Chapter Text
The police station in the sleepy town of Chesterfield Pennsylvania hadn’t seen this much commotion in years. You don't tend to get a lot of high profile crime in such a small suburban area. Everybody knew each other and they were all neighborly and kind, that’s just how things were. The officers residing there handled small things: traffic tickets, juveniles swiping candy from convenience stores, litterbugs— Never once had any of them dealt with an attempted kidnapping. Sheriff Hanlon would’ve thought the call into the station was a prank call if he didn’t recognize the voice of old Mrs. Crawford from church. The woman was in near hysterics.
She explained the situation through gasps and whimpers. A little boy had shown up knocking on her door in the dead of night. When she answered she found him bleeding from a gash in his arm and caked in dirt. He urgently told her that he’d nearly been kidnapped just down the street from her house and he needed somewhere to hide. She let him in immediately and after pressing a wet cloth to his wound, she called the Chesterfield Police Station right away to recall all of this in a weepy voice.
In even less time Sheriff Hanlon and his coworkers scooped the boy up from the crime scene and rushed him to the local clinic for stitches— A few questions later they learned the boy’s name was Micheal Hughes, he was ten years old and he had his home phone number memorized. Hanlon drove the boy to the station just in time to meet his parents there, freshly notified of their son’s incident. Mrs. Hughes was even worse off than old Mrs. Crawford if that was even possible. Blubbering over her poor poor baby and fussing over the stitches Micheal held an ice pack to. Mr. Hughes was more reserved, but the red of his face revealed his stress. Micheal was perhaps the most level headed out of the entire family, Sheriff Hanlon thought. It was possible he was still in shock, or maybe the relief of having gotten away counter acted any terror of what had just occurred. Everything that night seemed to happen so fast, too fast for Chesterfield where nearly everything happened slow and languidly.
Sheriff Hanlon corralled the family inside, they were only an addition to the commotion. Usually the employees within the station spent nights sitting around, answering the rare call, and drinking coffee to stay awake. Not a soul would nod off tonight. They were much too busy calling other police stations in the area to warn them of a kidnapper on the loose and preparing to go out and tape off the crime scene for investigation. It was the most they could do until Micheal gave his recollection of events. Speaking of… Hanlon glanced over at Mrs. Hughes who was coddling and then to Micheal who was being coddled. The Sheriff removed his hat and held it to his chest.
He approached the Hughes family as one might a pack of wild animals and in an even voice piped up, “Excuse me ma’am?”
Mrs. Hughes looked up at him, still latched to Micheal. She didn’t say a word but he could tell he had his undivided attention.
”If it’s alright with you folks, I’d like to get Micheal in for questioning. We need a clear picture of what happened tonight in order to find the perpetrator, so it’s best we get things moving…”
”I understand,” Mrs. Hughes said but she didn’t seem eager to let Micheal go anytime soon. Micheal himself seemed to yearn for freedom. He just avoided being abducted and now in a sense he was being held captive by his own mother.
”Well…” Hanlon stroked his stubble awkwardly, “I suppose he can just come back with me now.”
”Alright…” Mrs. Hughes glanced down at Micheal and for a moment it seemed like she hadn’t even noticed she was holding on to him. The moment she let him loose Micheal was following Hanlon into the interrogation room.
”You can just take a seat there,” Hanlon pointed to the plastic chair on one end of the table and situated himself in the one across from it. Micheal followed directions silently. He’d been quiet since the cops arrived at Mrs. Crawford’s home. Really he’d only spoken to give them his name, age, and phone number. Hanlon shifted awkwardly in his chair, he knew that the officer wasn’t supposed to be the nervous one in an interrogation room. He’d never been the best at questioning, he’d only ever done it a half dozen times throughout his entire career as a policeman thus far. He’d never questioned a child at all.
Hanlon cleared his throat, “So do you go by Mike? Mikey?”
“My friends call me Mike…” Micheal spoke to the table. He kept shifting the ice pack on his arm. Maybe he’s feeling just as strange as I am, Hanlon thought, and he felt a little better. This was just a strange strange situation all around.
”Could I call you Mike?”
”Sure, I don’t care.”
”Would you like something to drink? We’ve got sodas.”
”No… Thank you.”
”Alright,” Hanlon leaned back in his chair, “Mike, I was wondering if you and I could talk about what happened tonight.”
