Chapter Text
Silence filled the basement.
Everyone was quiet.
Especially Bruce. He looked so out of it, he resembled a dead body slumped against the wall. Dried tears had stained his cheeks, and one of the lenses in his glasses was shattered beyond repair. His sorrow was immeasurable.
His arm was bent out of place, and it seemed as though any movement of it would kill him. He was pondering. Wondering what on earth he had done that could have earned him a punishment so harrowing. Beyond torturous, in his judgment.
Vance was sitting next to him, on his left, silently holding his hand. He sucked at comfort, he really did. All he could get himself to do was hold Bruce’s hand, rubbing his thumb across the back of it. He was angry, furious even.
He couldn’t stand being hurt, but Bruce being hurt was too much. In his fogged mind, Vance put confidence in the fact that Bruce didn’t deserve to be hurt in that awful way. He sniffed every once in a while to breathe, and winced in pain from how sore his incorrectly healed nose was. It was purple and swollen around the bridge of his nose and his eyes.
Over in the corner, Billy was sitting in a rather awkward position. He was near the wall, but was hovering slightly off of it. He was not willing to rest his back on the wall behind him. Just two days ago, he was beaten to high heaven, and he was still bleeding.
His back and jacket were sticky with blood, and he was covered in bruises. He had an opening in his jacket, and a shallow cut right above his heart. Billy also had a very fresh and deep scar on his cheek, and on the side of his neck. All of them were unsure if he was going to live or slowly bleed out. If someone didn’t look at Billy close enough, they would have thought he was the happiest kid in the world. He couldn’t bother being pessimistic, even when he was in indescribable pain. But he did consider two days ago to be his worst birthday ever.
Held tightly in Billy’s arms, was Griffin. Even after all of this time, he just couldn’t stand to leave Billy alone for more than a few minutes at a time. He knew Billy was struggling, and all he wanted was to help him through the pain that was his birthday “gift”.
At the top of his forehead was a fresh scar; dried blood was sticking to him. He was injured a week or two ago while upstairs. At least that was the only scar he got that time. He was a small and wilted daffodil, uprooted from the garden that was the safety of his life, where he previously had zero worries. All he could do was try to breathe.
Robin was pacing the room back and forth, unable to keep his hands in his pockets. Each day that went by, he was convinced he was growing more and more crazy. He was practically bursting at the seams with all the searing pain that was unwillingly handed to him. One more incident and he might shatter.
All he would do whenever he got back downstairs, was sit on the disgusting mattress, and force himself to keep his sobs in. Usually this meant biting down on his hand, and pushing back the screams trying to escape his throat.
And Finney? He was sitting on the very end of the mattress, staring at the unlocked door. An immense sense of dread filled him. Just three weeks ago, he had tried to escape The Grabber and go get help. He managed to escape the house, but down the road, he was once again caught. Before he was brought back down to the basement though, The Grabber gave Finney one cut on each arm with a knife. And when Finney tried to fight back, he received a deep cut on his shoulder. He was still in noticeable amounts of pain, even as the wound scarred over.
After The Grabber had left a few hours ago, and intentionally left the door unlocked, all of the boys down in the basement were on edge. None of them wanted to go up there, but some were starting to consider it. After all, they couldn’t hear any creaking of the floorboards or heavy shoes hitting the tile.
Looking up at Robin, Finney couldn’t stop himself from being heavily worried. Seeing him pace back and forth across the basement was starting to worry him. He could see he was struggling.
It was awful knowing so many things were unwillingly ripped away from him… Robin’s necklace, his bandana… his belt.
He inhaled deeply, and opened his mouth to say something to Robin, anything.
But the phone rang, causing Finney to abruptly turn his head. His eyes widened in shock and undeniable discomfort.
The phone on the wall was ringing.
Nobody else in the basement seemed to be fazed, or even notice the ringing. It weirded Finney out.
Finney stood up from the mattress, still not saying a word. He hesitantly walked over to the phone, and reached a shaky hand out to pick it up. The phone wasn’t supposed to work, so nobody was ever on the other end. But something in his gut told him to just pick up again anyway.
All he could hear when he picked up was static. “Hello?” He asked into the receiver, the phone shaking in his pale hand. “…Who’s there?”
When Finney thinned his lips and considered hanging the phone up once more, a voice came from the other end, making him freeze in place. The phone in his hand hovered just above the cradle of the base.
“Sweetheart, don’t hang up.”
The disembodied voice was sweet but brittle. Like they had just finished crying. It was silvery, and they also sounded softly spoken. The voice was familiar to Finney, and seemed to strike him right in the deepest corners of his pained heart.
Finney brought the phone back up to his ear, and he wondered if he was dreaming. He knew whose voice this was. It had been seven years since he had heard this voice, and hearing it once more caused a lump to form in his throat.
His lips parted to form words, but it took him a few seconds to get anything out. “...Mom?” Finney finally muttered, his voice breaking near the end of that one simple word.
He looked back over his shoulder, and wasn’t that surprised when he saw the others looking at him in confusion. He couldn’t really blame them though. Because, if he heard one of them say “mom” into the receiver, he’d also look at them like they were crazy.
“Yes, honey, it’s me.” With that, Finney brushed the stares aside, and turned back to face the wall the phone was on. “I’ve been trying to call you, to help you… ” his mother’s voice said in a shaky way, as if she was on the brink of tears again.
Finney clutched the phone in his hand so tightly, his knuckles were turning paper white. He couldn’t believe his mom was on the other side, and didn’t understand how she managed to call. “M-mom, I miss you…” he managed to choke out, tears brimming his eyes.
Most of the other boys in the basement looked bewildered at these statements. How the hell was Finney talking to someone over the useless phone, and his mother of all people?
The only one who seemed to not be as weirded out as the rest of them was Robin.
He walked over to Finney, and tapped him on his shoulder. When he was looking him in the eye, he raised his eyebrows, and mouthed, “Caroline?”, to which he got a nervous nod from the other boy.
A static sigh was heard on the other side. “I know honey, I know… trust me, I miss you as well, with my entire heart.” Finney could practically hear the smile he knew his mother was holding. “But you need to listen to me carefully, okay?”
Finney nodded, the tears finally rolling down his cheeks as he began to listen intently. “Okay, okay, yeah, I… I can do that,” He murmured, blinking a few times to try and clear his eyes.
A deep breath on the other side. “The man upstairs. He’s asleep, lovebug. You can escape,” Finney’s mom said in a hushed voice. “He fell asleep in the chair.”
To say the least, Finney was slightly frazzled from this. “What? M-Mom, I already tried, and he caught me. What if he catches me again?” he questioned. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.
The information being fed to Finney was hitting him like a train going a hundred miles per hour. How did his mother know this? Had she been keeping watch over him this entire time? How much has she seen?
