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How long was he supposed to have been locked down there? Days? Weeks? The days and nights all seemed the same.
He slept little, ate even less, and when he did eat, it was just a handful of bland scrambled eggs. He was tired of the basement, The Grabber, his father, school, Matty and the other two idiots who beat him up, and himself.
He wished he had the courage to grab one of those Sprite bottles and end it all with his bare hands. And then there were the boys. He didn't mean to sound ungrateful, but everything Bruce and Billy had told him was completely useless. That hole led nowhere, and the cable was useless, just like trying to escape through the window hadn't worked; it had only caused the bars to fall off and left him in pain for days.
And the second worst thing of all, besides the masked bastard, was the bone-chilling cold. He thought the cold in his house was awful because they didn't have heaters, thanks to his dad's refusal to pay extra just to spend the money on alcohol. Being down there made him appreciate that temperature, which was nothing compared to this.
Of course, his captor wasn't going to be kind enough to leave him anything to keep warm. On the days he woke up not so exhausted, he paced back and forth to try to warm up. It didn't work very well, but it was the only thing he could do. He always did it with his head down; every time he raised it, it seemed like the walls and the cracks were mocking him.
Like today, this was the worst day. Even though not a single snowflake had fallen, the weather was horrible. He knew what it was like to shiver from the cold, but not to this extent. The meager light that came through the window wasn't warm; it was as if the sun had somehow turned cold. It was as if even nature itself had turned against him. I could see steam escaping his breath every time he spoke, and his fingernails were purple, as if he'd painted them.
This was the worst day of his entire "lovely stay."
Until somehow, it got worse.
The lights came on; it could only mean one thing: the Grabber had deigned to show his "face" again.
The door opened slowly, as always; he really liked the drama.
In the dim light, I could see he was holding a blanket. Wait... A blanket? He brought him a blanket?
"I brought you this. I thought you'd be cold. I woke up freezing today thinking I'd left the window open. How do you think I reacted when I saw it was closed?" he said. He didn't want to answer. What did he expect him to do? He had him kidnapped in a basement, and he wanted him to thank him for bringing him a blanket? "Aren't you going to say anything?" His voice deepened, becoming threatening. A shiver ran down Finney's spine.
Gathering all his courage, he could only manage a simple, "Thank you..."
His body trembled. The combination of cold, fear, and anger were not things that should go hand in hand.
He noticed this. He approached him, sitting beside him on the mattress, still holding the blanket.
"Lie down. You must be freezing to be shivering like this." He gently laid him down on the mattress while he... Oh, God. While he lay down next to him, too close, pulling the blanket over them.
"What are you doing? Get away! Don't touch me!" Finney tried to struggle and get away, but it was impossible. The Raptor put his arm around his shoulders. Just like when he took him.
"Shh, you don't have to be afraid. This is just until you warm up. I don't want you to freeze to death"
'Because you want to kill me yourself,' Finney thought.
The Grabber's body was warm. Nothing like his own.
He hated having to admit that the body heat thing was real, it was actually working, and he hated that it was. He'd rather get hypothermia than endure another second in that position.
He could feel his heartbeat against his back. Who would have thought? He did have a heart.
"What happened to the window?" he asked.
The window. Of course he was going to notice the window.
I quickly came up with a somewhat believable excuse.
"It fell, it wasn't my fault—" he interrupted.
"Don't lie to me," he said again, in the same tone as before.
"...I tried to climb out that way, it couldn't support my weight and it fell." Telling the truth risked punishment, but honestly, he didn't care anymore.
"Why did you do that?" Was he stupid? The answer was obvious.
"I wanted to get out of here. Please, let me go, please. I swear to God I won't tell anyone. I'll say I decided to escape" he never thought of begging him for anything, but he really, really wanted to leave.
"And how do I know you won't tell anyone? You saw my van and my face. I can't take that risk" well, he did have a point. If he let him go, the first thing he'd do is go to the police and report him. They could find him quickly. They'd just have to look for a stupid van with an "ABRACADABRA" logo on it.
"I swear—"
Wow, he sure liked interrupting him.
"A swear isn't enough. Tell me, how are you going to prove to me with actions that you'll keep all this a secret if I let you go?" he asked. There was no response from Finney. He couldn't do it. He couldn't prove anything. The only thing he could offer was a handful of empty words. "I thought so. Where are the bars? I'm going to put them back on"
Great, his chances of escaping were dwindling more and more. The only thing he needed was for him to notice the hole in the floor and find the cable.
"There, by the door. The first day you said you'd explain everything to me and you never did. Why am I here? Why are you taking the boys?" These were good questions; at least he had some right to know why. The boys had no connection (except for him and Robin), they didn't follow any pattern.
"Don't talk anymore" that eerie voice again.
His mood swings frightened them.
The Grabber began to gently stroke his head; it wasn't like the first day when he had just moved his hair aside. This was constant, almost delicate, almost like affection.
"I don't want you to be like everyone else. I don't want mistakes, not with you" his voice changed; now it was soft. Terrifying.
What the hell did he mean by "mistakes"?
"What were the others like?"
"Naughty."
Naughty? What did he mean by that? Ugh! Every time he went downstairs and talked to him, he was left with more questions than answers. If it was going to be like this, he'd better not go down at all.
"If I'm not like them, will you let me go?" He didn't want to be pushy and make him angry, but he had to take advantage of any opportunity to ask the question; maybe he'd say yes at some point.
"Is that all you think about?" Of course it was! What did he expect?
If The Grabber really hated lies, then he'd only get the truth.
"Yes."
"At least you're honest." He seemed a little relieved.
Was that a good thing? He hoped so.
"You...?" he murmured.
What? What was he going to say? Why did he even open his mouth? He was a fool who spoke without thinking. He never talked at school, and now that he shouldn't, he was. He wished Robin were there to give him a good smack; maybe that would bring him to his senses.
"Me?" He was waiting for him to say something about himself. What was he going to say? He needed to think of something, anything.
Magic.
When he kidnapped him, he'd said he was a part-time magician. He didn't know how realistic that was, but he was going to risk it anyway.
"Y-you told me you were a magician," he reminded him nervously.
"Yeah, do you still want to see that magic trick?" he offered.
He'd already shown him a magic trick; it was so good it made him disappear.
He didn't seem angry, which was good.
"Uh-huh," he sensed slightly.
"It'll have to be later. I don't have anything here I can use," he admitted.
There was nothing in that place. Unless he wanted to make the mattress disappear too.
They remained silent longer than Finney would have liked, neither trying to speak. Neither moving. He couldn't say it was a pleasant silence, but at least it wasn't awkward, just silence in an awkward position.
He hadn't noticed that the blanket was burgundy. His mother's favorite color.
"Well, you've stopped shivering and your hands aren't cold anymore, I'll be back with dinner." The day before, he had stood in that same spot looking out the window. All that could be seen from there was a sliver of sky filled with gray clouds. "It doesn't look like it's going to snow this year, maybe next year," he murmured, more to himself than to Finney, though Finney still managed to hear him perfectly.
Finney had one thing clear in mind: he wouldn't be around the following year.