Mike shrugged, “I almost got kidnapped.”
Hanlon held his hands together and rested them on the table, “Well I think we’ve covered that… I was wondering if you could give me a play by play of what happened. Starting with the moment right before you were approached, and ending with the moment you got to Mrs. Crawfords.”
”Okay…” Mike seemed deep in thought for a moment, “I was riding my bike home from my friend Chris’ house.”
“What time did you leave Chris’ house?” Hanlon asked.
Mike shrugged.
”Nevermind, maybe you’ll remember later… Go on.”
”For a while I was just riding like normal. The streets were empty and it was dark but I had a light on my bike so I could see well. And then I noticed that suddenly things got brighter and it wasn’t just my bike light, and I heard a car coming up behind me.”
”What kinda car was it?”
”It wasn’t actually a car— It was a van. But I didn’t see it at the time ‘cause I just pulled my bike onto the sidewalk so that it could pass me.”
”What color was the van?”
”It was black, it had words on the side but I don’t know what they read.”
”What kinda van was it?”
Again, Mike shrugged, “Couldn’t see that well.”
”Alright,” Hanlon pulled a small notepad from his breast pocket and pulled a pen from its spiral to note down the details. “So what happened after you pulled onto the sidewalk?”
”At first, the van passed like normal and I started riding behind it. Then suddenly it stopped in the middle of the road.”
”How’d the van stop?” Hanlon asked, “Was it gradual or fast?”
”Gradually,” Mike answered, “I thought maybe it was some kinda maintenance van because there were words on the side and it was stopping in the road. I don’t know— I just rode my bike past it.”
Hanlon glanced up from his notebook, “Did it follow you?”
Mike averted his eyes back down to the table, he shrugged.
”How were you approached?” Hanlon urged him, he could tell there was something Mike didn’t want to tell him. “Come on Mike, we need the complete truth so we can catch this guy. If not, he might try this again with some other kid.” That remark was enough to weigh on Mike’s conscience.
“He called out to me…” Mike said slowly, “The driver I mean. He rolled down his window and yelled “Hey kid!” so I stopped my bike a couple feet away to see what he wanted.”
Hanlon nodded along, “What did the driver look like?”
”He was old, he had grey hair that went down to his neck and a little bit of facial hair.”
”If you had to estimate his age, what would you say?”
Mike shrugged, “I dunno. Just old.”
“Hmph…” Hanlon wrote down “old”.
“Did he say anything else to you?”
Again Mike became quiet.
“Micheal?”
“He said…” Mike paused to lick his lips, “He asked me if I wanted to try a beer.”
A grin tugged on Hanlon’s mouth, “Well geez I’d be lured in by a cold one too.”
The small remark was enough to get Mike comfortable again, “Well y’know— I’d just never had one before so—“
”You don’t have to explain to me kid,” Hanlon shook his head, “I don’t care one bit. What happened after?”
”Well, I said yes I would. I asked him how come he was asking, and he said he’d just lucked someway or another and happened to have a whole bunch of beer. He told me couldn’t possibly drink it all by himself and was driving around trying to give it away. Well I thought it was kinda strange, and so I didn’t get too much closer to him at first— But then he began laughing, laughing a lot.”
”How come?”
”He was joking about giving me a beer. But he thought I could bring some home for my old man, ‘cause he still had an awful lot of it. That just made sense to me, that he was just pulling my leg. So I agreed. He told me he was keeping them in the back of the van, and he got out from behind the driver's seat to show me. I followed him back there and he opened the doors and well— It was dark so… so I couldn’t see anything. But I thought maybe he just needed to shine a light or he’d just pull a case out for me.”
Mike paused to lick his lips. Hanlon noted it must’ve been a nervous habit.
”And he reached in like he was gonna grab something, and then he muttered something else— I don’t know what he said, I’m not sure if I heard it right.”
”That’s alright,” Hanlon assured him.
”He pulled out a knife. But he didn’t even threaten me with it at first, he just shoved me inside and then I felt someone else pull me in further.”
Hanlon’s writing ceased, “There was another person?”
Mike nodded, “He pulled me into the back and then the old guy shut the van door. He was just holding my wrist—“
”What did he look like?” Hanlon interrupted. He hadn’t even considered the idea that there could’ve been two perpetrators. The idea scared him a little.