“You can escape sweetheart, you just need to be extra quiet…” Caroline repeated breathily. And although Finney couldn’t ever know for sure, he knew in his heart his mother held compassion and care.
Finney turned his head again to look at the unlocked door, and he seemed to be torn on what to do– He really wanted to get out of this nightmare, but at the same time, he wondered if the risk was worth the shot again.
He was having trouble weighing his options, so he raised the phone to speak into it again. He didn’t have a chance to get a word out though.
His mother sounded somber, and her voice was gentle as she spoke. “My angel, I have to hang up now. I’m really sorry, Finney…” Just hearing those words, Finney could understand his mother’s heart was breaking. She had to leave her son alone once more.
Finney’s eyes widened, and more tears spilled from his eyes. His lip quivered as he held the phone tighter. “No, wait, Mom– don’t go, please, please …”
His mom’s voice became noticeably more sad. “I know honey, I know… but I need you to do one thing. Just one,” she murmured.
“I need you to tell Gwen that I love her. And I love you as well, Finney.”
And Finney then couldn’t help but let out a small sob. Hearing those words after so much time just hurt him so much, and he knew after this call, he wouldn’t hear it ever again.
Finney took another deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. “I– I love you too, Mom. I’ll tell Gwen that as well.” he made his voice sound as reassuring as possible.
The line was static for a few moments more. The voice of Finney’s mom was brought down to a whisper on the other side. “Goodbye, Finney. I’m so proud of you, darling.”
Finney’s voice was too caught in his throat to respond. Then, not before long, the line went dead. His mom was no longer on the other end.
Silence engulfed the basement yet again.
Turning to the rest of them with tears drying on his cheeks, Finney took a deep breath. “He’s asleep again,” he mumbled, undoubtedly grabbing the attention of the other boys.
Though most of them were in disbelief, one of them looked to be in pure denial.
“That can’t be fucking true,” Vance spat as he furrowed his eyebrows. “The sick fuck watches us like a damn hawk. There is no way he’d fall asleep in that fuckin’ beating chair after you almost got away.”
Bruce slightly turned his head towards Vance, sighing as his blank expression somehow seemed to soften. “Come on, V. Finn wouldn’t… lie about something like this, it’s clear he was… talking to his mom on the phone, or… whatever.” Even with his reassuring tone, his speech was still noticeably slurred, most likely from pain and exhaustion.
Vance very reluctantly listened to Bruce, subtly shaking his head and grumbling something inaudible as he gave a light squeeze to Bruce’s hand.
With a hopeful glimpse, Griffin looked up at Finney. “If one of us can go up, does that mean we can try and escape again?”
Before Finney could answer, Vance opened his mouth again. “I kinda feel like killing the cuntwad would be a better fuckin’ idea,” he mumbled under his breath, raising his eyebrows in a sarcastic manner with his suggestion.
Griffin gave an upset huff at that remark.
After giving Vance a thin of the lips, Finney nodded back at Griffin. “Yeah, it– it does mean that.”
Finney looked around at all of them; some of them still seemed confused, some looked hopeful. But looking at Robin, Finney saw this glimpse in his eye that he just couldn’t ignore. Like Robin was now the one admiring Finney.
With a brave face and a confident stance, Robin put his hand on Finney’s shoulder. “Finn, I- Jesus, I’m willing to go up there to try and get us out this time…”
Finney’s eyes widened as he felt sick to his stomach. Just looking at Robin, and how beat he was, how bloodied and bruised. It was impossible. Finney couldn’t agree to that.
He shook his head slightly, his lips parted in disagreement and shock. “No, wh- Robin, no. I’m not letting you go up there. I’m not letting any of you go up there and risk being hurt again, or even killed!” he objected. Finney was certain about his decision. This claim somehow silenced all of them even more, and if possible, you could hear a pin drop.
Griffin and Vance shared a knowing look. It was obvious that Robin and Finney were about to debate about keeping each other safe.
Robin huffed out a breath, clearly frustrated. But he wasn’t angry at Finney. He wasn’t even merely annoyed with him. “Finn, I’m not letting you get hurt again! I’m supposed to protect you!”
“Well I need to start protecting you!”
Finney’s affirmation seemed to make Robin flinch. It struck him right where it hurt most. It was hard for Robin to believe he himself needed protecting. He was usually the one being the protector.
Robin dropped his hand from Finney’s shoulder, tears of frustration stinging his eyes. “F-Finn, I—”
Interrupting him with both of his hands on Robin’s shoulders now, Finney protested once more. “No, Robin. I’m going. I’m not letting you get hurt ever again.”
The promise just made Robin tremble a little bit. With the strength he had in him, he flung his arms tightly around Finney, resting his head on his shoulder.
Finney was a bit shocked from the hug, but almost instantly hugged back, making sure to not put pressure on any of the wounds on Robin’s back.
“Jesucristo, Finn…” Robin choked out, hugging him tighter. “I don’t want that sick fuck hurting you for a second time.”
The other boy sighed, bringing Robin closer. “I know, Rob, I know. I swear I got this,” Finney insisted as he let Robin go from the hug. But his hand lingered around Robin’s wrist. “We’ll be together again soon.”
Robin could feel his stomach do flips and turns. He looked down at Finney’s hand, before looking back up at him. “Lo prometes?” he asked in a whisper, hoping Finney would understand, and that nobody else would hear him.
It took Finney a few moments to process what Robin was asking of him. But as soon as he did, his eyes softened, and his expression showed heavy compassion. “I promise, I swear I do.”
The two boys exchanged another hand squeeze, before Finney hesitantly stepped forward to the unlocked door. He looked back at Robin for reassurance.
Looking into each other’s eyes, there was a glint they could both see. They recognized there was a feeling there. Neither of them could figure it out though. All they could piece together was that the other was at least wistful.
“Finn, just be careful."
Those words were the last ones Robin had whispered before Finney had nodded his head, turning to start to traverse up the stairs of the basement. His hands shook with every step he took, and the stairs creaked ever so slightly, sending shivers of fear rattling up his spine. He was so. Deeply. Terrified.
And maybe he was going crazy, but he swore he could feel someone walking right beside him. But there was no one.
He really resented the idea of going up there and possibly facing The Grabber again. But who wouldn't? Finney knew what happened if you went up there and got caught.
Naughty Boy began.
Although they haven't told him what happens if The Grabber wins, he found out. He saw it happen.
It kept him up at night. Finney couldn’t help but think about how he was spared from Naughty Boy the night he tried to escape. He thought it was unfair how he wasn’t as hurt as the rest of them. How he got away with only just a few deep cuts.
What else could he do, though?
He was only down there for a little less than a month.
He wasn't yet beaten down the way the rest of the boys were.
He wasn't as fragile and traumatized as Griffin was, but he certainly wasn't as spiteful and revenge hungry as Vance.
He just wanted out.
