• Amy Shannon

First Chapter:  Chains


First Chapters #firstchapters refers to the first chapter in this book.

Blurb: Twelve-year-old Veronica “Ronnie” Lawrence was kidnapped from the steps of her middle school, and taken by Dr. Shawn Channing or as she knew him, “Mister”. Channing kept her chained for years in his basement dungeon, while he enslaved her and kept her for years. With some inner strength she never knew she had, she survived, the torture and abuse. As she grew up, she truly believed she would never leave and see her family again. Then on day 3855 of her captivity, she was rescued. Take a journey with Ronnie on how her strength keeps her alive, even when her body is damaged and broken. Can she survive outside of Channing’s prison-like manor?

Chapter One: 1825 Days in captivity

Ronnie hugged herself tightly, shuddering as she leaned against the cold cement walls of the dungeon she called home. Her dark hair was long and scraggly caused by years of only combing it with her fingers. Eventually, her fingers grew tired, as the rest of her body did as well. The tears no longer streamed down her face. Her tears dried up years ago, as in the second day of her captivity. The food her captor, only known to her to be called “Mister”, provided always had some sedative contained in it, but she knew she had to eat or she would die. One time, she didn’t eat, and pretended that she was asleep, so she could see what actually happens to her when she is unconscious. After that, she realized she needed to be in a deeper sleep. Mister wasn’t a gentle sexer. She needed to have that drug so she didn’t feel. But it didn’t matter, he didn’t always drug her. He mostly preferred her to be awake. Ronnie didn’t know how long she had actually been in her dungeon home, but because of multiple failed escape attempts in the past, she was never allowed to enter into the lighted room at the top of the stairs. She could never break her chains, but when he unchained her, she tried to run, she tried to fight, but it never succeeded, and always made it worse. Mister beat her, tightened the chains, took away one meal, and said the stay in the basement would be longer. She attempted to keep track of the time via scratches in the walls that she made with one of her chain links, but there were times when she thinks she was out for days, or he came down several times so she couldn’t keep track anymore. It didn’t matter. If felt like eons and that it would never end, so it was no point in trying to keep track of her time. It would be forever. Her ankle was chained and when it became raw, Mister switched to the other ankle, until the former one healed. Then, it repeated. Chains kept switching from ankle to ankle, until Mister decided both ankles were better. Both ankles were never normal again, and the silver from the medal of the chains, stained her skin. The burlap rag she wore eventually faded, and was replaced with a canvas short-dress. She was glad that she no longer had to smell like rotten potatoes, but the canvas wasn’t much better, it smelled like an old closet. At least it didn’t scratch her body anymore. She no longer knew what it meant to wear underclothes. Ronnie slept on a mat, equivalent to a gym mat where the inner foam was flattened, with only an old flat sheet to cover herself. She did wish that sometimes she could sleep in the fancy bed where Mister brought her to have sex, as it was just off her own room, but the door was always locked when they were not inside. When he finished with her, with whatever desires he had for her, he stripped her in the shower room, and hosed her down, washing his stench off of her. Only, there was no towel to dry herself. She put on her makeshift canvas dress and returned to her room, and Mister headed toward the lighted room, upstairs. Then, there were the three clicks, telling her that the door was locked. Sounds and smells were the only thing that she could count on. The cement dungeon smelled like dirt and cement, but sometimes, it smelled like bleach when he would make her clean up after herself. She went to the bathroom in a bucket in the corner that the chain barely let her reach. The only thing that kept her from dying inside were her thoughts of peace, of anything that made her smile inside, her trying to remember the time before she was taken. She even kept an internal journal as she wasn’t able to read or write anything. She learned how to entertain herself, making up stories or “writing” in her mental journal.

Dear Journal, she thought. I wish this day was over. I’m tired and my ankles hurt. Every time I roll over, the chains click together. I wish I could run, run far away, run across the field filled with wildflowers. I can almost smell the fresh cut grass and cold pond water, where the ducks like to land. I wish I could remember where that was. I wish I could fly away. Go away where Mister could never find me. Far, far away.