”He was younger than the other guy. I think maybe he was a highschooler. He was skinny and he had brown curly hair that went to his shoulders like the old guys. At first, I couldn’t see him and then he turned on a flash light, he was still holding onto my wrist. Once the lights were on I kinda realized what was happening and startled to struggle and he tried to hold me still but he wasn’t good at it. I mean like he couldn’t really hold onto me with the flashlight in his hand. So finnally I got out of his grip and pushed the door open and ran.”
”Did he chase you?”
“No…” Mike paused to adjust his ice pack, “But the old guy did. I think he was walking around the van to the driver's seat when he saw me running. He got to me quickly. He grabbed me and I fell down into the dirt beside the road. He kept trying to get a hold of me and I kept pushing him off. That’s when he sliced my arm, but I was able to kick him in the nuts and get away again. I think maybe he didn’t think he would be able to catch up so he ran back to the van and drove away… That’s when I knocked up on that lady’s door.”
Sheriff Hanlon nodded as he finished writing everything down. Mike waited for him to finish and then said, “Could I ask you something?”
Hanlon met his gaze, a little thrown off by the question, “Well sure.”
“I have a couple of questions actually.”
Hanlon placed his notebook down on the table. It was only fair that this kid got to pick his brain a little after it was the other way around, “Have you ever shot a gun?”
Hanlon chuckled, “Yeah but only at a shooting range. Not here, not in Chesterfield.”
Mike seemed mildly disappointed, “Will I get my bike back?”
”Oh sure,” Hanlon nodded, “I’ll make sure to get it back to you as soon as possible. Is that it?”
Mike shook his head, “I think— I’m not sure but I think before the old man pushed me into the back of the van he said ‘grab him Finney’.”
Finney Blake gasped for air as he pulled his head out of the warm bath water. He liked to dunk himself under every once in a while when things didn’t feel real. It brought him back to reality, this was reality. His stomach twisted in an anxiety induced kinda way. Finney blinked the water from his eyes as he scanned the bathroom. The yellow overhead light seemed fluorescent after having his eyes shut beneath the water for so long. Finney looked down at his pruney fingers and decided he’d been in the bath for long enough.
His entire body ached as he lugged himself out of the water and wrapped himself in a nearby towel. Finney walked over to the mirror with the towel around his shoulders and his air dripping rivulets down his neck. He wiped the steamed layer away to reveal a tired looking boy looking back at him with a deep red ring around his neck and a redder bruise under his eye. He wondered how it’d look in the morning.
“I’m eighteen years old,” Finney said out loud to himself but he didn’t believe it. He still felt like a child.
”and I let him get away.” Finney couldn’t believe that either even though he knew it was true. Everything that happened that night was reality, even if it felt more like a dream. Being outside of the house for the first time since he’d gone in, fumbling around with that flashlight, Albert’s rage and paranoia.
Finney wandered out of the bathroom and into the hallway. He could hear the static of the television that had long since signed off by now. Down the hall Finney could make out Albert’s silhouette still sitting on the couch, he must’ve been asleep. It was late. Finney continued his way into the bedroom to change into a T-shirt and some boxers, he dried his hair off with the towel, folded it neatly the way Al liked and placed it on the dresser. He walked down the dark hallway into the TV room. The only light came from the static screen. Al was asleep, head lulled to the side and mouth open. He was surrounded by empty beer bottles and an even emptier glass of whiskey. Albert wasn’t usually one to drink in such a way but tonight he made an exception and Finney couldn’t blame him.
Finney collected the bottles and an empty tray of TV dinner, all of which he discarded in the kitchen trashcan. He came back into the TV room and turned off the static. The room fell silent and dark. Finney unfolded the knitted blanket that laid on the arm of the couch and tossed it over Al’s sleeping frame and then pressed himself against the man and pulled the rest over himself.
Finney let himself relax into the cushions and against Al as he shut his eyes. It was the most peace that night had seen— Getting home after the kid got away felt like a fever dream for Finney. Al was angry, rightfully so.
They were in trouble.
“I’m sorry Al!” Finney had pleaded the moment they were back inside. Albert had just laughed, not in a genuine way but the way one did when one was so angry they looped around to joy.
“Oh, you don’t need to apologize to me!” Albert said between teeth, pushing Finney backwards. It didn’t happen often that Albert would hurt Finney, not anymore— But if anything that only made it more scary when Finney did push Al to the brink.
