Chapter Two-Hundred and Thirty-Nine
Clarissa flipped through the school yearbooks, running her fingers over every photo of John that she could find, watching as he seemed to grow up far quicker than he ever should have. The first photo, was taken when he would have been five, his smile was so wide that she thought he might break his face. The next one, was first grade, and the change was like a bomb had exploded, his eyes were cold, his smile more of a scowl than anything else and he only seemed to become more and more angry, and murderous with each passing year.
She wiped her face as someone knocked on her bedroom door, drying her tears and looking up to see Thomas in the doorway. "Anything?" She asked, dying to know if the law had found John and Phoebe or even had an idea of where they could be.
He bit his lip, taking her hands and sitting beside her on their bed. "They think… that they're in Mexico. They're looking all along the highways and they've found one small clue." He showed her a photo, the B and C symbol barely noticeable in the concrete of the warehouse. "John's signal."
John grunted as Jacob's boot collided with his back, slowly opening his dark eyes and looking around the small room. The walls were covered with stucco, the floor covered in dirt and other foul things. He'd found a dead mouse the night before, and despite the fact that he knew it would be riddled with diseases, he'd skinned it and gutted what he could with only his fingers and eaten what he could before he'd become sick and thrown everything up.
"Get up." Jacob barked, his brow furrowing when he caught sight of a familiar mark on John's lower back. "What's this?" He asked, yanking his son's tattered shirt over his head to reveal every scar on his body. "They got you, didn't they?" He pulled John to his feet, shoving his face into the wall and leaning close to his ear and hissing into his mind. "Did you swallow it, like a good little cum slut? Or did you try to fight until they had to choke you?"
John growled, his muscles tightening against his father's grip. "I fought." He growled, wincing as his father's fingers tightened on his wrist. Jacob was stronger now, his beer gut having nearly disappeared over the months. "I fought with everything in me."
He gave a dry chuckle, reaching his free hand around John's hips, his fingers playing with the zipper on his jeans just to cause fear to course through his son. "You're a little faggot slut." He spat, hitting John with a hard fist over the head and making him fall to the floor. He kicked dirt at his son, spitting at his still form before he marched from the room and locked the door.
John crawled to the one spot he'd found in the room that actually seemed to be warm, his body broken and bruised from his father's abuse. He tensed as something fiddled with the lock on his door, praying that he wouldn't have to take anymore pain for the day. "Please, don't let them in…" He whispered, his body collapsing on the floor with relief when he saw the frizzy hair of his sister and her tiny build open the door. "Phoebe… thank God…" He closed his eyes as her small hand pressed against his cheek, fighting back his tears of joy at her touch. "Thank you…"
She bent down, carefully kissing his cheek and moving to cuddle up to his shivering icy body. "I missed you…" She mumbled, wrapping her tiny coat around his shoulder as an attempt to keep him warm.