“She wasn’t very nice,” I tell him, and the boy’s untrusting eyes meet mine. “Was she?”
“No,” he finally says, and I bob my head a little too long in agreement.
“I think it’s better this way. Sue is mean, and you deserve something nicer than this.”
He doesn’t respond, just continues to watch me warily.
“I used to be like you. I know what it’s like. We won’t hurt you. We’re here to help.”
“Are you gonna hurt me too?” he murmurs.
That makes something flicker in my mind—a plea, a slap, then the rumble of a voice.You’ll never see the light of day again, boy.
“No, of course not. We’re here to help. We want to help you.”
That makes him blink, his small feet bringing him closer. “There are other kids here.”
“How many?”
“Six, including me. Three are in the basement, chained up.”
That makes my knuckles crack and my eyes ache. The feeling of metal around my wrists, the way I’d strain against them, wanting to be free.
Help! Help!
But no one was around to hear.
“We’ll get them. We’ll make sure no one hurts you again.”
He doesn’t move, obviously not believing me. He just watches. He’s distrustful, and I don’t blame him.
It’s hard to open up after things have been taken from you. Like freedom and choices and the will to live.
“Can you show me where everyone else is?” As I ask this, a girl appears at the top of the stairs, something in her hand. Something to hurt us with. A small plastic bat. As she moves closer, I see that it’s dented and useless, but she’s going to fight like hell.
It makes something terrible lurch inside me.
The way I used to fight. How I still do.
“You here to help or hurt?” she calls out, her Southern twang hoarse as if she’s been crying.
“Help,” I simply say.
The little boy I was talking to speaks next, his voice stronger than before. “He knocked Sue out.”
“You sure?” the girl asks.
“Yep. She’s half dead right here.”
I hear the patter of feet and see the girl and a little boy with his thumb in his mouth making their way down toward me. They eye Sue, and the sight of it doesn’t faze them. If anything, relief flickers across their dirty faces.
“Get the key for the basement. It’s around her neck,” the girl says.
Georgiy tugs it free, ripping it from her and handing it to me.
“Seems you made the right choice in knocking her out,” he says softly as his hand meets mine, the metal hitting my skin.
“I always do.”