Big hands gripped Finney’s neck tightly as Al held him against the kitchen wall, “Do you know what happens if I go to prison?”
Tears stung Finney’s eyes, “I’m sorry Al— I don’t want you to leave me. It was an accident, I’m sorry!”
Albert scoffed, “I’m old Finney, I’ll die there. But that will be mercy, I won’t have to live in that shit hole. Hell, maybe I’ll just try for the death penalty! That’ll make it quick!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Finney found himself struggling to get the words out as Al squeezed tighter.
“But…” Suddenly Albert let go and Finney gasped for air, “When you go to prison Finney, you’ll be alive and well for a longgg time.”
Al began to pace the kitchen floor and Finney couldn’t bring himself to move an inch. He was petrified of Albert, losing Albert, prison. Everything at once. He wished he’d just held onto that kid tighter, been less scatter brained about the whole thing.
“You know how they treat boys like you in prison?” Again Albert laughed that joyless laugh, “Not with the same love I treat you with— That’s for sure.”
Finney’s lip quivered, “We— We shouldn’t have tried to get that boy—“ He hadn’t wanted to in the first place, he just couldn’t bring himself to say no to Al.
Albert ceased his pacing and turned to look at Finney, his expression unreadable. He crossed the kitchen to stand in front of the boy, towering over him. Finney always felt small around Albert, in every sense of the word. But this was his least favorite type of feeling small.
“You…” Albert said, seething, “Shouldn’t have let him go!” He planted a firm punch to Finney’s face. The impact was so hard it caused Finney to smack the back of his head on the wall behind him. The boy squeaked and sank down to the floor. He clumsily rubbed his wet eyes with the meat of his palms. Albert just stared down at him, like a parent waiting for their child to calm down from a tantrum.
Finally Al sighed, “I need a drink.”
Finney wanted to do anything to make Albert happy with him again, but he couldn’t. His body wouldn’t move— He couldn’t get a drink for Albert. All he could do was cry and shake until he tired himself out, and that’s what he did.
Albert collected bottles from the fridge and went off to watch TV, and Finney sat up against the kitchen wall for hours.
And then finally, he lugged himself up to take a bath.
Chapter Text
Finney Blake was a creature of habit. It was very easy to be when your entire world was contained in one house, in the same four rooms.
When Finney awoke next to Al on the couch, he did exactly what he did every other morning for years— First, he went pee. Then he started up the coffee machine and switched on the burner. He used the same pan he did every morning to cook the same breakfast he did every morning— Two sunny side up eggs over easy with salt and pepper, and a cup of joe with a little creamer: Albert’s favorite breakfast. The only addition to the meal this morning was the two Aspirins Finney placed on the edge of the plate to aid Al’s impending hangover.
For himself, he filled a bowl with milk and Special K and carried everything into the living room. Finney placed Albert’s breakfast on the TV tray beside where the man sat, and switched on the television to catch the early morning cartoons. Every morning, Finney parked himself in front of the TV to watch cartoons and eat cereal; that’s just what he did. It was during the end credits of He-Man that Albert finally woke up. Finney heard him before he saw him.
There was a grunt, and then, “Finney…”
Finney let out a small sigh of relief when he heard Albert’s tone— It was affectionate. Finney was worried Albert would still be mad and grumpy from his hangover. The sound of a fork against a plate rang in Finney’s ears as he put his cereal bowl down and looked over his shoulder. Al was eating his breakfast, the breakfast Finney made him. Perhaps this meant he wasn’t angry anymore ,and everything could go back to normal. Finney crawled across the carpet and sat between Al’s knees, resting one cheek on the man’s leg. He knew Al liked it when he did that.
“I put some pills on the plate,” Finney said, “in case your head hurt.”
“I saw,” Al grinned and plucked them off the ledge. He shook the pills in his palm like dice before tossing them down the hatch and washing them down with coffee. “Good boy.” Finney pressed his face closer to the man’s knee at the praise.
Al reached out and traced the dark purple circle underneath Finney’s eye. He said nothing, just shoved more eggs into his mouth.
Finney frowned, “Are you still mad?” Albert took in a deep inhale, and for a moment, Finney was worried he’d angered him.
“No,” Albert said, finally short and sweet. “Well— I guess I’ve had it coming. My luck had to run out eventually.”
