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Finney’s stomach growls as he stares at the food in the Grabber’s hands. “You can let me go,” he suggests but his heart isn’t in it. He’s so hungry. He’s been trying to count the days but they’re starting to blur together.
“I’m thinking about it.” Finney’s vision unfocuses as words shoot through him, a knife piercing his chest. His gaze snaps up to the Grabber’s face.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” The hope tastes bad in the back of his throat. Bitter. The words slip out anyway. “You can blindfold me. Drop me off on the street. I’ll walk home.”
“Oh.” The Grabber pauses. Finney’s heart rises and sinks at the same time. “First, tell me your name,” he asks again.
Finney’s eyes drop from that wretched mask to the plate of food to his own shaking hands
“Finney,” he chokes out. “Finney Blake.” It crosses his mind to lie but the words are almost involuntary. What good would it do him anyway? The Grabber already has him.
And he doesn’t want to forget. Down here, where time is meaningless, where nothing is right, where only ghosts can hear him… he needs this. He has to keep what the other boys lost.
”Finney,” the Grabber’s croons, almost lovingly. Finney’s stomach turns. He bites the inside of his cheek to stay still as the Grabber walks closer, continuing, “It would have been very naughty if you lied. But that was the truth, wasn’t it?” He places the tray of food on the floor and brings out a newspaper from his back pocket. Finney flinches as it’s tossed his way. There’s his name on the headline, the next victim of the Grabber.
Finney wants to find solace in the fact that people are looking for him but as his picture stares back at him, the air in his lungs freezes up. He’s not the first boy on the front of the paper. He’s not special. There was hope in their town that the other boys might still be alive, somehow, but evidence of them is all over this tiny basement. Now Finney’s the only one here. There’s no question what happened to them in the end. Why would Finney be any different?
“I did say I’d let you out, didn’t I?” The Grabber sighs and looks out the window. Finney’s whole body tenses. “Of course, I can’t really let you go.” Finney can’t help the single whimper that escapes him, more of a breath than anything. Almost inaudible but humiliatingly clear in the silent room. The Grabber’s eyes rove Finney’s body as he murmurs, “But you have been such a good boy. And good boys should get treats. I have to train you, don’t I? Just like my dog upstairs.” His face lights up. “That’s the perfect idea! Now you stay here and sit like a good boy, Finney. I’ll be right back.”
The door shuts with a click before Finney can think to say anything else. Of course the Grabber wouldn’t let him out. It was stupid to even think for a moment he would. Still, the loss feels like a brand on his skin, raw and painful. The gibberish the Grabber was saying at the end just worsens the wound. Finney doesn’t even have to talk to him to know he’s deranged. Psychotic. He can’t be reasoned with. The feeling of never knowing what might be coming next makes the fear so much stronger. Finney hardly remembers what it was like not to feel afraid. It’s always been his mother or bullies or his father’s belt and now… something so much worse.
Then, out of the dark, there’s the deafening ring of a phone.
Finney snaps towards the black phone on the wall as the receiver rings. He knows he has to answer. He chances a look at the door. Still locked. The Grabber said he would be right back. And he told him to stay put. Finney’s heart pounds as he carefully gets his feet under him and reaches for the phone.
”Hello?”
Billy’s now familiar voice rasps through the speaker. “You can’t outrun a bullet.”
”W-what?” Finney watches the door for any indication it’s about to open. The implication in Billy’s words is almost too much for him to process.
”Do you hear me, Finney? Don’t try. You won’t make it. You can’t outrun a bullet!” Electric static whines over the line as Billy’s voice gets more urgent, practically yelling. “Don’t run! Don’t scream! You won’t make it! YOU CAN’T OUTRUN A BULLET, FINNEY!”
Finney winces, ears ringing from the scream. Then, there’s quiet. But not quite silence. He can hear something on the other end. “Billy?” he tries. “Are you still there?”
“You won’t make it,” Billy whispers. He sounds drained. “He’s too good a shot.” The receiver goes dead.
Finney hears the warning groan of the lock being undone and he scrambles to put the phone back on the wall and go back to the mattress. He just makes it, seated in nearly the same spot he was before as the Grabber re-enters the room.
“Wow, you really are well-behaved, aren’t you, Finney? Now I have a present for you.” The Grabber brings out something from behind his back. Finney’s breath catches. He knows that shape in the shadows.
A belt.
Finney can’t help himself. He moves backward as if that will save him. He watches hands caress the careful loop. The Grabber said he wouldn’t hurt him and he knows, he knows, how much a belt hurts. Nothing changes, whether he’s at home or here, it’s the same awful punishment. The same beating. The same weapon. The same placating words that insist that this is for his own good.
