Below the Surface

November 4, 1982

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Big violence (including domestic, please be wary), brief language

Uncle Al had been spending most of his time at home in the basement. You, however, had been temporarily barred from entering the basement. You would think that you would have been relieved by this, but you were suspicious. This wasn't like him. He had been bringing down the food and water. That was your job. 

Sunday evening, you confronted him about it. 

"Why can't I go down into the basement?" 

Al froze mid-carrot-chop. He wasn't expecting that. He knew how you felt about it and thought you would be thrilled. It wasn't the reaction he was hoping for. 

"Can't I take care of one boy on my own?" He asked, continuing to chop his carrot. 

"Oh, you can take care of one just fine. Hell, take care of all of them. But you've been spending a lot of time down there, which tells me two things: One, you don't want me down there; and two, you really like him." 

Al looked at you, danger in his eyes. "Don't test me. Just leave it at that. I like this one and don't need your help." 

"No." 

Uncle Al placed the knife down and leaned his arms against the countertop, supporting himself as he stared at you, seemingly directly into your soul. "Y/N, I am telling you to drop it. There is nothing for you in the basement." 

"Then let me go down there and see for myself." You turned and made a dash for the basement door, knowing he would try to stop you. You were able to descend the stairs without falling, but in his haste, Al missed half a step, sending him rolling forwards. He landed at your heels as you fumbled with the lock on the door. As it swung open, Al groaned and got to his feet, resetting himself on the current situation. 

You gasped as you saw your only other friend sleeping on the mattress.

 "Finney?" You cried out. He bolted up, turning towards you. 

The realization hit him like a semi hitting a toddler in Ludlow, Maine, and he stood up. "Y/N!" 

Al finally gained control of the situation and slammed the shut before you could run forward. He grabbed your forearm with an incredible amount of strength as he dragged you up the stairs, unsure of his next steps. All he knew was that this mission had gone incredibly wrong. 

"What the hell are you doing?" You screamed once you reached the first floor. "That's Finney! What's wrong with you?" 

"I told you not to go down there!" He screamed back. "It was for your own good! Everything I have ever done has been for you, and the one time I try to take care of something for you, you go and screw it all up!" 

"You're too self-absorbed to do anything for anyone but yourself! And now, you say kidnapped my friend for me? God, you're sick! I should've called the police a long time ago!" 

Al saw red. Quickly, he brought his arm back and slapped you across the cheek with as much strength as he could muster. You stumbled backward, bumping into the couch as shock coursed its way through your veins. You brought a hand to your reddening and looked at Al with a mix of fear and anger. 

"It-- it wasn't a work accident, was it?" You quivered, pointing to his arm. "Finney did that." 

Al suddenly realized what he had done, and never felt so bad. "Y/N, please--" 

He took a step forward, and you backed up towards the stairs. "Don't-- don't touch me. Don't touch me ever again." 

You turned and ran up the stairs, leaving Al by himself. 

You ran up the stairs, hand still cooling your stinging cheek as tears began to stream down your face. What was the matter with him? You knew Al was a dangerous man, but this was too much. He'd hurt countless children before, which, in turn, broke hundreds of families apart. Al's own family had been broken apart by his father's alcoholism, even further shattered when it was revealed that Max had been a drug addict since he was an adolescent, and then, for good measure, pulverized when Max died. Of all people, Al should've understood how wrong it was to kidnap those boys. To beat them within an inch of their lives. To kill them. And in the one time where his plan had gone awry, he'd taken it out on you. His only living relative. 

You laid down on your bed, sobbing. You needed to tell someone. A teacher, a police officer, someone! But the phone was on the first floor, where Al was. So was the door. There was nothing to do but cower and hide. You couldn't even go down to check on Finney. 

While Al may have felt like he had lost control, the truth was that the ball was in his court. You had been rendered helpless by his rage, and Finney was locked up; he was the only one who could do anything. He could've gone into the basement and killed Finney. He could've gone upstairs and begged for your forgiveness. He could've gotten in his van and driven away. He could've done so much, but he chose to stand in the middle of the entryway, shocked and saddened. 

This wasn't how he wanted his Sunday afternoon to go. He had wanted to make a soup to have in the evening, while he watched The Birds. Now, he had one injured kid sobbing upstairs and another downstairs. He thought about going to see you, but as his hand slid onto the stair rail, he decided it was best to leave you alone. Things were tense now. It was all too fresh. And Finney? God, he couldn't face Finney right now. He'd ask questions. He'd threaten Al. Maybe he'd even hit him. It wasn't safe to do anything right now. All he could do was sit and wait. 

Wait for Finney to fall asleep. 

Wait for you to forgive him. 

Wait to hear that damned phone ringing in the dead of night. 

Just wait.