July 10th

I found a ball.

A little rubber one, like the stress balls from doctor’s offices. I always wondered why doctors hand out lame tokens of apology after stabbing you with a long needle.

My prize was pink, with the words “Pink Star” stamped on, with the "i" and "n" on their way out.

I found an unoccupied space to endlessly bounce it against the wall. Each thump of the ball comforted me. For an entire afternoon, I played with that stupid ball. After a couple of hours, Erin told me to quit it or she’d knock my head in. Her empty threat made me smile, but when even the Wasters gave me a c’mon kid kinda look, I put it away.

Later, I couldn’t resist the temptation to bring it out and thump it on the floor again, over and over. Erin wanted to end me, but before she could, our prison door at the top of the stairs creaked open.

Heavy boots clomped on the wooden steps as The Man made his way down. He still wore his police uniform. As usual, He waltzed past me without a glance. Finally, He stopped in front of His intended prey.

The unlucky son of a gun was Seth, the only man left in the basement, besides me and the guy who hung around Gabriella. If The Man chose Seth, it meant He was in the mood for torturing. Men hardly ever came out of the Room alive. Women had a better chance.

Seth knew the cards were stacked against him, because he started blubbering. Honestly, it was sad, but also embarrassing. Seth’s cries reached a pitiful wail as The Man dragged him by his hair. On the way, The Man did what I’ve always dreaded: he acknowledged me.

“Can I see that ball, buddy?”

Saying no stuck in my throat.

“Uh–,” I squeaked.

I looked at Seth, then back at the ball.

"I'll give it back," He promised.

He must’ve recognized my dilemma. My secret, shame-filled dilemma. I knew and He knew that Seth was gonna die. However, I didn't wanna give up my toy in the process. Then, Erin cleared her throat, and I remembered I didn't really have a choice.

Though my voice failed me, my arms still worked. Reluctantly, I handed over my only source of entertainment.

“Thanks.”

He winked at me.

A shudder marched down my back.

With a resounding click, the room door closed and the screaming commenced. My heart rebelled against the urge, but my brain couldn’t help imagining the ways in which The Man was using my ball. After such dark possibilities, I didn't want the darn thing back.

Twenty minutes after the screaming started, it stopped. Everyone in the basement seemed to relax. The relief evaporated when The Man emerged with Seth casually slung over his shoulder. Seth’s face wasn't visible under his long brown hair, but from the blood leaking down the back of The Man’s shirt, he couldn’t have been sleeping.

No one spoke, or breathed. The Man’s boots thudded loudly in the silence. I hoped He would make His way upstairs without incident, but I jinxed myself by thinkin’ it. At the foot of the stairs, He seized a prong-like device from His back trouser pocket.

Surprising the heck out of me and everyone else, He flipped Seth’s body forward, revealing the fate of my toy.

Lodged in Seth’s head, the ball appeared to be half its original size, giving him a cartoon-like appearance. A doll with mismatched eyes. With the prong, The Man plucked the ball out, issuing forth a loud pop.

“Almost forgot. Here’s your ball back, little guy.”
The ball hung in the air near my face, a third of it faded pink, the rest covered with globs of unnamable human stuff.

I didn’t move. I knew I needed to listen to The Man at all costs, but touching the ball went against every good feeling in my body.

“Are you gonna grab it or not, boy?” Impatience marked the tone of The Man, and it marked a beating or worse for me if I refused.

With my nerve endings shrieking out in protest, I reached for the ball, gripping the cleanest part possible. Except, it didn’t budge. I was forced to wrap my hand around the wet part, squishing the remains of Seth. My vision starred. My body momentarily swayed, but I blinked, and the curtain lifted.

The Man headed back up the stairs without a word.

The basement lock slid home, and I tossed the ball out of sight.

~*~

July 14th

Something scratched against the basement window.

At first, the noise seemed part of my dream, where my biology teacher, Mrs. Holmes, promised no homework for the weekend.

Every seat in the classroom was occupied, not half-full like they became later. A No-Homework Weekend should have made us kids happy, but for some reason, it bummed us out.

Mrs. Holmes scribbled on the board, slowly, deliberately. The chalk whispered on the board, but when she got to the word homework, it screeched. I covered my ears, but it didn’t help.

Scrrrrrreeeeech.

The scratching stopped, but I wonder what caused it. A cat? A dog?

I hope Erin doesn’t mind that I moved my pallet next to hers for tonight.

~*~

July 16th

There are days when I forget how I got down here. Other days, I can't stop remembering the struggle. The chaos.

It all started the day my dad quit his job.

Dad sold cars for a living, and he used to tell me My job’s neither glamorous, nor fulfilling, but I’m good at it.

Aggressive customers happened on occasion, but never committing violence, until his last day. Two men fought over the lowest priced car on the lot. I heard Dad telling mom the story: My car. My car. My car, the murderer repeated, bashing the other person’s head in with a side-view mirror before the police arrived much too late.

We drove away from the city the same day, and my dad got pulled over for speeding. It was two a.m., and he parked on the shoulder of one of those skinny roads that stretch on forever, with fields on either side.

When the patrolmen ambled to the car, he waved a flashlight in my father’s face. He smiled gallantly at my mom and Erin. I didn’t know it then, but he was checking them over. A change came over his face when he saw me. I don’t think he had come across a kid in his kidnappings before, and he didn’t seem to know what to do about it. After a minute, he spoke with my father about the speed limit and how he better respect the law and blah blah blah blah. My dad wanted to know the cost of the ticket. The officer told him it would be considerable, but for the speed he was going, my father was under arrest. He was instructed to follow the officer to the station. My mother asked him why we all had to go. No answer.

Dad drove on dark back roads, parking behind the officer an hour later at a brick house with a crooked driveway. I’d like to say my spidey sense jumped in all directions, but I knew next to nothing about what was happening.

My parents seemed aware of the potential danger. Dad’s hand stayed on the transmission, angling into the reverse position. The officer’s friendly face popped up at the window, and he put the car back in park.

All the same, Dad refused to get out.

“This doesn’t look like a police station.”

The officer leveled a gun at my father.

“That’s because it isn’t.”

~*~

A/N: If you're not worried about The Boy's parents yet, you should start!

In the meantime, check out the great stories from writer RedAndBlackZabrack, like Over The Wall, which is about a detective who never believed in aliens. How cool is that?!