“You think the police will come?” Finney asked, his heart began to race at the thought.
“Maybe,” Al shrugged and turned his attention to the wall. There was a long drag of silence before he looked back down at Finney. “If they do, do you know what to say?”
Finney stared up at him wide-eyed and shook his head.
“You tell them…” Albert said slowly, “That you won’t say anything without a lawyer.”
Finney nodded, “Then what? When they get me a lawyer I mean…”
“You tell them you ran away from home, and you met me when you turned eighteen.”
“What do I say about the…” Finney couldn’t really bring himself to say it, “…about last night.”
Another deep inhale and then Albert simply said, “I don’t know.”
“So…” Al continued, “I guess now all we can do is wait— And live like it’s our last day on earth, because it might as well be.” He reached down to run his fingers through Finney’s curls. “Why don’t we go to the bedroom, hm?”
There wasn’t a single resident of Chesterfield that hadn’t known about the accident last night by the time morning rolled around. Between town gossip and posters it was harder to not know of the botched kidnapping that happened the night prior. Posters with the perpetrators description were already hung on every telephone poll and community board in the area and two towns out. There was even talk around the station of having a forensic artist come in to sketch an example. Deputy Hanlon went to sleep late that night… or was it technically morning since the chaos crept into the next day? Time had gotten a little funky since he’d got home from the station. He didn’t have much time off, just enough to get in a Power Nap so he wasn’t nodding off during the investigation. He set an alarm for three hours, and when time was up he was off to the races. He showered, shaved, got himself in uniform and awaited the station’s commotion.
The station was just as he’d left it hours ago. With people bustling around, answering calls of people who swore they had some kinda lead. Hanlon could tell by the atmosphere in that room that nothing of interest had been discovered in the time he was away. It seemed like the exact opposite had happened, nothing had changed.
We have a good description, Hanlon reminded himself. There had been little evidence at the scene to go off of, so that’s what they were relying on. A description of two men, or perhaps a man and a boy, and a black van with text on the side. It wasn’t much but it was something. This whole situation made Hanlon feel tingly, with both dread and excitement. He’d always led quite a burning life, nothing substantial really happened to him. He was simply a young bachelor living alone in a small town after climbing the ranks to Sheriff only because there was really no one else to beat— But now, he was cracking the case of a potential kidnapper! No, not a kidnapper… Kidnappers!
”Gee…” Hanlon shook his head as he walked over to his desk and a small grin ghosted on his face. I outta call my mother and tell her, he thought.
”Welcome back Sheriff!” The station receptionist Mary greeted him between phone calls. She’d just hung up on what sounded like a concerned parent, based on her side of the conversation.
“Are the phones busy?” Hanlon asked, but he could tell they were because just as he asked Mary’s phone began to ring.
She picked it up and gave him a sheepish smile and nodded followed by, “Oh hello ma’am… Yes it’s true but— No, ma’am. We’re working on it—”
Hanlon decided he’d better leave Mary to it and so he migrated over to where Deputy Lower was frantically flipping through yearbooks. They’d gotten the books just before Hanlon had left. Yearbooks collected from all the surrounding high schools from the last four years. The hope was to find some kids that matched Mike’s description, and then have the kid look through them to see if he recognized one. Deputy Lower was doing just that, and he seemed to have been doing so for a while. Beside him was a fat stack of scanned pages with each matching description’s photo circled in red marker. To nobody's surprise, there was no lack of brown haired caucasian boys in the area. Hanlon himself could’ve fit that description about ten years ago.
Lower just shook his head as he scanned another page and circled a few faces on it, “This just seems hopeless.”
“It’ll be well worth it if Micheal recognizes one of those kids,” Hanlon patted his co-workers shoulder. Secretly he was glad he wasn’t the one who had to do the mundane task.
”Why can’t we just bring the kid back down here?” Lower stared up at his boss through wire framed glasses.
“His mother doesn’t want him down here unless it's absolutely necessary. She claims she doesn’t wanna traumatize him anymore.”
Lower groaned and shook his head as he flipped the next page in the yearbook, “Identifying the culprit seems necessary to me!”
To this Hanlon could only shrug, he’d tried getting the Hughes’ back after they’d left originally— But Mrs. Hughes made it clear Micheal wouldn’t show face until there were physical suspects in the station. She had, however, agreed to get Mike to flip through the scanned yearbook pages once they were well and ready. It was a compromise Hanlon didn’t argue with.
