The Chance to make a Change

Chapter 28: Finney

Summary: Oh, you are not here.
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The door to the basement creaked open, torturously slow, to reveal the backlit shape of Albert. The demonic horns of the mask stood out proud, as if he were the devil that had emerged from hell.

Finney looked up, nearly blinded by the light that came from upstairs. He'd grown used to the dark and his eyes needed some adjusting. Weak by the lack of food and water, he had thought to have been forgotten entirely by the man who kept him as a prisoner.

Seems he had been wrong.

"Brought you some food," Albert groused, placing a tray in front of Finney on the floor. The boy didn't even wait for Albert to step away from it before he scrambled forward and dove upon it, bringing the soda to his lips. He was thirsty. Incredibly so. It felt like he was dying.

"Where have you been?" he asked when his lips were no longer parched. Albert didn't take up his stance near the bottom of the stairs like he always had done. Instead, he remained a few steps away from Finney where he folded his arms in front of his chest and looked down at the boy. He said nothing. Just watched Finney as he gobbled the drink down.

"Where had you gone?" Finney tried again in between bites as he wolfed down the eggs. He was too hungry to care if Albert had put anything in them. If so, then so be it. His stomach needed to be filled.

Albert still did not reply. He merely cocked his head, the mask's pointy chin pointing sideways.

Finney licked his fingers clean after he swallowed the last of the eggs down. It still wasn't enough, not nearly, but his aching tummy was slowly starting to calm and he felt some of his strength return to him.

The silence between the two was deafening. A dreadful tension in the air.

"Is she dead?" Finney finally broke the silence. The pressing question had been on his mind ever since Albert had closed the door upon him, carrying your limp body away from his sight.

It had not looked good. Not good at all. And he knew what Albert had done to the others.

Fearing the worst, that Albert had carried you off to be buried with the others – another body hidden from the public's eye -, Finney had picked up the phone almost instantly after Albert had taken you away. There had been a dialing tone. But did that mean you were okay? Or was he perhaps too soon? Worried to the bone, he tried again later. And later. Again and again, until his fingertips hurt and his ear felt hot. Until he grew too weak to pick up the phone.

You never answered, so he still held hope.

The Grabber finally tilted his head now, showing a sign of interest as he shook it. Finney's heart came to a halt, his breath high in his chest. Did that mean no? Were you gone?

But then the man in front of him lowered his arms by his sides and let out a low sigh.

"You know, this could all have been prevented," he nasally said, surprising Finney with his bout of cognitive dissociation. "After all, it is your fault that I had to hurt her."

"My fault?" Finney nearly tripped over the words as he voiced his surprise. He brought a hand to his chest. "Do you hear yourself? You could have stopped beating her. There was no need to. She did everything you said."

"She didn't answer," Albert's voice was gruff, his words more like a bark, instantly replying. "She should have told me the truth."

"She did not lie to you," Finney said in your defense, teeth clenched afterward and his hand like a fist in front of his chest. He was seething, but still too weak to pounce.