By then, I was thirteen years old, and it had been five long years since I’d been taken. I was the only kid in the room lying back against one of the overstuffed cushions they had strewn around on the floor as they got high. Maybe they forgot that I was there, or maybe they just didn’t care since I was nothing to them anyway. I’d been so beaten down by then, at least in their eyes, that they saw me as nothing more than a mindless object, something that was there for their ...