Two weeks after Christmas, the box of candy canes lay on the splintered wooden table, untouched.  The plastic packaging still smooth and tightly wound on the cardboard box with the distorted image of a jolly, rosy-cheeked Santa Claus plastered on the side. 
The jingling of keys followed by the click of the lock was enough to cause the young woman to wake from her nap and run to the front hallway.  She slid on the hardwood floors to a slippery stop just in time to see the six year old walk in the front door with a book bag that was twice his size attached to his back. 
“Hi honey, how was school?”
“Good!”
“That’s great.  I have a surprise for you. I picked it up while you were in school.  It’s waiting for you on the table.”
The boy’s eyes lit up in excitement as he let his bag slide and crash onto the floor and allowed his scrawny legs to carry him into the next room.  The woman followed close behind, not wanting to miss her son’s reaction.  Her mouth turned up at the corners into a small smile accompanied by a shake of her head when her eyes laid on the boy’s small frame.
His small hands, barely big enough to grasp the box, as the plastic wrap soon became undone as his nails dug into the packaging.  The torn cardboard box split Santa’s face, mutilating it into nothingness.  His expression of bliss morphed into one of worry and confusion. 
“I thought we couldn’t get these because they were too expensive.”  His dark brown brows furrowed.
“I’ve been going to the store everyday and they were finally on sale.  You deserve them, kiddo.”

A few hours later and the sun was finally setting over the small street in their small town.  A comfortable silence fell over the dull, old house.  One story high, accompanied by creaking stairs and the occasional c***roach, it nicely complimented the unassuming life the mother and son led.  The only sounds that permeated the still air was the flipping of thick pages and the rough scratch of pencil clumsily gliding over the math workbook. 
“Time for bed, buddy.”
“Aw, can I have another five minutes?”
“Nope, not tonight, kiddo.  Get in bed, I’ll be there to tuck you in in a minute.”
“Okay.” The young boy extended the last syllable as he skipped down the hallway.
Burying her face in her hands, her fingers rubbed her eyes as she felt the tears start to well up. 
God, keep it together.  Just ten minutes, ten minutes and you can cry all you want. But God, just get yourself together.  If not for your sake, for his, her thoughts always got the best of her. 
She let herself sit there in the softened dent in the frayed, canvas couch before sighing deeply and finally raising her head and pushing herself up.
She took her time making her way to the boy’s room, feeling every groove in the old hardwood floors.  She felt the small wind that curled and uncurled her hair as she made her way through the dense air.  She felt her breath unhitch as she exhaled before entering the small room.
She lay her body next to his, most of it hanging off the side of the tiny bed.
“You know, when I held you in my arms for the first time, I just watched as your eyes looked around and I swear, you looked like you had already done this a million times.  You’re an old soul trapped in a little boy’s body.”
“Momma, you’ve already told me this a bajillion times.”
“I know, I know.  I just want to make sure you don’t forget how special you are,” a sigh escaped her lips. “Goodnight.”
Her soft lips briefly pressed against his forehead.
“Goodnight.”
The woman soon fell asleep in a muddle of tears and frustrations.  Envelopes from bank after bank surrounded her small frame, drowning her in a sea of debt.   Everything would be better in the morning.  It always was.
Some nights, restless ones, the young boy would tiptoe into the living room.  He did this often.  Often enough so he wasn’t surprised hearing the quiet sobs and sniffles shattering the silence that seemed to blanket each night. 

The next morning, small boy crept into the living room, moving slowly down the creaky stairs just as he had done the night before.  The house was quiet enough that he knew his mother was asleep, still letting the tears of the night before drift away with every passing hour. 
The candy canes were in the same spot he left them, on the wooden table.  He took one out of the packaging and stuffed it in his pocket.  
After leaning over his mother’s body and planting a kiss on her cheek, he made his way to the front door.  Clicking the lock behind him, he skipped down the stairs and onto the sidewalk.  The sun barely peeked through the gray clouds that hung over the town.  Searching for the candy cane, his small fingers finally found their way around the hook of peppermint-flavored candy. 
He followed the familiar path to his school having done this many times in the past.  The plastic wrap unraveled and he began to eat away at the red and white candy. 
Three blocks, two blocks, one block away and a scream tried to escape his lips but there was nothing he could do as the rough, large hands grabbed at his waist, and another pair smothered his mouth in silence.  Shadows engulfed his smaller one on the cement sidewalk in front of him. 
The red and white could no longer be seen beneath the brown dirt that stuck to the sticky candy.  Dropped into the crevice next to a tree, there the candy cane would lay for the next month, half-eaten. 