But In fact, he had thought pretty intensely on why the other boys shouldn't be forced to go up there.
Griffin was a poor and fragile kid. He had been down there for nearly 3 whole years. He had been there since he was ten! His limbs were thin, and bruises littered his body, some of them so deep in color that they had hid his freckles.
When Finney had asked him how many times he had been up there, Griffin had quietly told him that he had simply lost count. That certainly struck Finney right in the heart. He would be a monster to let Griffin go up there.
Not only was Billy’s birthday just two days ago, but he had been there almost as long as Griffin, his stay was only shorter by a month. And maybe Billy had been up those stairs even more than Griffin had been. The wounds on his back definitely showed that.
The Paperboy was clearly persistent, much more than the rest. He also just absolutely hated the thought of seeing the rest of them in pain, so he took the blows when he could. But Finney wasn't going to let him do that once again.
Ruling out Vance was simple. The Grabber had practically destroyed Vance, and turned him into a puppet where his strings were instead like ropes. He couldn't cut himself free, and was unwillingly thrown around so much to the point he had been shattered like porcelain.
He was bleeding from so many places as well. It stained his vest, his jeans, his hair... everything. There was swelling and bruising from when his nose was broken and split open, making for a not-so-nice looking injury. He looked like a corpse. You couldn't make a corpse suffer more…
Finney could never make Bruce go up there. Bruce was his friend! It would be absolutely horrible of him to suggest that the Golden Boy of Denver should go up there and face The Grabber, especially after what had happened just yesterday, something so awful it had seemed to completely freeze Bruce into a state of shock.
The Grabber had broke Bruce’s left arm with his own bare hands, and had made the boy in question watch in the bathroom mirror. He made him watch as he slowly bent and twisted his arm in ways it shouldn’t have gone. His left arm had been rendered almost useless.
Robin. Oh, Robin. Finney cared so much about the boy, that he would move heaven and earth for him. There is nothing he wouldn't do for Robin, and maybe that's what made him volunteer to go upstairs in the first place. To save him from the horrors that awaited.
Seeing him in the state he was in when he could first see again had sent him into a momentary shock. He looked so... scared. Much more scared than Robin himself would like to admit. His bravery and dignity had been stripped away, leaving him defenseless and beaten down to almost nothing. Finney wasn't willing to let The Grabber finish Robin off.
So, there it was. When it came to the list of them,
Griffin
Billy
Vance
Bruce
Robin
Finney
Finney was left with himself. This was a decision he had made. Nobody made this choice for him. He did this for himself and the others’ sake. This was what was happening.
This was it.
This was the moment that would make or break this whole plan.
He placed his hand on the doorknob, and steeled himself for what he was about to see.
The metal of the knob was as freezing as his blood running cold as he started to slowly turn it. It felt like the slowest seconds of his entire life.
He took a deep breath in, what he thought might be one of his last. "For the others," he whispered to nobody in particular, starting to open the door.
And the small squeak that soon followed rang like a deafening alarm through Finney's ears. To him it was louder than anything, but maybe it was just the severity of the situation he was in that was making all of his senses more alert.
The sight before him sickened him just like it had the first time. A bad feeling settled deep in the pit of his stomach.
Right there, sitting in the chair with his shirt off, and belt in hand, was The Grabber.
Waiting.
Waiting Patiently.
For one of the boys to once more walk up those stairs like a lamb led to a slaughter; a trap that they would regret falling into.
But no reaction came from The Grabber when Finney opened the door, presenting himself. Because luckily, like his mother had told him, The Grabber had fallen asleep in his chair again.
Finney almost threw up in his mouth as he quietly made his way further into the kitchen, over to the counter. He slowly reached his hand over to the knife block, and grabbed hold of a knife. He pulled it out painfully slow, for he didn’t want to make a noise and wake up the threat. After Finney’s failed attempt, Vance had told him if he wanted to try that again, he would need a way to defend himself if he was caught.
After he took the knife from the block, Finney moved to walk to the front door. This was easily the most gut wrenching and stomach flipping moment of his entire life, and there was absolutely no more room for error. He didn’t get a freebie this time.
On the door hung a bike lock. Griffin's bike lock. He had told Finney the code to it, time and time again. 23317 , 23317 , 23317 .
His shaky hands reached for the lock, and he started to put in the numbers. But it felt like there was a mountain of numerals coming before the ones he needed. And finally...
The lock clicked open.
But immediately after, Samson had started to bark, alerting The Grabber that someone was trying to leave. The process was happening all over again.
The man's eyes shot open, and darted to where Finney was standing, wide eyed and terrified.
Time seemed to slow down for Finney. In that slow time, he swore he heard a woman’s voice whisper “Run.” into his ear.
Without a moment's hesitation, Finney had whipped the door open, causing it to slam against the wall as he shot out of the house, flying down the street like a bullet out of a gun.
And as The Grabber launched out of his seat and started after Finney, he could once more hear the woman’s cries in the wind.
“Run, run, run, RUN.”
“Run, don't even slow down for a second, and don't look back.”
He did exactly that, sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him. He could already feel himself suffering from shortness of breath. This wasn’t good. But he had to keep going, no matter how much his chest ached or how much his throat was sore for air.
It wasn’t long before Finney was starting to slow down, and he could hear The Grabber gaining on him. He was suddenly taken to the ground, and all the air in his lungs was knocked out of him. He was being crushed.
Finney yelped out, and was flailing wildly to get The Grabber off of him. He could feel The Grabber’s hands, his fingers, pressing against his neck to choke him unconscious. Then Finney did something that he barely thought about before he went through with it. He bent his arm in and wound it forward, before he lurched it back, slamming his elbow into The Grabber’s eye.
When The Grabber yelled and moved back, Finney gasped for air, as he wasn’t being choked any longer. He was on autopilot at this point. He suddenly raised his hand with the knife in it, and stabbed The Grabber right in the chest. Finney didn’t know if he had hit any vital organs, but stabbing blindly was better than not stabbing at all.
Then another whisper seemed to flow through his ears.
“Scream.”
“Scream as loud as you can.”
That's what he did.
Finney opened his mouth, and had started to scream as loud as his lungs and throat could allow him, like he was trying to make the world stop as he plunged the knife into The Grabber over and over and over. Half of his screams were out of fear, the rest out of anger. Finney couldn’t believe he was stabbing a man right now, with some intention to kill him. There was blood on Finney’s hands now.
He wouldn’t stop screaming, but he was screaming no words in particular. He was just shouting. His throat hurt so bad, and his mouth was running dry. His lungs felt as though they were about to cave in on themselves or explode, maybe both.
The Grabber stopped trying when it finally clicked that Finney had managed to escape again and did something smart, which was attack him.
So he pushed Finney off, quickly retreating to his house as he bled from his stab wounds.
