Chapter 2

Iris's POV

One month had passed.

I was still trapped in hell.

Now I was locked in the basement twelve hours a day, facing those buzzing TV screens. ESPN replays, player statistics, archived game footage - these images drove into my brain like nails.

"FOCUS! FOCUS!" Dad banged the cattle prod against the table. "Your brain is our ATM! Memorize every player's shooting percentage, every team's home and away records!"

My eyes burned and ached from staring at screens for hours.

"Kobe Bryant career total 33,643 points, shooting percentage 44.7%..." I recited the data mechanically, my voice hoarse.

"Continue!" Mom Linda sat on the couch painting her nails. "What about LeBron James' stats?"

"LeBron James... total points... 38,652..." I struggled to recall the numbers they'd forced me to memorize.

This wasn't life - this was training a machine.

But even so, my predictions still weren't accurate every time. The ability was like a stubborn child, sometimes working, sometimes not.

That night's disaster was worse than any before.

"I bet fifty grand tonight," Dad said greedily. "Celtics versus Heat. You better be ACCURATE."

"Daddy, I... I'll try my best." I said nervously.

I closed my eyes, desperately searching for images in my mind. But this time I saw nothing - only blurry darkness.

"I... I see the Celtics leading..." I said uncertainly. "112 to 106?"

"Are you FUCKING sure?" Dad stared at me intensely. "Fifty grand - you know what that means?"

"I... I'm sure, Daddy. The Celtics will win."

Two hours later, the TV screen showed the final score: Heat 121, Celtics 98.

Completely wrong. Not just the winner, but the margin was totally off.

Dad's face turned ashen instantly. "Fifty grand! FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS! You worthless piece of GARBAGE!"

Mom's nail polish bottle slipped from her hand. "Damn it! My money... our money's all GONE!"

"Daddy, I... I really couldn't see clearly... the images were blurry..." I explained fearfully.

"Couldn't see clearly?" Dad roared as he charged toward me. "Then let me help you see BETTER!"

The cattle prod slammed hard into my back.

"AHHHH—! Daddy, I'm sorry! I'll see clearly next time!"

"Next time?" Mom sneered as she grabbed the knife. "You DARE mention next time? Celtics 112 - look at your STUPID prediction!"

"Mommy please... I know I was wrong..."

"You know you were wrong?" She laughed coldly. "Then let pain help you REMEMBER this mistake."

The blade drove deep into my left leg as she carved forcefully: Celtics 112. Deeper than last time, with more force.

"AHHHH—! It hurts too much! Mommy, I can't take it!" My screams echoed through the basement.

"Can't take it?" She shakily pulled out a large bag of salt from her pocket. "Remember this PRICE! Pain is memory's catalyst!"

The coarse salt poured entirely onto the wound, the searing pain nearly making me pass out.

"We're not done." Dad dragged me by my hair. "Three days locked up. Let hunger teach you what ACCURACY means!"

"No... please... I'm just a kid..."

"A kid?" Mom sneered. "Money-making kids are kids - GARBAGE doesn't deserve to live!"

They shoved me into the storage room.

The stench of rotting food instantly surrounded me - moldy bread, spoiled milk, decaying vegetables reeking with nauseating odors. Cockroaches and rats crawled across the floor.

The door slammed shut, darkness swallowing everything.

Three days. Three days in this hell.

First day, I huddled in the corner, hunger making my stomach clench painfully.

Second day, I developed a fever. The wound on my leg began festering in the unsanitary environment, red and swollen. I shook all over, unable to tell if it was from cold or fear.

Third day, the high fever nearly knocked me unconscious. In my delirium, I heard rats scurrying around me, felt them gnawing at my clothes.

When the door finally opened, Linda was shocked at my condition.

"Oh my God, Iris!" She feigned panic. "You're burning up! Your face is so RED!"

She carried me upstairs to the bedroom, bringing a hot cheeseburger, fresh strawberry milkshake, and even a slice of chocolate cake.