The van smelled of mold and dirty socks.  As it slowed to a stop he questioned if his mother would wonder where he was.  He could hear her voice:
“Charlie? Charlie, where are you?”
“I don’t know Momma, I don’t know.”

A few hours later, the clock read 5:34, the woman woke up to the sun setting.  She let the orangey-red light burn her eyes for a second before pulling them away.  She always loved the sunset.  It calmed her and reminded her that everyday the sun sets, but everyday it always rises.  There’s a sort of security she felt in knowing that without fail, it would be there.  She seemed to have passed this love down to Charlie--
Oh my god.  Where is Charlie?
“Charlie?? Charlie, are you home sweetie??” Her panicked thoughts turned to her screaming voice bouncing around the house.
Her body jetted for the front door, the wind blasting her hair backwards.  Stopping abruptly her hands shook as she grasped the brass handle, slipping off of it and catching herself at the last second.  After pulling the door open she continued in her frantic state, heading down the front steps, landing on the sidewalk and going towards the school. 
Coming up towards the tan, brick building, on her left a small piece of candy stood out from the dark brown dirt that lay beneath it.  Red and white.  Who would eat Christmas candy so late after the holidays? 
Charlie.  Charlie would. 

Charlie couldn’t see anything but darkness.  All he could hear was the hum of the engine and the rattle of foreign objects hitting the sides of the van as it made a sharp turn left.  Charlie did not cry; in fact, he made no noise at all.  His tears would do him no good and he knew that. 
Drifting in and out of consciousness, he felt his body being carried into a barn shed.  The hay beneath his still body poked through his shirt and left marks on his pale skin.  The sharp pain only lasted a moment before he, once again, fell into a slumber.
“John, you f*** up.  You gave the kid too much of that anesthesia thingy.  Now look at him.  The kid can barely stay awake for more than five minutes,”  a raspy voice croaked out.
“Hey it’s not my fault.  You’re the one who put the kid in the back of the van.  God knows how many times he hit his head.”  A softer, gentler voice followed the first.
“Yeah, yeah whatever.  Let’s just put him in the room with the other boys.  Don’t want him thinking he’s got some kinda special treatment.”
His eyes fluttered open, revealing the dark blue irises that were previously hidden.  Turning on his side, the sun hit his face, blinding him.
“Oh, goodie.  Look, the kid can walk himself there.”
The two men’s blank stares were met with an even blanker one.  Charlie took the time to study them.  Both were extremely tall, especially next to Charlie’s small frame.  One had long, blond hair.  It hung well over his eyes and covered most of his face, but it wasn’t quite long enough to conceal the tiny scar on his left cheek.  His brown eyes stared back at Charlie’s, narrowing as the moments passed.  The second man was a little bit shorter than the first, accompanied by a full beard and prominent cheekbones, the hollows of his cheeks hidden in shadows. 
“Come on, boy, time to meet your roommates.”
Charlie simply nodded and followed them out of the barn house into an even bigger one, the frigid air hitting him as soon as he stepped outside.  Icicles seemed to form on his bare skin.  Turning into the the doorway, a gap between the dark red walls, Charlie heard the chatter of young boys.  As soon as his face appeared in place of the darkness that previously occupied the space, all talking ceased and all eyes laid on Charlie. 
A cold hand pushed his body forward and slammed the barn door shut behind him.  Back into the darkness the boys went.  He walked forward and felt the cold and hollow stares of those around him.  Ten, twenty, maybe even thirty boys his age gathered on either side of him, their eyes continuing to travel on him as he made his way to the corner.  Corners were safe.
The next morning was one of confusion.  After arriving, Charlie could not remember much of what happened, all those moments just blurred together into a cloud of ambiguity. 
The door burst open with a defiant push from the taller man and, as all the boys looked hopefully to him, their eyes sunk once again when they heard him beacon to Charlie. 
Once outside, the man pulled the boy by the arm and started speaking.
“So, how this works is you get to decide, do you want to be good or bad, live with us in the big house, or stay with those dirty, sad kids you saw in there.  It’s up to you, really.”
Charlie’s eyes began to wander and finally fell on the big house, where they laid for a few seconds.  Long enough for the man to understand what he was saying.
“Alright, buddy, looks like we have a winner.  But I gotta warn ya, everyone picks the house in the beginning.  Only the strong stay in the house.”
As they approached the large, three story building, Charlie was left to his own thoughts.  He felt the stare of the man beside him, but kept his eyes trained ahead. 
The house was big and almost completely white, with a huge porch and large, intricately designed doors.  As the two got closer, Charlie could make out the floral detailing.  He couldn’t help but laugh a little.  How can two men keep thirty young boys hostage, yet still have a taste for florals?

