he asked her. Sophie looked at him with an unreadable expression on her face.
“You mean another whore?” she asked. Martin shrugged.
“If that’s what you wanna say,” he responded.
She shrugged herself. “Sure.”
Martin nodded.
Two months later, Sophie had forgotten the conversation. Until Martin came into her bedroom with a young boy.
“Meet John!” he said with a grin. John looked around the room, taking in the two sets on bunkbeds and the dresser between them.
Sophie jumped off her bed, the top bunk on the right side, and looked at him.
He was blonde with blue eyes. He couldn’t be more than ten, and skinny as hell. His hair was to his shoulders and he looked exhausted. Another runaway.
He was in a winter jacket, a looney tunes shirt, and jeans. He had a backpack on his back.
John nodded to Sophie. He flinched when Martin clapped him on the shoulder. Martin then walked out with a small “Have fun!”. He shut the door behind him and Sophie was relieved when she didn’t hear the lock click.
“I’m Sophie,” she introduced herself, holding out her hand. John flinched again and didn’t take it.
“John,” he said. Sophie nodded, dropping her hand.
“How old are you, John?” she asked.
“Eight,” John replied. Sophie hummed.
“You can have that bunk,” Sophie pointed to the top left bed. John nodded, walking towards the bed.
Sophie watched him. “You from here?”
“Custer Clove,” John responded. Sophie nodded. She glanced at the alarm clock on the dresser. Its red numbers shined 8:48pm.
She walked to the dress, pulling out the top drawer. Her drawer. As she rummaged through it she spoke to John.
“The second one is your drawer,” she said, pausing her search to tap the drawer in question. John looked from his spot on his new bed.
“Okay,”
Sophie nodded. She pulled out a pink lace cami and jeans shorts. She also grabbed her fishnets and her black leather jacket. Her legs would be cold, but the clients liked the way the fishnets made her legs look. She also didn’t pull out a bra, as it made things much easier.
John shot her a questioning look. “Whatcha doing?”
“Getting ready for work,” Sophie replied, pulling off her Betty Boop sleep shirt. She replaced it with the cami.
Sophie smiled when she heard John squeak as she pulled off her underwear next. She put the fishnets on, pulling the shorts over them.
“I’m done, mister dramatic,” she called to John. John carefully looked up from where he squished his face into the pillow.
Sophie winked at him before going to the bathroom.
John wondered what Sophie's job could be that would require her to dress like a slut, per his fathers words.
He climbed down the bunk and followed her into the bathroom.
Sophie looked at him through the mirror, before motioning to the toilet. John sat on the closed lid.
Sophie was doing her eyeliner with practiced ease an eleven year old shouldn’t have. Makeup was scattered around the sink, some opened, some closed. She had already put on mascara.
“What’s your job?” John found himself asking. Sophie closed the eyeliner after she finished with the other eye. She put on quite a bit, as the clients liked to watch it run down her face.
“I’m a whore,” Sophie replied easily. John shot her a questioning look.
“You know? A hooker? A tramp? Sex worker?” she continued listing off terms until understanding dawned on John's face.
“Why?” he asked. Sophie grabbed the blush.
“I can’t stay here for free, you know,” she brushed some powder on her face.
“How long have you been here?”
Sophie deemed the blush good enough and set it down. “Since I was seven. Ran away cause my daddy couldn’t keep his hand to himself.”
She picked up the lipstick. A dark red.
“I’m sorry,” John said. Sophie popped her lips and sat the lipstick down.
“Why’d you run away?” she asked John, turning to face him and lean on the sink.
“My dad beat me bloody,” John shrugged. Sophie hummed. It was quiet for a moment.
“Me and you are gonna be good friends, John,” she said finally. John smiled lightly.
“I hope so,”
Sophie reached out to ruffle John's hair. “I’ll be back when you wake up tomorrow.”
With that, she walked out the bathroom. John watched her grab her jacket and leave the bedroom.
He rocked a few times on the toilet before getting up and going back to his new bed.
He thought about what Sophie had said, about not being able to live here for free. He hoped he wouldn’t have to whore himself out.
His hopes weren’t strong enough.