He doesn’t want to beg. Robin wouldn’t have begged. But still, he pleads, “Please don’t. Please.”
The Grabber tilts his head. “Come on now, Finney. I promised you a reward. There’s no reason to be afraid.”
Finney’s inhales quicken as the Grabber comes closer. The man holds the belt up into the light and— and— it’s not a belt at all. Finney blinks, trying to make sense of what he sees. Not a belt.
A leash.
“What is that for?” Finney whispers.
”Oh, this? This was for my big guy upstairs, Samson. It was just a little too small for him. But then I realized it’s the perfect size for you, puppy! Now come over here.”
A feeling of terrible wrongness creeps up from Finney’s belly. He shakes his head slowly. He doesn’t move.
The Grabber’s eyes narrow. “I said. Come. Here.” Still, Finney doesn’t move. “Come here, boy. Or I’ll whip you with this so hard you won’t be able to walk.” That gets Finney to his feet. The Grabber smiles as he walks over. Once Finney is in front of him, he orders, “Turn around.” Finney does, skin crawling as he feels fingertips ghost along his hairline, brushing curls out of the way. The leash comes a moment later, scratchy and heavy as it’s looped around his neck. He feels it clip together like a death knell.
“Good dog.” A hand ruffles his hair, just like a dog getting pat on the head, and Finney flinches away. As soon as he does, the leash yanks him backward. Finney gasps as he’s choked and the Grabber tsks . “Don’t be naughty, puppy. Neither of us wants to see what happens when you’re naughty.”
The leash tightens around his windpipe and Finney nods desperately. The Grabber laughs. Sharp humiliation and relief cut through Finney as the pressure loosens. He hopes the other boys aren’t watching. He hopes Robin can’t see the defeat in him as he lets the Grabber drag him around like a disobedient dog.
”Now I’m going to let you out, puppy. Just like I promised since you’ve been such a good, good boy.” His voice is twisted and soft, talking down to his favorite little pet. He wraps the other end of the leash around his wrist where Finney can see it. “It’s no use trying to run. And it’s too dark out for anyone to see you. It’ll just be you and me. Oh, and Finney,” Something cold and metallic notches under his chin, tilting his head so he’s face to face with the Grabber. He doesn’t need to look down to know what it is. You can’t outrun a bullet, Finney. “Don’t even think about trying to call for help. You’ll be dead before anyone can hear you.”
The Grabber lets Finney lead the way up the stairs. The gun stays pressed to the small of his back. The fear is so intense Finney feels it in his fingertips like repeated tiny needle pricks. He’s sure the back of his shirt is starting to stick with sweat. All it would take is one wrong move. Even just an accidental flinch on the trigger would be the end of him.
When they get to the top of the stairs, the Grabber gestures him to the back door. Finney winces at the creak as he pushes it open. The gun digs into his spine. He takes a deep breath and takes his first step outside since his kidnapping.
It’s overwhelming. The sky yawns above him. Trees loom from the edge of the yard and cast long silhouettes that shroud both of them. The grass is neatly manicured. The Grabber’s house has no porch lights but Finney can see gnats flying around the lights of neighboring houses. For a second, Finney forgets. It’s all so shockingly ordinary.
Then out of the corner of his eye, he sees a low barred window. And he’s reminded that this might be the last time he feels a breeze on his face. The stars overhead laugh at him.
His gaze drags over to the nearest house.
He’s so close. He could make it. Tug the leash out of the Grabber’s hands. Scream for help. Someone would hear him. Someone would see him.
“Don’t get any ideas.” The Grabber murmurs, hot breath on the back of his neck. “Alright, puppy. Now sit. Stay. ” He walks a couple of steps away, the leash trailing between them. For the first time, Finney gets a good look at the gun. It doesn’t waver from its target.
It’s obviously a taunt. A test. The Grabber is getting some sadistic enjoyment out of giving him a taste of freedom, playing a game where they both pretend he has a hope at escape. And the terrible thing is that Finney is buying into it. It’s hard to remind himself that he wouldn’t make it. He wouldn’t make it to another house. He wouldn’t…
But what if he did? What if Billy was wrong? What if he could make it?
What if this is his only chance?
The Grabber takes a seat on the porch steps, almost lazily. The leash is loose in his hand. He tilts his head at Finney and raises a mocking eyebrow. It’s quiet enough to hear the crickets in the grass.
Finney’s heart pounds, the beat in his ears drowning out everything else. Adrenaline pumps through his veins. He feels nauseous, a ragged, bloody taste in the back of his throat. A muscle in his calf twitches. His sneaker digs into the dirt to get traction.