The stairs didn’t creak when he rested his weight on the wood beneath his feet.  As he followed the man, Charlie estimated he was in his mid-twenties, not married, but once was, evident by the tan line that had not yet faded on his ring finger. 
He was led to a large room, more grand and striking than anything he had even seen before.  A large window was embedded on the opposite wall, overlooking the backyard, kept just as neat and orderly as the the rest of the house.  He stood by the window, peering at the field below him, just as he would a million times after that moment. 

The next morning the bearded man came around knocking on everyone’s door.  He hadn’t seen the other boys who lived in the house.  He wondered where they were.  Only one set of feet moved through the hallways and down the stairs. 
A few minutes later a boy appeared in the backyard.  Well dressed and well groomed, a sharp contrast next to the boys from the previous day.  Charlie watched from the window as he began to whip the defeated-looking boys, blood soon appearing through the brown and gray and of their shirts.  With each lash, more screams ensued until finally, they gave up resistance, just as they had done a million times before. With every command barked by the two men, an action from the boy followed. 
Charlie watched as the young boy sulked back to the house. His eyes found Charlie's and there was a hollowness in them that seemed to be translated into Charlie's own eyes.
The front door soon swung open followed by the same patter of feet.  The dark-haired boy kept his eyes trained on Charlie.  An empty smile followed as he past by his room.  Charlie's face remained the same blank expression it held since the day before.
The sun set behind the horizon line that stretched for miles through the open fields.  Charlie's feet made no sound as he walked down the hallway to the only other door on this floor.  His small fist collided with the wooden door several times before it creaked open to reveal a boy of Charlie’s age and build peering back at him. 
“I’m Alex,” the boy said.
“I’m Charlie.”
The door opened to reveal a room that emulated Charlie’s, only there were more things.  Objects grander and more eye-catching than anything he had ever seen before.
“They keep bringing me things, thing I don’t want.  What’s a kid supposed to do with all this stuff.  But that’s just it-- it’s all just stuff,”  Alex’s voice trailed off at the end, dropping to a whisper.
“Why are we here?”  Charlie questioned.
“We don’t know.  They haven’t told us anything and to be honest, I’m not sure John or Robert knows either,”  noticing the confusion in Charlie’s eyes, he clarified. “They’re those two men you saw me out there with.”
“I just want my mom to know I’m okay.”
“Me too, but I’ve been here for two months.  She’s probably given up by now.  Her only child, gone.  Her husband, gone.  She’s all alone now.”
“How do you do it?”
“You need to accept the fact that it’s you, or them.  You see the sympathy in their faces.  They understand, but that doesn’t make it any easier.  You just close your eyes and do whatever you have to do for your own survival.  It’s the only way we’re gonna get out of here.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes before Charlie left for his own room.  For once in his life, he connected with someone.
The next morning, Charlie accompanied Alex. 

The man with the scar came by, John.  He stopped in the doorway for a moment before entering Charlie’s room.  He sat on his bed and ruffled Charlie’s golden, blond hair. 
“You okay, kid?”
“Y-yeah, I’m fine.  I just miss my mom.”
“Well, kiddo, everyone misses someone,” John said, his eyes cast down.
“Who do you miss?”
A sigh escaped his lips. “I had a wife once.  We are...separated now.”  John’s hand reached up to ruffle Charlie’s hair once more before getting up.
“You’re a good kid.  You don’t deserve this.  Just like I didn’t deserve it.” And with that, he left the room.

“Listen, tonight, you and me are getting out of here,” Alex barged into the room.
“What do you mean?  How?”
“We’re gonna make a run for it.”
“How though?  They’re gonna catch us.  And plus, John’s not so bad.”
“Oh, come on.  Remember what you told me that first day?  Don’t you want to see your mom again?”
“Alright.  Let’s do it, but if we get caught, you know we’re gonna be sent to the barn.”
“I know, I know but isn’t it worth it for the possibility of seeing our mothers again?”

That night, Alex and Charlie, hand-in-hand, crept down the stairs.  Feeling the sharp wind against their skin, they crawled on the hard, dirt, stale from the lack of water.  The ground started to crumble under the friction of their bodies, they proceeded on their stomachs until reaching a safe half-mile into the back fields.  Finally, they broke out into a sprint.  The sun started to rise in the distance and the orange-y red tones filled the sky with the promise of a new day.

In the next town over, a young woman sat up on her canvas couch.  She didn’t get any sleep the night before, but seeing the sun rising over her small town, she knew her son was out there somewhere.