"Eat slowly, baby." She said gently. "Mommy's going to get medicine for your wound."

The moment she left, my 8-year-old brother Marcus snuck into the room.

"Look at our little princess," he mocked. "Getting special treatment AGAIN?"

"Marcus, I... I feel really sick..." I said weakly.

"Sick?" He sneered. "You know what we're eating downstairs? Stale chips and moldy bread! While you're up here with cheeseburgers!"

He suddenly grabbed the strawberry milkshake. "Since you're so SPECIAL, let me taste something special!"

"Don't... Mommy made that for me..." I tried to stop him, but my body was too weak.

He drank half the milkshake in one gulp, then deliberately poured the rest on my bedsheets.

"Oops, spilled it." He feigned innocence. "But no worries, Mommy will buy you a new one anyway."

Then he grabbed the chocolate cake, deliberately taking a huge bite in front of me.

"So delicious," he said while chewing. "Too bad some people will NEVER get to taste it."

"Marcus, please... I'm really hungry..." Tears flowed from my eyes.

"Hungry?" He crushed the remaining cake, crumbs falling to the floor. "Then eat off the floor like a RAT!"

Then he did the cruelest thing - he pressed hard on my still-bleeding leg wound.

"AHHHH—!" The sharp pain made me scream.

"Shhhh," he covered my mouth. "Don't scream so loud, Mommy will hear."

"Why is everyone so cruel to me..." I cried. "I'm part of this family too..."

"Family?" He sneered. "You're just a money machine. And a BROKEN one at that."

Just then, Mom's footsteps sounded from downstairs. Marcus immediately let go, acting like nothing happened.

"Remember," he threatened before Mom came up, "if you snitch, I'll make you suffer MORE."

Linda pushed open the door, carrying a medical kit.

"Baby, Mommy's here." She saw the milkshake stains on the bed and frowned. "How careless."

"I... I accidentally spilled it..." I didn't dare tell on Marcus as he glared at me menacingly from the doorway.

"It's okay, Mommy will get you another one." She said gently, then began cleaning my leg wound.

Marcus left the room satisfied.

After my fever broke, Linda sat by my bed, gently stroking my hair.

"Baby, do you know how worried Mommy was?" Her voice was tender. "Seeing you like this broke Mommy's heart."

I looked at her weakly, my young self still craving maternal love, even this twisted version.

"Mommy, I don't want to be wrong anymore... I really don't want to be wrong..." I whispered.

"I know, sweetheart, Mommy knows." She kissed my forehead. "But you have to understand, if we keep losing this much money..."

She didn't finish, but the implication was clear.

"Mommy will protect me, right?" I desperately grabbed her hand. "Like before?"

"Of course Mommy will protect you, but only if you TRY HARDER." Her expression grew complex. "Do you remember last Christmas? Mommy bought you that beautiful doll and the pink dress?"

I nodded - that was one of my happiest memories.

"If you can get your ability back, Mommy promises to buy you SO MUCH MORE." Her voice was seductive. "We can move to a big house, you can have your own pink princess room, toys everywhere, beautiful clothes..."

Her words were sweet as honey, making me almost forget the recent pain.

"Really, Mommy?" My eyes lit up.

"Of course it's true - when has Mommy ever lied to you?" She smiled warmly.

"But," her tone suddenly turned serious, "if you keep disappointing Daddy, even Mommy can't protect you. Do you know what Daddy does when he gets REALLY angry?"

I shook my head fearfully.

Her eyes turned ice-cold, her voice dropping to a whisper: "He'll completely give up on you, even... do something more TERRIBLE. Mommy doesn't want to lose you, but if you don't shape up..."

Terror poured through me like ice water.

"I... I'll try harder, Mommy." I trembled. "I swear I'll get my ability back. I don't want Daddy angry... I don't want to leave Mommy..."

"That's Mommy's good girl." She returned to her gentle smile. "Mommy believes you won't disappoint me."