Below the Surface

September 4th, 1982

A/N: I don't think school starts the day after Labor Day in Colorado, but that's how it's done in Washington (or, at least, in the part of Washington I live in), so we're rolling with it. If you live in Denver, feel free to correct me.

7:45 A.M on a Tuesday, your alarm clock screamed at you to get out of bed, as they are known to do. You let out a groan. Today was not a day you were looking forward to. You see, it was the day after Labor Day. And that's when school starts. And you were a freshman in high school now. The bottom of the food chain. And you weren't exactly the Regina George of your small Denver suburb. No, if anything, you were the Ben Hanscom of the joint. That's who you were. The nerd. Loser. All those fun adjectives. 

"Y/N! Up!" Uncle Al shouted from downstairs. "Got five bucks waitin' for you!" 

You groaned and threw the blanket off of your body. You could tell yourself that today would be a great, amazing day. Or, you could tell yourself that today would suck ass and you should probably pack up and move to Australia, where nobody knows how much of a nobody you are. Yeah, that sounds ideal. But that's not how life works. So you got dressed and walked into the kitchen. 

"Made you some eggs and bacon," Al said, sliding a plate of said eggs and bacon towards you. "After you eat, can you pour some baking soda and water on the mattress? Last night, one of my friends left, and he vomited. Not much, but if you put the soda on it, I'll vacuum it once it dries." 

"Yeah, sure. Anything else you need? Preferably, something that would take six to ten hours?" You asked, shoving some eggs into your mouth. 

"Ha, ha. You're not missing school. It's the first day. Plenty of fun, plenty of friends." He propped his elbows up onto the counter and rested his head in his hands. "You should look forward to school." 

"Maybe I would if I had friends." 

He sighed. "Well, maybe this will be the year. Maybe you'll even meet someone... special." He winked at you before turning around towards the fridge. "Packed you a lunch. Don't forget it." He clapped you on the shoulder before he walked out the door. 

"Oh! Almost forgot!" The door opened as soon as it shut, and Al placed a five-dollar bill in front of you. "Make sure you treat the mattress, or I'm taking it back, okay? Have a good day." 

You sighed when the door closed and stayed closed. You'd been doing this since you were eight years old. That was seven years ago. In seven years, you'd developed into your own person, which came with having your own moral code. And let me tell you, your code did not line up with Uncle Al's. There was, to you, no reason to hold young teens captive in your basement until they died. But every single time you thought about telling Al you were done, his words rang in your head like a church bell at noon.

 If you tell anyone anything about our little secret, I'll kill you. 

There was no telling anyone anything. There was no telling Al your thoughts and feelings. There was just feeding and cleaning. Oh, and regret. Lots of lots of regret. Little too much of that. Also suffering. And definitely some paranoia. Safe to say, your situation isn't ideal. 

_______________

"Hey!" 

Aw, shit. 

You had gone three months without a single mention of Satan's metalhead son, Vance Hopper. No thoughts, no words, no nothing. And at the very first opportunity he got, Vance picked you out of the crowd like you were in a suspect lineup. 

"Talkin' to you, Shaw!" 

You turned around and saw Vance and the Gang approaching rapidly. Now you were faced with a choice between morals and mortality. Were you going to be late to your first class of the new school year at a new school, or were you going to die? Tough choices. 

I'll let you in on a little secret. You missed the first period. And second. Because you had taken shelter in a broom closet and Vance had taken the chance to tell you in detail how much you sucked and how much he'd like to pull the eyes out of your head with a fork. You know, things of the sort. He only left when the janitor happened to come by to get some wipes and saw this burly dude with his burly friends shouting insults and threats at a door. The janitor kindly let you go, and you showed up about five minutes late to the third period. 

Somehow, you managed to go the rest of the day without seeing Vance or his goons. Even when you were walking home, you didn't see his sky-blue Mustang. It was like he disappeared. 

When you walked into the house, Uncle Al was in the kitchen. He was leaning against the wall with the phone held up to his ear. You waved to him and he mouthed a 'hello' as you walked past and up the stairs. You walked into your small bedroom, dropping your backpack on the floor, and collapsing onto your bed. You learned that you did have a class with Vance (seventh), but he didn't show. Thank God for small miracles. And for naps. Naps are... important. 

__________

You were awoken by Uncle Al at about seven. He sat down on your bed and patted your calf as you slowly came back to the world. 

"I figured I'd let you sleep, but dinners' almost ready. How was your day?" He asked. 

"It was okay. I missed two classes, though," you yawned. 

"What?!" Anger flashed in his eyes. "Why?" 

"I was trapped in a closet by Vance Hopper." 

Disappointment replaced anger as Al relaxed. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "What's his deal? He picked on you in elementary school, too, yeah?"

You nodded. "I thought we were done after middle school. But, guess not." You stood up and stretched. "Oh, well." 

A conspiring look crossed Al's face. "Well, never mind him. Start minding the lasagna in the oven that's about to be in your mouth. Anything good happens today?" 

"Yeah. I met these two boys, Finney and Robin, and they seem pretty cool. We talked about maybe getting together sometime and helping each other out with chemistry. We went over the syllabus today, and I think it might kill me." 

Uncle Al laughed (it seemed almost forced) and stood. "Come on. Lasagna time." 

A/N: This kind of sucked. I've got this book drafted out. I promise it gets better. This is just the post-prologue, which I have a history of making terrible