Finney on the other hand, ran up to someone's front door, started pounding on it and screaming some more. Along with that, hot tears had started to roll down his cheeks, shortly relieving him from the stingingly cold December night air. It was already snowing as well.
"Help! Help!" he shouted, giving a few more loud bangs to the door, followed by more tears. "Help me, please!" he shrieked out with his ferociously hoarse voice, letting out a cry of relief once the interior lights flicked on. Someone was home.
He was still in a panic when the door opened, revealing a very startled and confused woman. "Please help, please!" he choked out, holding his own arms to try and somehow comfort himself as he looked up at the person in the doorway. All he understood was fear. All he knew was fear. Finney was scared that his splattered shirt and the knife in his bloody hands would scare the woman.
Luckily, the woman immediately brought Finney inside once she recognized who he was, and closed the door. "Stay here, sweetheart, I'll call for help," she whispered, before rushing to the phone.
Finney gasped for air as he sat down, slumping against the wall. After The Grabber had stolen his inhaler, Finney had been experiencing borderline asthma attacks from lack of air. He sometimes wondered how the hell he was still alive and breathing even the littlest bit.
After the woman had gotten off the phone with the police, Finney looked up at her with his exhausted expression. “Can I go to the porch..?”
The woman was a tiny bit puzzled, but nodded, opening the door back up. “Of course honey, just stay in front of the door where I can see you…” she mumbled, giving him a nervous, but reassuring smile.
He nodded as thanks, getting up and trudging outside to the porch. When he was on the steps, he sat down, and rested his head on the wooden railing beside him. It was cold, and the snowfall was a tiny bit heavier now. But Finney had bigger things to worry about. He wondered if the others would be okay. He set the knife down beside himself.
Finney looked up to the starry night sky, still taking in the fresh air. The snowflakes got caught in his hair and eyelashes, promptly melting into them. He would become a bit soaked if he stayed out here much longer.
As he tried to regain his breath, deep enough to fill his lungs, he wondered if this was real. What if when he had fallen asleep yesterday, he hadn’t actually woken up? What if this was a dream?
He pinched himself to check. He then lightly slapped himself in the face to really make sure.
All of reality was confirmed when a minute or so later, Finney could hear the wailing of police and ambulance sirens a few streets away. This was real. This nightmare was finally coming to an end.
He had gotten out of that horrible situation before something more damaging and horrible could have been done to him. Finney couldn’t help but still greatly fear for his friends, though.
Just down the street, an evil and awfully horrendous thought was forming in Albert Shaw's head. One that would cause so much suffering. Though he was bleeding from the stab wounds, he was still driven by his awful sadistic tendencies.
He had fully made up his mind when he gripped the handle of the sharpest knife he had, and pulled it out of the block.
He was going to kill all of the others.
Every last one of them.
Starting with the first one he ever took.
Poor,
defenseless,
broken down and bruised,
Griffin Stagg.
Albert had become the sun , and his victim, Griffin...
He had unknowingly become an Icarus.
Downstairs, Robin was pacing back and forth, fiddling with strands of his hair, and mumbling incoherently to himself.
He was very concerned about Finney.
Is he okay? Did he make it out? Is he going to get help? Did The Grabber catch up to him again?
Is Finney actually in fact dead?
"Robin, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Vance sneered suddenly as he squeezed his eyes shut, his head turned up towards the ceiling. "You talking to yourself is getting pretty damn annoying." Bruce rolled his eyes slightly at this, knowing there was about to be an argument.
Robin whipped around, glaring at Vance "Shut up! Finn could literally be dead right now! Dios mío, I should've gone up there instead!" he snapped back, completely tense as he stopped in his tracks.
Vance raised his eyebrows, scoffing. “Finney got caught last time, so I wouldn’t be surprised if his dumbass got fucking caught again.” He knew how much insults aimed at Finney seemed to anger Robin.
While these sass filled comments turned into an argument, Griffin gently got himself out of Billy's arms, standing up and walking towards the door. He wasn't going to lie when he said he was also worried for Finney. Maybe Robin was right, maybe he was dead.
Bruce took notice, looking somberly at him from the mattress. "Griffin..? What are you doing?"
He was mildly startled, but shrugged his shoulders as he looked back at the rest of them. "Uhh.. I'm not sure. I'm just worried for Finney..." he whispered, his expression showing major concern as he thinned his lips.
"Griff, I know you're worried, but we just have to wait," Vance grumbled, but felt as though he was a bit harsh with his tone. He didn't want to be rude to his little brother, it was just super hard to control his anger being stuck in a basement.
They couldn't really blame him, though.
All their thoughts came to a screeching halt when the door opened, revealing The Grabber, who suddenly seemed to tower over Griffin.
Loom over him.
A bloodthirsty predator hunting the unfortunate prey.
Like Icarus had flown too close to the sun, Griffin had been too close to the door, to then be met with the eyes of death in its wretched human form.
The Grabber suddenly shot his hand forward, grabbing a fistful of Griffin’s hair and yanking him up high. He pressed the blade of the knife to his neck, and everyone in the room froze.
Griffin on the other hand, started struggling in Albert's grip, trying so desperately to free himself. Panic ensued, making his whimpers and cries almost immediate. "Vance, help!" he choked out. Tears started to drip down his face and onto the floor.
When Billy tried to reach for Griffin, Albert laughed as he yanked him up by the hair again, earning a cry of pain.
Holding him up like some prized possession.
A sort of victory .
A medal that was his to take.
And maybe to The Grabber, poor Griffin did look like some sort of tiny trophy.
Maybe it was the way he was easy to take hold of.
Or maybe it was the way his tears glistened and shined as they stained his face that gave The Grabber the satisfaction of winning.
The satisfaction of seeing the boy suffering.
"Make him stop!" Griffin shrieked and cried out, still flailing helplessly in the hand of The Grabber. The feeling of his head being yanked back was painful, like his bones were crushing in his neck.
Vance shot up from the mattress, his body completely out of his control as he took a step over to go and help his brother.
"Let go of me! It hur-"
Griffin’s voice abruptly stopped, with sickly gross gurgles following.
Just as quickly, the air was sucked right out of Vance's lungs. He couldn't breathe. He felt...
Numb.
He had just witnessed his little brother's neck be sliced open.
Like the sun had burned the skin of Icarus, the pain of the knife slitting Griffin’s throat burned just as much as the searing solar rays, leaving him to fall to the ground.
Just like Icarus had reached for what he had wanted, Griffin had tried to reach for his freedom, only to cross paths with the one ending he never wanted.
"This is a nightmare," Griffin thought, his eyes widened after the blade ran across his neck. A nightmare where he was
falling,
falling,
falling,
And never would hit the floor until suddenly, he slams against the ground head first.
At a hundred miles per hour.
