***Trigger warning and language warning****
WASHINGTON, July 13, 2015 – It was June of 1971 as the light of an afternoon sun filtered through dingy yellow curtains and shadows danced across the light blue walls of the second story room. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a tattered white t-shirt, my eight-year old body lay slumped on the dark wooden floor as my long brown hair fell forward covering my face. I watched as the blood from my now broken nose flowed across the scarred wooden surface like a river of despair following the well-worn grooves as it washed away the last ounce of my hope.
Around me stood the members of the pedophile ring who had trafficked me since the age of five. The isolated two-story building located on fifty acres served as both a headquarters for the ring and a house of horrors for the many children who disappeared within its expansive underground network. It had been three years since the day my life had become a waking nightmare where I languished as a prisoner bound by the invisible chains of fear and shame. “You had better learn your new fucking name, asshole!” the leader of the pedophile ring “Duke” yelled as I groaned in pain. I slowly raised my head only to see his cowboy boot as it rapidly traveled towards my body.