"Amazing."

"Quite remarkable." 

"I've never seen a little girl more frightened," the man who wore a Louie Vuiton fedora said.

The art gallery was not a typical one. The walls were dark and dirty. It was part of the atmosphere at The Dirty Alley Art Gallery. 

"It's almost as if these scenes actually happened. You don't torture your models do you?" the man laughed as he admired the girls form. "Amazing. How much?" he asked staring at a drawing of Lorena.

Uncle John stood in the alleyway between the art gallery and a small sandwich shop talking to the owner of the gallery. Two men helped protect the pieces that weren't sold - which weren't many - and placed them into the moving van to be taken back to Uncle John's home.

The owner was a skinny man who always dressed in black like a full-time mime without the makeup. He even held a thin mustache between his upper lip and his nose and balanced it like a pencil. "Another great exhibit. I don't know why you are holding back on planning your next one here. If you have another gallery in mind, I'm going to be upset," he said as the pitch on his voice raised into a falsetto range.

"Well, I got something in the works. Something big," Uncle John's chubby arms opened wide into the air like a marshmallow man trying to hug a building. "I don't think your gallery has enough room for me anymore. The Saleté has offered me more advertising and more room," he said.

"Come on. The Saleté is dirt," the thin stick man laughed. Saleté was french for dirt, something Uncle John never knew or cared about. The gallery owner was being witty but it had completely escaped Uncle John. How a man with such beautiful painting be so dumb, the owner didn't understand.

"Let's dicuss a deal then. I can offer you both large exhibition rooms and . . . and I will lower my display fee," he offered.

Uncle John stared at the man and simply said he would think about it. He returned to his home and had the men unload the pieces in the garage. Uncle John then walked downstairs and escorted Sam upstairs by her hand. He held it delicately like she was a princess and took her upstairs to his bedroom. She didn't struggle and for some reason he liked that. She was the first to seem okay with it as his stomach, full with moles and spots of brown hair bounced between her. He felt like she loved him back and when he was finished they kissed.

She was brought back downstairs, the light was bright and it had stung Ryan's eyes. Uncle John refused to look at the boy in his cell. He needs to learn he thought to himself.

He left the room and locked the door and the clicking began. Ryan ignored them as he stared at the girl across from him and then he stared into himself and found nothing. That nothingness comforted him. Sam wish she could think of nothing but the thought of dying had swirled in her head all night.