"Never let an old flame burn you twice"
Sydney Janes was a normal teenager until she got behind the wheel one fateful night. She lost her parents in a bad crash, but found Tony Becker - Hollywood's infamous troublemaker. Seeing she was only a kid wh...
"--He told me we were going to be with his friends. He drove us in my car to a house - somewhere far out, like, an hour. We went down to the, um, basement and there were, like, four guys. Yeah, four other guys, and one girl. I'd never seen them before, they looked dirty and older. The basement: there was a couch, a twitchy lamp, a half bath, oh, and the mattress on the floor. They told me t-to entertain them. The girl, she pulled me up and made me dance with her. I went to the bathroom, to call you, but my phone was dead. When I was about to leave, I saw them-- she was on the mattress, naked, so were they. They stood around the mattress, over top of her... cumming on her on camera. Then one guy asked for me, said they wanted some girl-on-girl. Wes and the other one said they were going to take turns with me. That's when I finally ran and Wes chased me but," Sydney filled me in.
Not even from the likes of Wes did I expect any of that, and why would she make it up?
I grabbed a box of tissues for Sydney but she pushed them away.
"I'm fine. Life goes on," she said, standing.
"You don't have to be okay right now, Sydney," I agonized, grabbing her hands.
"Besides, you should go to work," she replied. "Really."
I inhaled deeply, frustrated, and switched off dominate legs in my stance. "Do you think you can show me where the house is?"
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SLAM! I got out the Jeep and glared Sydney's way.
As she met me at the head of the truck, I heard her feet in the Adidas white sneakers shuffle atop the gravel.
"This it?" I asked Sydney.
She didn't seem sure, but nodded her head.
"Look," she gasped at the sight of something shiny in the dirt.
She bent down and picked something up. I watched intently as she blew it off.
"My necklace," she noted, putting it in the pocket of the black hoodie I let her borrow.
"I remember this place," I assessed, looking around at the land.
"You've been here?" she asked in a judging tone.
I proceeded forward with my hands in the pocket of my jacket on the sluggish, foggy Friday morning.
I just looked over my shoulder and then walked up the three or four creaking wooden stairs.
"Condemned," Sydney read the sign in bold on the door.
"Hm," she sounded. "I don't remember that being there last night..."
I pushed the door open and dared to enter.
Once I stood inside what would be the living room, I assume, I signaled for Sydney to follow.
