Chapter 1.

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Third Person POV

Yelling was a constant in Jasmine Davis's house. Her constant string of 'boyfriends' coming and going was a source of unlimited entertainment for her neighbors. The one thing her neighbors did know was to keep themselves.

No matter how many times the police or social services came by no one knew anything about the Davis family. Jasmine had moved into the house and then a few days later she had brought in a five-year-old boy with her. 

No one had seen the boy since. No one knew that the boy had actually slept in the basement and was let out only to clean. No one knew the boy was abused and starved daily. No one knew who the boy was. 

Except for one family. 

Four hundred miles away one family was devastated when the youngest disappeared. After a messy divorce, custody was awarded to the father, and then a missing child. 

The boy was never sent to school, instead, he was homeschooled, online. No neighbor ever communicated him with or his mother. 

It had been ten years since the boy and his mother had moved into the run-down house. The house paint was chipped when the house was moved into but it was practically gone now. The yard was yellow in the fall and overgrown in the summer. 

While the outside of the house resembled abandoned the inside was very different. The inside was spotless. Not a speck of dirt was on the ground, the only thing that seemed out of place was the stained furniture and empty bottles. Bottles of everything, from beer to cheap bourbon and orange prescription bottles. 

The young boy walked out of the kitchen where two bottles lay on the table. He walked into the living room and started to pick up the trash. His mother and her hook-up had a private party last night in the living room and then retired to her bedroom. 

The boy knew when his mother would be waking up and knew breakfast needed to be done as well as everything cleaned up. 

He moved silently through the house picking up broken glass, discarded needles, and everyday trash. He made a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. When he was done he heard a creak upstairs and knew his mother was awake. He rushed to the basement door and opened it shutting it silently. 

He made his way down the steps. He walked over to his mattress and set down with his workbook. With him having an actual record of his existence his mother had to provide a schooling system. He spent his free time cleaning and teaching himself. 

He spent an uninterrupted hour studying until he heard a yell from upstairs. 

"Emerson! Get your ass up here!" His mother's voice called for him with anger clear in her tone. He knew what would happen when he went upstairs just like he knew it was more dangerous to stay downstairs. 

He made his way upstairs. He limped down an hour later covered in new bruises and cuts from broken glass. 

Emerson Park Stone was always afraid one day he wouldn't be able to crawl back down. 

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