When Vance finally regained some control of himself to try and rush forward to get Griffin away, the first thing he felt was a warm and disgusting liquid being sprayed all over him.
Blood.
Griffin's blood.
His brother’s blood.
His eyes widened as the blood, thicker than water and redder than wine, dripped down his frame.
From his hair,
Along the sides of his face,
Down his front.
He could feel his bottom lip quivering as he looked back down at Griffin, who just gave Vance the most terrifying and heartbroken expression before he went limp. Unable to hold himself up, he was dangling by The Grabber's hand as more blood spewed out of him.
And finally, like the wax from the wings of Icarus had dripped down and onto his skin, the blood of Griffin's neck had seeped out of the wound, leaving him in a painful shock. Like he had been stricken out of the sky.
"Griff— Griffin, no—" Vance shakily whispered. He felt as though he had been shot right in the chest.
His brother was dying.
The Grabber chuckled, sighing. "Whoops! How sad…”
Silence pierced through the air. Shock had instilled everyone else in the room.
But something inside Bruce had snapped into two. Seeing Griffin be hurt in that way made it feel like he was being stabbed in the heart, and the knife was twisting.
He saw a lot of his little sister Amy in Griffin. Vance and Griffin reminded him of his relationship with Amy. The thought of even losing Amy was enough to cause him to tear up.
So Vance losing Griffin? All of them losing Griffin? It was just impossible to bear.
The Grabber clicked his tongue as he let go of Griffin’s hair, like he was a broken toy that he couldn’t use anymore.
Billy rushed forward immediately to catch him before he hit the ground, and carefully held him. Billy started to cry. He pressed his shaky hand to the wound, trying to stop the horrendous rate at which blood spilled out of Griffin. His lip trembled as he held him, and all of his hope started to disintegrate.
Griffin faintly clutched Billy’s jacket, and he quietly started choking on his blood as he leaned his head on Billy. He couldn’t make out a single thing with his vision. He closed his eyes, completely rested against Billy. His breathing was shallow.
Billy took his jacket off and shoved Griffin’s arms through the sleeves. He zipped it up, and pressed the collar of it to Griffin’s cut to try and stop, or at least slow the bleeding. Billy didn’t want Griffin being cold.
The Grabber looked down at Billy with a grotesque and sickly satisfied grin. It looked like he was about to taunt him about the situation, about Griffin beginning to die right there in his arms.
Bruce saw the look on Billy’s face, and he knew one single ill word about Griffin would single handedly destroy Billy and cause him to fall apart. He couldn't stand by and let this happen.
"You BITCH!" he bellowed, as he lunged forward and took The Grabber to the ground in a flurry of rage. His eyes were flaring up with anger.
Without wasting any more precious time, Robin scurried to help Bruce, assisting by delivering a very swift kick to the side of The Grabber’s head, which earned a pained curse from the man. Rage was also boiling inside Robin.
Bruce screamed and shouted as he threw his fists against The Grabber's face. "You stupid! Fucking! Bitch!" he shouted between punches, his eyes stinging with tears. "地獄に行け!"
All the emotions from pain and torture Bruce went through in the past 5 months was finally erupting out of him, like that of a volcano that The Grabber had thought was an extinct one. Curses exploded out of him like smoke and ash. His punches were similar to scorching hot lava, and he didn't plan on stopping, even with his left arm painfully broken.
For The Grabber, it didn't help him that Robin was shouting profanities as he kicked his foot against The Grabber's body, wherever he could get him. Most of this included kicking him where he would cause the most damage. Robin had zero mercy or remorse.
Vance finally, for the second time in this very short span, regained control of himself as he blinked a few times. Was this real? He could barely comprehend what was happening. Griffin was dying slowly and painfully, Billy was silently sobbing, Bruce was swearing and shouting as he attacked The Grabber, and Robin was kicking him repeatedly.
The Paperboy looked up at Vance, with anguished and sorrowful tears swimming in his eyes. "Vance, he needs help! He's gonna bleed out!" he cried, letting out a gut wrenching sob as he held Griffin closer to himself. He couldn't lose him. No, not now. Everything about Griffin had made Billy's life down here so much better than it possibly could be. Griffin was the best thing that had ever happened to Billy. Losing him would be his end.
But it would also be Vance's.
"Billy, move, let go of him," he muttered in a rather panicked voice, shrugging his vest off from around his torso and leaning down. He scooped his younger brother up into his arms, holding him so tightly as he pressed the denim of his vest up to the wound.
He knew any attempt to suppress the bleeding would help Griffin live a little bit longer. And anything was better than Griffin dying when they were all so, so close to freedom.
Looking up at Vance, Robin’s eyes were wide. “Just get him and Billy out of here! Go!” he shouted, before looking back down at The Grabber and resuming his harsh retaliation.
Before Vance could even get out a response or a reassurance, Billy was already shoving him up the stairs. His sobs and yells were making it really hard for Vance to understand anything he was saying, if he was even saying anything at all. But nonetheless, he started carrying Griffin up the stairs. He feared Griffin was already gone though.
As Vance trudged up the stairs, and Billy ran ahead to open the door at the top, Vance could hear Bruce yelling on the verge of tears. “How could you fucking do that?!” Bruce cried, and Vance could make out the sound of Bruce pounding his fist against The Grabber’s face. Not a pretty thing to hear.
Griffin, with the little remaining strength and consciousness he had left, weakly grabbed on to Vance’s shirt. This made Vance pick up the pace a little bit, and he got up the steps quickly. He could hear the police sirens, and he hoped that somehow, Griffin would end up okay.
“It’s gonna be okay Griffin, just hang on,” Vance forced out as he carried Griffin through the kitchen and to the door, following right behind Billy. He got a bit more nervous when he didn’t hear Griffin verbally respond at all.
As soon as Billy got the front door open, Vance stepped out. They were immediately vulnerable to the freezing cold air, the bright lights, and the sirens. Neither Vance nor Billy could count how many police officers, EMTs, and paramedics there were. Vance let out a breath of relief, realizing that this was an indication that Finney made it out, and called the police.
Since he couldn’t bother to acknowledge the harsh conditions, Vance trudged off the front steps, trying to find someone for help. He could feel Griffin growing colder. “For fucks sake, someone…” he uttered, gritting his teeth as police rushed past him to storm the house. He didn’t seem to realize that he was harshly trembling as he walked.
Two EMTs rushed up to Vance with a gurney when they saw him carrying Griffin’s body in his arms. Vance opened his mouth to speak, but his brain wasn’t even functioning at this point. He had zero clue on what to say about this. Griffin was lifted out of Vance’s arms, and on to the gurney, where he was quickly but carefully strapped down. The EMTs wheeled him away to the ambulance, and were trying to stabilize him, or at the very least, keep him alive. Time was bleeding off of the clock for Griffin.