He opened his mouth to spew some words of encouragement but was promptly cut off by the station door swinging open. In walked Ms. Loreen Johnson, head of the Chesterfield PTA and the HOA leader of her neighborhood. Her dirty blonde hair was perfectly crimped, and big hoop earrings hung from her lobes. But her trademark was the massive purse she always carried around with her. The guys at the station liked to joke that was where she kept all her complaints. Sheriff Hanlon knew him quite well as she took it upon herself to complain to the station numerous times about plenty of mundane things. Dogs barking too loud, kids loitering and such.
”Oh boy…” Lower muttered and ducked his head down. Hanlon was actually happy for a little bit of normalcy.
”Miss. Johnson…” Hanlon greeted her with his hands in his pockets.
”I thought I told you to call me Loreen!” Oftentimes that sorta remark was a friendly gesture. A way to say, “Come on we’re pals! No need for formality!” When it came out of Loreen’s rogued lips, it was more of a scolding.
”I don’t like it when people call me Miss!” Loreen rolled her tongue around the word like it made a bad taste in her mouth, “It makes me feel old.”
Hanlon just hammed up the charm, “Sorry— Loreen. I just try to be polite to the young ladies who come into the station.”
That remark pulled a small smirk onto Loreen’s face, “Well— I’ve come here about those posters you’ve been hanging up.”
Lower perked up, his eyebrows raised. Hanlon reminded himself not to get too excited about a possible lead, not when it was coming from Loreen Johnson. “Oh really?”
”Yes!” Loreen dropped her purse on a nearby desk with a thud, “God, it’s all I can think about ever since I heard about it! A mother's worst nightmare, all the moms agree! I just got back from my spin class, and it was all we could talk about! The horror of having our babies swooped up by some creep! I feel so sorry for Alana Hughes… I mean, we were never friends because she was much too wishy washy for my liking… But I wouldn’t wish that experience on my worst enemy! Or… At least I wouldn’t wish it on a distant acquaintance like her.”
Hanlon nodded along. That was another thing about Loreen Johnson. She loved to talk.
“So…” He said slowly, “Why’d you come down here today?” He resisted the urge to say ma’am, not wanting to send Loreen into another frenzy.
”I know who did it!” Loreen exclaimed, and just about every head in the office shot up.
”Now… Miss— Loreen…” Hanlon too was surprised by such a claim.
”Albert Shaw!” She got right to business, “It’s that creep Albert Shaw, I know it is! He fits the description, he has that hideous black van I’ve been trying to get him to hide away in his garage for years!”
Suddenly, things were moving too fast for Hanlon as he fumbled for a pen and paper, “Excuse me, Loreen… One moment…” He felt up his breast pocket and found he had forgotten his notebook at home.
Loreen paid him no mind. “I always knew there was something off about that man! Ever since he moved here, he’s been a pain in the HOA’s side. His yard is a mess, he’s dug up the dirt out back!”
”Loreen, a moment for me to write this all down if you’d please…” Hanlon pleaded. Lower frantically pulled a sheet of printer paper from his desk drawer and a pencil from his mug. He handed them over to Hanlon, who nodded a silent thank you.
”Albert Shaw?” Hanlon asked for clarification. Loreen crossed her arms and scowled.
”Yes, Albert Shaw! 68 Cetarlane Drive!”
Hanlon nodded and scribbled the information drive, “You said he has a black van?”
”A big black van with text on the side! Just like those posters say!”
”And he matches the physical description, too?”
Loreen leaned in close, “To. A. T.”
”Okay…” Hanlon said breathlessly, “Okay. This is good, thank you…”
”Does he live with anyone else?” Lower piped up, “Like, does he have a son or nephew in the house maybe? Someone who matches the other perpetrators' suspicion.”
Loreen shrugged, “I don’t know. He lives in a one bedroom but… Well, the house has a finished basement, so maybe he could host family members. I’d be surprised if he did, though. He’s a recluse; he never attends HOA meetings, and all his curtains are always drawn. I only ever see him leaving and coming back from work. He used to have a dog that would bark its head off every night, but other than that, he’s the only sign of life around that house. If you can even count what he does as a life.”
Hanlon jotted all this down, “You said he had a van with text on the side. What does it say?”
