Chapter 1

“Peace is a journey of a thousand miles and it must be taken one step at a time.”- Lyndon B. Johnson

                Moist and gracious emerald strands of grass caressed Nikita’s feet with every step she took, springing upright every time her foot lifted for the next stride. The sun glossed in an ocean of sapphire and resonated off of her snow white skin.  Two vibrant butterflies danced around the sky to a repeated patterned that echoed throughout the hills that surrounded the valley through which she was walking. If a person were to track each individual butterfly as they glided around each other it would dazzle any scientist and completely confuse the most experienced and respected choreographer, yet still they waltzed on as if to music not audible to the human ear. Auburn tree trunks and branches supported each perfectly shaped jade leaf and multicoloured wildflowers grew along the tiny stream that ran alongside the path that Nikita took. The whole scene looked like something right out of a highly skilled artist’s painting- peaceful, and free from the strife and stress of everyday life. This was Paradise Road...

Then she did the worst thing possible; she opened her eyes. Her long soft eyelashes flickered open and shut to finally reveal Hunter green eyes. Nikita lifted her small fragile hand to brush away thick strands of scarlet red hair and she slowly lifted her skeletal and malnourished body off of the cold stone floor, whimpering slightly as every muscle in her body screamed out in pain. The floor was damp from the leak in the roof that she had been meaning to fix for the last three months. She looked around the dark and airless kitchen.

The pile of grubby dishes that stood next to the sink smelt fouler than the breath of the devil himself. The plastic that once covered the counters had started to peel away from the surface beneath it and flake into nothing. The stone floor felt cold and uninviting beneath her feet and she let out a small sigh.

Upstairs a toilet flushed and footsteps made their way towards the stairs. The blood drained out of Nikita’s already ivory skin and she rushed towards the pile of dirty dishes as fast as her aching legs would take her. A tall tanned man with a short and rough beard descended from upstairs. His hair chaotic and in desperate need of a cut, his slept in clothes hung loosely from his well built body, and a half empty bottle of whiskey hung in his not fully closed hand.

“Nikita,” He slurred “Nikita, where’s my jacket?” his eyes looked Nikita in the face, but showed no love or compassion for his child.

                “I don’t know Daddy, did you leave it at the pub last night?” she asked meekly.

                “Are you implylying that I would be as careless as to leave something that I own in a strange place?”

“No Daddy bu-“

“And...” He paused to take another gulp of whiskey, “How do you know that I was at the pub? I could have been somewhere else. By assuminging that I was at the pub, you seem to be insinuisting that I am a drunk.” He paused again and took another sip of his whiskey. Then he looked at his daughter, “and by the look on your face, that’s exactly what you think of me... well? Don’t just stare at me like that! Do you have anything to say to your old man?”

After all these years Nikita had learnt that it was not worth it to argue with her father. So she slowly shook her head. Her father pointed a rough and callused finger towards her.

                “I’m going to the pub with my friends,” he said, “If I find my jacket there, I’ll know that you put it there to make a point. So it had better not be there!” he edged closer to Nikita and she flinched. He let out a sinful chuckle, leaving the smell of his alcohol ridden breath to fill the kitchen. “Nobody likes a smart ****, Nikita”

He turned around and stumbled out of the kitchen and down the hall. Nikita let out a small sigh as his hand reached for the handle of the front door. She turned around to get back to the dishes.

                “And, one more thing,” his voice travelled from down the hall, “don’t think that I didn’t notice that your back was wet again. I told you to clean the house not take a nap! Take the day off school... clean the house Nikita!” the door slammed behind him and Nikita watched him through the kitchen window as he stumbled down the garden pathway and into his old car. He reversed down the driveway knocking over the neighbour’s trash cans as he did so, and drove down the road towards the pub, his car stalling once or twice just down that one stretch of road.

Nikita collapsed onto the floor in exhaustion, lately it had taken every bit of strength she owned just to stand on her own two feet, she needed energy, and she needed food. She’d already held out for two days in fear that her father might find out that she had eaten some of HIS food. Maybe just one slice of bread, she told herself.  Nikita slid herself along the floor and reached up on the counter top to bring down a loaf of bread. The bread was stale and even a little mouldy, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing a slice out of the wrapping and nibbling on it.        

The sound of something slow and heavy scratching against the floor could be heard in the other room as it slowly made its way towards the kitchen.  An old Golden Retriever appeared from around the corner and slowly hobbled towards Nikita who was still sat on the floor. He lay down next to Nikita who soon handed him his own slice of bread. Buster was old and greying, and had painful Arthritis making it hard for him to move, but he was always there to comfort Nikita, and they looked after each other as if they were best friends. The last thing Nikita’s mother had said to her before she vanished was for her to look after Buster as he had been in the family longer than Nikita herself.

                “Looks like I’m staying home with you again today, Boy,” Nikita confided in her lifelong friend, “I wish I could go to school though, we’re supposed to have double English and a lesson of music, you know what that means don’t you, Boy?” Nikita started to stroke Busters long and tangled fur, “That would have meant having Mrs Jacobs for three lessons! Isn’t she sweet? She’s the only person in the entire school that believes in me, why she does that I don’t know.”

                Naomi Jacobs had been best friends with Nikita’s mother, they were inseparable through childhood and their teenage years, they shared a great love for music together and Mrs. Jacobs had become a high school English, Drama and Music teacher because of that. The only thing that came out of her mother’s love for music was the ability to play a few instruments, and after Nikita’s birth she took the interest no further.  

                “Well, boy.” Nikita started to talk to her trusted pal again, “I better get this house tidy and go out and buy some bread for Daddy...” Nikita placed her hand on the countertop and slowly pulled herself up, whimpering and wincing as the muscles she used strained and threatened to give way at any moment. Once she had finally got to her feet she started to clean the kitchen.

                “Sophie, what do you think of this colour for the living room?” Megan asked as she held a curtain sample towards her. Sophie looked at the sample, the writing underneath read: “Color: scarlet red.” Where had she seen this colour before? She soon realised and started fighting to keep the tears back.

                “No, I just don’t think it will go.” She replied meekly.

                “What about this one,” asked Megan handing over a different sample, “Hunter Green?” This time Sophie didn’t even try to stop the tears; they just flowed from her eyes as she remembered the colour of that little girls eyes.

                “Maybe a blue instead,” Sophie choked through her tears. Megan had learnt to let Sophie cry in times like this. Her friend had been through things that she knew nothing about, and maybe it was best that way. All Megan had been able to find out about Sophie’s past is how she had left her abusive husband and moved to a little cottage outside Knoxville city.

Why had she been crying so much recently? Why had just about everything reminded her of that little girl that she had lost? It was her fault that her daughter was dead, she was sure of that. If only she had stayed with Frank, she could have lived with the abuse for the sake of her daughter. Why did she run away? What made her think for a second that her baby would have survived living with that monster? But then again, had she have taken her child with her, neither of them would have made it alive, she was sure of that.