As Griffin was brought up into the ambulance, Vance couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he could barely even think. He felt as though he couldn’t even breathe. His arms remained out in front of him, and he swore he could still feel Griffin’s body trying to weigh them down, like he was still there. Vance didn’t know if the reason he was shaking so violently was because of his fear, or because of the cold. He could feel Griffin’s blood starting to dry on himself.
Billy saw the whole thing play out a few yards away, and when he saw Griffin’s body being put into the ambulance, he started to cry. He tried stumbling through the snow to get to the ambulance, to see if he could stay by Griffin’s side.
Finney knew this wasn’t good though. He could still see that Billy was bleeding, even after two days. Billy’s health and condition was most likely deteriorating, and nobody knew how much longer he could hold up.
“Billy, you can’t go.” Finney grabbed Billy’s arm, and tried pulling him back. “You have to go to the hospital as well,” he murmured, trying to not frighten Billy more than he already was.
Billy was having none of it. He ripped his arm away from Finney, and just cried more, like a toddler having a tantrum. “No, I have to see him! I have to go with Griffin!” Billy wailed, and even though he was in pain and he was freezing, no longer having his jacket, he was still trying to get to the ambulance Griffin was about to be taken away in.
Wrapping his arms around Billy, Finney hushed him, trying to calm him. “Griffin will be okay. But we need to get you help also.” His voice was sweet, and showed that he wasn’t trying to inconvenience Billy further. Billy knew they couldn’t spend time going back and forth over this, so he just allowed Finney to lead him to people that could help him out. Griffin’s ambulance was gone by now.
An officer came up behind Vance, and placed an arm on his back, trying to get his attention so he could talk to him. But feeling that hand on him felt like a searing pain to Vance, and he could feel his stomach lurch. He didn’t even hear what the officer said. His brain sounded the alarms, telling him he was being put into danger again, even if The Grabber wasn’t the one putting his hands on him.
In an instant, Vance whipped around, and threw his fist at the officer. It didn’t connect with his face, but he regretted it right when he saw the officer reaching for handcuffs to restrain Vance for overall safety.
Just a few seconds after Vance swung, he heard a voice behind him, and he could feel a hand taking his. “He needs space,” the voice murmured in a firm demeanor to the officer. Vance turned his head and saw Bruce, but his heart dropped when he looked at him. There was a huge cut going down the right side of his face, most likely from what Bruce had thrown himself into. The Grabber clearly had gotten the upper hand for a few moments.
“Bruce,” Vance sharply said. He couldn’t get any words out to try and ask what the hell had happened. His eyes tried to study Bruce’s face, to predict what he was going to say.
The sirens sounded for the ambulance that Billy was put into, and Bruce quickly put his hands over Vance’s ears before Vance could panic; he flinched from the touch, but he didn’t freak out. There was always something about Bruce that calmed Vance, even in the most dire of situations.
When the sirens started to fade, Vance let out a strangled, almost pathetic sound from his throat. Bruce couldn’t understand what it was. Vance practically crumbled, and wrapped his arms around Bruce. It was just them to Vance at this point. He was surprised that he didn’t feel sick when Bruce hugged him back.
Vance picked his head up a bit, and scanned the snowy and chaotic surroundings. He could see Bruce in front of him. He could hear the loud sirens from police cars. He could process some words the officers around them were saying. Vance turned his head, and saw Finney standing in the snow. Finney was looking at The Grabber’s house, and… he couldn’t see Robin.
Where was Robin?
Finney swiftly walked through the snow to get to Bruce. There was a horrible feeling rotting his gut at this point. “Where’s Robin?” he asked with an undeniable look of worry settling on his face. He felt like he was going to be sick.
Bruce’s long silence was tearing Finney apart. It stung more than the cold air attacking him.
“He…” Bruce started, but the words that were the truth were like a block in his throat. He could neither swallow it down or choke it up. “The officers were coming down, and then the- The Grabber stabbed him.”
Those words were a hard slap in the face to Finney. His eyes widened, and he froze. “…What?” He was in disbelief. He had sworn to make sure Robin wasn’t ever hurt again, but he couldn’t even prevent that.
Finney was about to ask Bruce if Robin was coming up, but as soon as he heard officers yelling for another gurney, Finney’s heart sank. He looked over his shoulder, and coming out of the house from hell, he saw two officers helping a wounded Robin walk out. Robin’s clothes were soaked in red. His body was coated in blood.
Robin looked up, and when he saw Finney, he choked out a sob. He was in horrible pain, but all he could think now was that Finn was safe. He tore himself away from the arms trying to help him walk, and he made a break for Finney. Everything ached, but he had to get to Finney.
Seeing Robin trip over himself hurt Finney. He couldn’t let Robin torture himself just to get to him. Finney made his way back through the snow covering the ground, and as soon as he was close enough, Robin practically threw himself at Finney.
Finney stumbled and fell back into the snow, but now that he had Robin with him, he couldn’t care less anymore. What he did care about was the way that Robin sobbed in pain with his head buried into the crook of Finney’s neck. It broke his heart. “Oh god, Robin,” Finney mumbled sharply. His voice shook.
“Everything hurts!” Robin cried out, and the sounds resulting from his pain were so wretched and desperate.
Finney looked down, and his heart dropped when he saw his shirt already soaked with Robin’s blood. Robin was bleeding profusely, and it wasn’t slowing at all. It concerned him. He could hear Robin hyperventilating.
When he saw the gurney that the officers had asked for, for Robin’s sake, Finney managed to stand up. With him, he picked Robin up, and carried him to the gurney. Robin was wailing in pain, but Finney couldn’t blame him.
Robin gritted his teeth, and a distressful symphony of anguish escaped his lips. He looked up at Finney as he was laid on to the gurney with the most fearful look in his eyes. “Finn, I don’t wanna die!” He was clutching at his chest, and whimpering like a wounded dog.
Hearing those words of raw fright escape from Robin struck Finney right in the heart. It brought tears to the corners of his eyes. “You won’t die Robin, just hang on,” Finney murmured. He took Robin’s hand, and gave it a reassuring squeeze, like he was trying to tell him it was all going to be okay. “I’m right here.”
Looking down at Robin, Finney felt like they were fighting a losing battle. But god, he wanted Robin to win. He wanted to stay by Robin’s side through all of it. Why couldn’t he?
Robin’s hand eventually slipped out of grasp. Finney saw Robin being brought into the ambulance, and the only thing he could think of was if Robin would end up okay. He felt a tear roll down his cheek.
Finney knew how Billy felt, now.
He could feel himself walking away, though it was hard for him to believe he was doing this all on his own accord. Finney’s body was a machine on autopilot. His eyes lingered on where the ambulance Robin was in once stood parked. “You’ll see him later,” Finney told himself. This was the first thing he told himself that he fully believed in since he was kidnapped.