Ronnie touched her face, as she tried to remember what she looked like. She touched the long scar on her face, the first cut he made to make her his. It was still sore and raw as if it happened yesterday, but she knew, it happened that first day. She knows that she’s growing up. Her chest used to be flat, and now she has breasts. Her legs used to be shorter, and now, they are longer, but still thin, almost frailer than when she was a child. She measures her height to see how she has grown. Her hips are rounder and slightly wider, but her thin frame still exposes her bones. She had hair on her body, but Mister likes to keep her entire body smooth, so he shaves every inch below her neck as soon as it starts to grow back. The silver dog bowl sits by the mats that represent her living area, and it contains last night’s food, mushy meatloaf and dry mashed potatoes. No silverware allowed. He allows her to eat with a nylon cooking spoon or her own hands. She remembers the day she woke up in the dungeon. The day Mister told her that Aunt Sadie wanted her to be safe with him. She could barely remember Aunt Sadie’s face, but she felt her with her. Aunt Sadie took care of her since she was six, when her parents died. She doesn’t remember her mommy or daddy, and Aunt Sadie is slowly fading. She often wonders what she did wrong to make Aunt Sadie give her away. Aunt Sadie didn’t even say goodbye. Maybe Aunt Sadie only wanted to deal with the kids that she taught at the High School. Maybe she was too much work. Mister showed up at her school, as she sat on the steps waiting for Aunt Sadie to arrive. Mister told her that her Aunt couldn’t take care of her anymore and she needed to go with him. She grabbed her backpack and pink lunch sack with the purple flowers, and followed him to the van. She had just turned twelve. Once in the van, he taped her up with gray duct-tape. She never saw Aunt Sadie, her school, her friends, or even favorite lunch sack again. Though, she often dreams she saw Aunt Sadie outside of the school as Mister pulled away. Wishful thinking. Aunt Sadie didn’t want her anymore, but she could dream. All she had left was her dreams. Sometimes, if she dreamed really hard, she could hear her dog barking for her. His bark seemed so far away, and she didn’t know if it were really there, but she imagined her St. Bernard howling for her. Ronnie opened her eyes quickly at the squeaking of the door to the lighted room. The sound was so familiar, as it announced the footsteps of Mister before they even started their descent down the wooden stairs. She assumed the proper position for pleasing Mister. On her knees, just on the edge of the small black mat that lay next to the blue mat she called her bed, back straight, arms at her side, and eyes focused on the red circle painted in the middle of the black mat. “Very good, my love,” his deep voice accompanied the pat of his hand on her head. “On your feet. I have a surprise for you.” Wearily, Ronnie stood up, her chains clicking together, and raised her head to look at Mister. She had learned long ago about the commands of Mister. She knew the punishment for not obeying, and even though she never wanted to lose herself, she knew that part of her old self, whoever that was, was gone. “A surprise?” she asked, her mouth still formed a frown, as she hasn’t smiled ever since she was taken here. Mister leaned down and kissed her forehead. His deep black eyes stared down at her, his mouth slightly crooked, and his dark black hair completely slicked back. Today, he was wearing blue denim jeans, and a blue polo shirt, not his usual colors, but usual style. Usually, he wore all black, except when he only wore black boxers when he led her to the sex room. “Yes, my love. Today is your birthday. You have behaved for the past few months, and I felt it was time for you to commit yourself to me completely. You’ll now be my bride.” “Mister, how old am I?” Ronnie had no concept of her age, and she didn’t even get a menstrual cycle. She didn’t feel like a woman most days, not even when he was with her, breathing heavily, pushing himself inside her. It wasn’t as bad as when he thought she was unconscious. “You, my love, are seventeen. You have always been mine, ever since you were gifted to me. Now, you’ll be my bride.” “What does that mean, Mister?” “You must give me an heir.” He pushed her to the ground, roughly as always. He unlocked the chains on her ankles, and quickly pulled off the canvas dress. “Come with me, and if you try to escape, I’ll chain both legs and arms and you’ll never get another surprise.” Ronnie knew how mean and hurtful Mister could be, and some days she thought she deserved it, or it was normal to be like that if you disobeyed your Mister. She knew that whatever Mister said he would do, was truthful. Mister never lied to her. If he said he’d do something to her, he would do it. Even the things she didn’t understand until it was done. “I’m yours, Mister. Always. I’ll obey. I promise.” Her soft gray eyes looked up at him. “That is why I love you,” he grabbed her naked body and slung her over his shoulder. He clopped up the stairs toward the lighted room.

***

Hope you enjoyed chapter one of "Chains". You can purchase the book to finish by clicking on the book cover.


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