He could make it. He could… He could…
The gun is still trained on him.
You can’t outrun a bullet, Finney!
Finney takes a trembling inhale and sinks to the ground instead. The Grabber makes a pleased hum.
Finney faces away from him, bringing his knees to his chest like he could possibly block out his captor but they both know it doesn’t matter. The Grabber won. The leash is more than a leash, it’s a noose growing ever tighter around Finney’s neck.
The dark woods blur in front of him. They’re just at the end of the yard but they’re a world away for all the difference it makes to Finney. Tears drip down his face. He tries to muffle his sobs, biting on his knuckle until he tastes his own flesh, but he’s sure the Grabber can hear his sniffles.
He’s always been a coward. He shouldn’t be surprised and yet he’s still disappointed in himself. He’s only proved that he hasn’t changed. Hopelessness and defeat sink their twin claws into him. He’s exhausted. He’s so exhausted. He just wants to sleep and never wake up so he doesn’t have to live through this nightmare. He just wants this to end.
He doesn’t know how long the Grabber lets him sit out there. Long enough that a chill has started to set under his skin and his tears have dried.
He stares at the stars, trying to commit them to memory. He used to know more constellations when he was really little, when his mother used to take him and Gwen camping. He doesn’t remember them all anymore. But the stars are still comforting in their own way. They make him feel small. This town, this house, this basement… they’re insignificant to the universe. All this suffering won’t change anything really, nothing as big as the sun or the planets and their orbits. And when he dies, everything else will go on without him. It makes him feel safe and sick all at once.
Finney watches as one star winks out.
There’s a tug on the leash. Grass crunches behind him.
“Time to go, Finney.”
Finney doesn’t struggle as the Grabber leads him inside. He doesn’t say another word when he’s brought back to the basement. He doesn’t try to look for the stars out his tiny window.
No, once the lock grates into place, he just curls up on the mattress and hugs his hands over his stomach. The Grabber didn’t even bother to take the leash back. Finney squeezes his eyes shut and tries to forget. Maybe he’ll forget his name too. Then none of this will be happening to Finney Blake. It will be some unnamed, unimportant boy instead. Another boy the universe doesn’t care about.
The phone rings.
Finney curls into a tighter ball and ignores it.
The phone rings again.
Finney puts his hands over his ears. The noise seems to get impossibly louder.
The phone rings and rings and–
Finney rips the phone off the wall.
“Stop! Stop, please. What? What do you need to tell me?” he cries down the line. He slumps against the wall, dragging the phone with him. “I should have run. I should have done it. Then at least I would have gotten away or I’d be dead.”
There’s silence. Finney wonders if maybe they listened. Maybe they won’t call anymore. Then a voice, a different voice, not Billy’s, growls through the speaker, “Take that fucking leash off. You’re not his dog.”
“V-vance? Vance Hopper?”
“Get that disgusting thing off you.”
Finney’s hand drifts to the collar but falls short. He recognizes the voice vaguely. He thinks his guess is right but it doesn’t really matter. Nothing matters. “Just leave me alone,” he mutters. He moves to hang up the phone. “Tell them all to leave me alone. They can try with the next boy.”
Vance snarls. “Fuck that and fuck you! You’re just going to give up and let him take another kid?” Finney winces. “Stop being a sissy and man up.”
Finney shakes his head. “There’s nothing else I can do. I– I can’t beat him.”
“Start with this.” Suddenly Finney feels a phantom yank at the leash’s clasp. “Listen to me. Are you listening?” Vance demands. “You’re not his dog. You hear me? You’re not his dog. You’re not his fucking puppy. You are not his. Don’t you dare fucking forget that.” When Finney doesn’t answer, Vance repeats, “I said, do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” Finney whispers.
“You understand?”
“I understand.”
“Good,” Vance says. “You were right to listen to Billy. You need to survive so you can get revenge on that son of a bitch for the rest of us.” The line disconnects.
Finney swallows thickly and gently hooks the phone back on the wall. It takes him a moment with his shaking hands but soon he’s able to find the clasp and get it undone. The leash falls into his lap.
He forces himself to his feet and over to the toilet. It takes him a few tries but eventually, he watches the leash get sucked down the drain. Maybe he should have kept it, another possible tool for his escape but no, no it would be worse to leave it here with him. To let the Grabber collar him again.
Vance is right. He’s not a fucking dog. He’s not going to show his belly just because the Grabber asks him to. He’s not going to sit and stay on command.
He’s not going down without a fight.