Commotion could be heard again. Police were taking The Grabber out in handcuffs. The sight satisfied Finney somewhat, but he kind of wished he had been able to kill him. He looked away from the spectacle, and trudged right on back to Bruce and Vance. He could see a look of absolute horror on Vance’s face. Finney could see that scared kid deep down within Vance still.
The light of the vehicles at the scene illuminated The Grabber’s unmasked face. It made him look terrifying to the boys, but helpless to everybody else.
The three of them watched as The Grabber was brought to the police car. The sight made them enraged. Viewing a monster being carefully walked out seemed so unfair. Being dragged across the freezing snow and the rough pavement sounded more reasonable to them. If not an eye for an eye, why couldn’t they just have that?
The Grabber turned his head to look at the boys as he neared his temporary confinement. Finney glared as hard as his eyes would allow him. Vance felt sick to his stomach when he looked at The Grabber.
Time seemed to slow to an awful stop, and The Grabber curved and parted his blood covered lips into a grotesque grin, trying to feign something in the realm of empathy. It was so unsettling; out of the realm of comfort. Finney remembered how Billy and Griffin compared it to the toothy grin of the Big Bad Wolf.
Oh Grandma , what big teeth you have!
Finney felt like that description perfectly fit. Just like a puzzle piece.
Vance then hurled.
His legs buckled and gave way as he did. The build up was too vast, and that grin was the final nail in the coffin. He threw up into the snow, splotching it a sickly green.
Bruce could feel his stomach churn at the sight. Usually he would avert his eyes at the first glimpse of vomit, but this was Vance. He couldn’t just leave him without any support.
He bent down. “Vance,” Bruce whispered as he helped Vance stand back up. When Vance weakly picked his head up, Bruce was quick to wipe any excess away from Vance’s mouth, despite his discomfort from vomit.
“I’m fucking fine.” Vance’s statement was far from the truth. He was shaking from how overwhelmed he was. He was sick, he was upset, terrified, any other word under the sun to describe his fear. Vance slumped his head against Bruce’s shoulder.
An officer walked up to the three boys, his hands on his belt. “We gotta get you kiddos down to the hospital.” Silence hung in the air.
Bruce could barely register what the officer was saying. There was a horrible pounding in his head. The last time his head hurt this bad, it was because he got hit in the head with a baseball when he had his helmet off. He was nine when that happened. If he felt like his head was going to cave in then, he felt as though his head was going to fall right off his shoulders now.
Bruce finally managed to conjure up an answer when his head calmed down with the constant pleas that were begging him to sit down. “In… ambulances?” His voice was raspy with exhaustion.
The officer nodded, and his expression confused Finney. How was he so calm during this? “Yup, just so you can get help on the way to—“
“Woah, what an outstanding observation! Apparently we have to go to the hospital.” Vance’s words cut through the air like a freshly sharpened knife. This was the last thing he had wanted to hear. “I’m pretty sure anybody could tell us that even if they were standing a hundred fuckin’ feet away.”
A hand grabbed Vance’s, which pulled him back. “V, hey, they’re just trying to help,” Bruce whispered reassuringly into Vance’s ear, as he lightly squeezed his hand.
Vance begrudgingly shut his mouth. Any time that Bruce reasoned with Vance, it was like his voice was soap that was used to clean the anger from Vance’s words.
Bruce was about to let the other two go ahead of him, but the officer put a hand on his shoulder. “Son, you need immediate medical attention.”
Looking confused, Bruce shook his head. “No, it’s alright. I’m fine.” The officer stood there, wondering how Bruce could look like that and say he was fine. Clearly he wasn’t that open about letting Bruce go.
Vance crossed his arms. He turned his attention to Bruce, and interrogated, “Why the hell aren’t you getting into the ambulance? Your face has been split open, Bruce.” If anyone was going to really care, it would be Vance.
Bruce just shrugged his shoulders, and his gaze softened. “I don’t wanna make you guys wait,” he murmured under his breath, and a little puff of cold air escaped him. He thought that allowing himself to be helped first was selfish, which was outrageous to Finney and Vance.
Another officer came up and handed the boys fire blankets to take with them. Finney was right next to Bruce now to voice his concerns. “Bruce, you could get an infection. You still—“
“Finn, I’ll be fine,” Bruce interrupted, wrapping the blanket around himself. “I can get an ambulance after you two.”
Finney felt like he was watching an hourglass constantly be filled with sand. How much more could Bruce take? Cracks were already showing.
A brief huff escaped Finney. He decided on looking down at the snow to calm down, and maybe think of a response. He watched as the snowflakes lightly hit the ground. At this rate, Finney sort of wished he could blanket himself in the snow, and give in to sleep. But he knew that many sleepless nights were soon to follow. It was unavoidable.
Silence followed, yet it seemed to scream and shout out so many words.
Bruce could see the officer constantly taking peeks at him. Specifically, the nasty laceration that was running down his face. It gave a continuous feeling of discomfort to Bruce. It only told him that everybody would now look at him like this. He felt as though he was an artifact, waiting to be hung on a bare wall of a museum. Nothing else to gawk at besides the wound that stuck out like a sore thumb.
There was a lot more commotion in the next few minutes. Bruce was put on to a gurney and into an ambulance, and Finney had to watch Vance be practically dragged to a gurney as well, but it wasn’t a pleasant sight.
“Stop touching me!” Vance snapped at the EMTs as he was put on a gurney. Something about seeing Vance be on the verge of tears all because hands were on him broke Finney’s heart. But it also horrified him, seeing how much trauma Vance had to deal with for about a year and a half. It was harrowing.
The ride to the hospital in the ambulance wasn’t much better for Finney. Nothing to do besides sit, wait, and listen to the EMTs talk to each other, asking the occasional question. When he really thought about it, he wasn’t that hurt, right? He seemed to think it was like that.
An EMT tapped the side of the gurney to get Finney’s attention without freaking him out. He turned his head to make eye contact, and raised his eyebrows to show he was paying attention.
The woman smiled at Finney. “Sweetheart, can you tell me how you got those bruises on your neck?” Her voice was kind, and she was patient. But the question made Finney a bit nervous. He couldn’t imagine how Vance and Bruce felt. They probably had to answer tons of questions, if they were still conscious.
Finney subconsciously picked at his fingernails. “The um… Him. ” Finney couldn’t get that name out anymore. That title. It felt stupid rolling off his tongue. He felt like a child telling his parents about the creature from his nightmare, or the monster that would have been under his bed. That’s how unreal this felt to him. “He tried choking me when I was running away.”
That answer appeared to satisfy the EMT. She wrote something down on her clipboard, before turning to the other EMT in the ambulance. Finney could see her head moving like she was talking to the other, but he couldn’t hear words being said.
He turned his head down, and he realized then he was still shaking like he had been without warmth for days; violently. He tried counting in his head, but the spacing between numbers quickly became inconsistent.
This overwhelmed Finney. Not being able to calm down on his own accord, and the continuous rumbling of the ambulance against the pavement was starting to drill into his senses. The feelings were loud and uncomfortable. They weren’t inviting like the living room fireplace he was so desperately missing.
Finney sucked in a sharp breath when the ambulance came to an abrupt stop. His eyes widened uncontrollably, and the muscles in his hands tightened. He looked to the EMTs for some sort of guidance, but neither of them said anything. They just opened the back of the ambulance, and wheeled him out. He assumed he was the last one to arrive, because there wasn’t much more commotion outside. Somebody was walking alongside his gurney and asking him questions, but Finney was far too gone at this point to understand.
Finney could see multiple police officers walking or standing in the hallways as he was wheeled away to an examination room. All of them seemed to be exchanging information, which wasn’t really any surprise considering the circumstances.
When Finney was brought into an examination room, the lights blinded him, and were hurting his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, and winced as he was lifted on to an examination table. He was in a tilted position, so he wasn’t directly facing the lights.
He felt a gloved hand take his own shaky one. He peeked through his eyelids, and was able to fully comprehend his surroundings. The EMTs had left the room, and there was just a nurse now. She had a hospital gown tucked under her arm.
“Hi honey. I want you to get changed into this, and then I can go through a short examination with you. Is that alright with you?” Her voice was sweet, but Finney felt like he was being talked to like he was a little kid.
He just nodded, and he watched as the nurse set the gown beside him, and left the room. Finney didn’t want to wait around and make this more difficult. He stepped off of the table, and changed out of his grimy clothes and into the hospital gown. He felt a desperate need to scrub his body clean.
Finney sat on the examination table again, and he swung his legs back and forth. He took another glance at the pile of clothes he had discarded, and he grimaced. Those clothes were covered in dirt and a bit of his own blood at the shoulder.
When the door opened again, Finney looked up. The nurse was there again, but an officer was with her. The officer had a camera and a ruler. He could tell that this examination was also a way to get evidence.
The nurse walked forward, and sorted a few things on the counter. “Alright sweetheart, this kind woman is just going to take a couple pictures of your wounds for evidence, okay?”
Finney couldn’t get himself to respond. He looked over at the police officer, and he pulled the gown to the side to reveal the fresh scar on his shoulder.
The process wasn’t long at all. A total of sixteen pictures were taken, and the officer made them quick. She also bagged up Finney’s old and dirty clothes for evidence. There was a short and quiet discussion between the nurse and the officer, before it was just Finney and the nurse again.
It wasn’t anything complicated. She just did a routine checkup, like it was any other normal appointment. Finney knew it was far from that though.
After short tests and a few questions, the nurse left Finney alone again. Finney just wanted to go home. He wanted to collapse into his bed, wrap himself up in his blankets, and forget the world even existed.
The nurse came by again, holding some folded up clothes that he recognized from his own wardrobe. “Your family stopped at home on the way to pick up some clothes for you to change into. When you’re ready, just exit this room and a staff member will be waiting to bring you to your family, sweetpea.” He hadn’t heard that nickname in a while. It wasn’t too bad, though.
Finney watched as the nurse left for the final time, and he huffed. He was exhausted. He untied the hospital gown, and unfolded the clothes he was given. A long sleeve shirt, some sweatpants, clean socks, one of his pairs of shoes, and a fresh pair of boxers that Finney was relieved to have.
After getting changed and making his hair look somewhat presentable, Finney left the room. Like the nurse had said, there was somebody waiting to take him to the waiting room.
Finney felt stiff as he was led down to the waiting room, where his dad and sister were waiting for him.
Gwen didn’t waste a second sitting in that chair. She shot up, and ran over to Finney to immediately engulf him in a hug. He could hear her start to cry, and it broke his heart.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Finney mumbled as he hugged Gwen back, and his fingers curled around the back of her shirt. He could feel tears prick at his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to see his sister again.
Gwen was sobbing into the shoulder of Finney’s shirt. She tried to get some words out to express her grief, but all that came out was blubbering and cries that only somebody that lost family could emit.
Finney looked over at his dad, and he pressed his lips together. There was an ache in his chest wondering how Gwen was treated while he was gone.
When his dad walked over, Finney tensed up on instinct. He felt bad for doing that. His dad looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
Finney was a bit shocked when he then saw his dad crouch down, and hug him and Gwen. This was so unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time his dad had hugged him.
His dad held him by the shoulders, and looked into his eyes. Terrence could see that confused look within Finney, and he knew it wasn’t out of the blue.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. He was on his knees and Finney almost thought he was going to start begging for forgiveness, but that would be too out of the ordinary for his dad.
Finney couldn’t even find the words to respond. He just leaned into the hug, and he was able to tell himself that maybe he would end up okay. Things were going to change.
Not a lot of other words were exchanged when they walked out to the car, or even in the car, or even when they got home. It was just a bunch of sympathetic glances that Finney wasn’t sure he could stomach.
When Finney got through the front door, the smell that he had grown up with hit him and he felt just a little bit better. But he didn’t linger too long near the door. He kicked off his shoes, and went to the bathroom to shower. He needed it badly.
Finney blanked out for most of the shower. He stared at the wall, wondering if all of this was just some sick nightmare his brain had conjured up to confuse him and keep him guessing. It didn’t even feel like the water was touching him.
He did the normal routine when he got out. He combed through his hair, brushed his teeth, and got dressed into pajamas he brought into the bathroom. If he had really poor memory, he would have thought that this was just a normal night. But instead he was washing up after escaping a kidnapper and watching all of his friends get whisked away to hospitalization.
When Finney walked out of the bathroom and down the hall, his dad was sitting on a chair in front of the fireplace. The chair was angled so it was facing the entryway of the living room. Finney sighed.
Terrence had a mug in his hand. Finney was very concerned at first, but he calmed down when he realized it was just coffee.
His dad cleared his throat, and he couldn’t seem to make eye contact with Finney. “I want you to stay home for a few days. We can talk about things in the morning while Gwen is at school.” He took a sip of his coffee.
Finney nodded, and he shifted nervously in the doorway. He wasn’t used to having conversations like that with his dad. Just talking about things.
Terrence was quiet for a few moments, before he looked right at Finney. “Get some rest, kiddo. I love you,” he told him. For the first time, Finney seemed to believe it.
“I love you too, dad,” Finney replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. He turned around, and he trudged down the hall to his room.
He walked into his room, and he was very swift on getting into bed. The clock read 2:38. He tucked himself under the blankets of the bed he had been missing, and rolled over onto his side. He looked out the window, and tried to count the stars he could see from his bed. His eyelids were growing heavy.
Finney only counted about sixteen stars before his eyes closed, and he didn’t even try to open them again. Finney wanted to sleep for a long, long time.