“Abracadbra Entertainment & Supplies. It must be some failed business venture because he works at the hardware store on Main Street.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a photo, would you?” Lower asked.
Loreen scoffed, “I’ve only ever seen him enough to know he matches the description. Of course, I don’t have a photo!” Lower raised his hands up in surrender.
“That’s fine…” Hanlon assured her, “This is good— All very good. Is there anything else?”
“Just that I knew he was a dirty creep all along! I knew someone who couldn’t even comply with the HOA couldn’t comply with the law!”
Lower stifled a laugh, ducking his head down and covering his mouth. Hanlon folded his paper in half.
“Well, thank you, Loreen,” he said with a charming smile, “This was very helpful. We’ll see to it Mr. Shaw is investigated right away.”
“Good!” Loreen spat, and he lugged up her massive purse and swung it over her shoulder, “I won’t stand for perverts in this town!” And with that, she spun on her heel and marched outside.
Lower shook his head with a grin, “Loreen Johnson…”
“Well, I guess we should get going,” Hanlon folded the paper into a tiny square and tucked it away in his breast pocket. The page added a familiar weight and gave Hanlon a boost of confidence. This was a good lead, a great lead even.
“Now?” Lower asked, his brows escaping the frames of his glasses for a moment.
“Of course, now! We don’t have anything better to do. We’ll get to Shaw’s place, and if he’s home we’ll take him in for questioning and have Michael come down to identify him. If what Miss. Johnson says is true, and by god let’s pray it was, we’ve got reasonable suspicion to make an arrest today. We can at least detain him long enough for the kid to give his final say.”
“Okay…” Lower muttered, but he still seemed shocked. He, too, didn’t have much experience with these sorts of things, even less so than Hanlon. “Okay, let’s go!”
Hanlon clapped him on the shoulder, “That’s the spirit!”
Albert Shaw’s house stuck out like a sore thumb, a really sore thumb. Hanlon knew Loreen could be a stickler for the rules, so much so that she pushed the boundaries of what actually constituted breaking them. But this house, well, maybe the HOA did have a point. It was hideous. The paint was chipping, and the grass was tall and yellow. If it weren’t for the big black van sitting in the driveway, Hanlon would’ve thought it was abandoned.
“This is it…” he whispered, pulling into the shoulder. He put the police cruiser in park, and for a moment, he and Lower sat together in silence. They could’ve been sitting there forever if Hanlon hadn’t bit the bullet and undid his seatbelt before he could regret it. Lower followed suit.
“Should we bring our guns?” He asked.
Hanlon considered it, “I guess so. Just don’t go waving it around or anything. We can’t forget that this guy might be innocent; we have to treat him like he is.”
Lower nodded, his eyes wide and receptive. They both got out of the car slowly and carefully, prolonging the inevitable. Arresting what was either an innocent man or a child kidnapper. Hanlon could hear his heart beating in his ears, Lower’s too.
He weaved through the tall gold grass and up the stoop to Mr. Shaw’s front door. He glanced over his shoulder to where Lower stood on the next step down, and then he wrapped his knuckles against the door.
They waited outside long enough that Hanlon lifted his hand to knock again, and that was when the door opened. Loreen was right, Albert Shaw did fit Mike’s description to a T. He didn’t have an unfriendly face like Hanlon had imagined. He wasn’t nearly as old either, maybe in his fifties. Michael’s youth had confused the way he perceived the man, maybe, or it could’ve been that this wasn’t the right guy at all.
“What seems to be the problem, officers?” Albert stood with his hand still on the door handle. His grin was a borderline smirk.
“Are you Albert Shaw?” Hanlon asked, his fingers dusted over the handcuffs that hung from his belt.
Albert tilted his head slowly, and his grin only grew wider. This guy is creeping me out, Hanlon thought suddenly. But he couldn’t tell if it was purely the man’s body language or the context of the situation.
Hanlon swallowed hard, “I’m Sheriff Hanlon with the Chesterfield Police Department. We’ve come to detain you due to reasonable suspicion that you were involved in an attempted kidnapping last night.”
Hanlon expected some kind of pushback or questioning from the man. But Albert’s expression didn’t falter; he wasn’t surprised or floored. Instead, he slowly lifted his wrists midway into the air, ready to be cuffed.
Albert looked right into Hanlon’s eyes, “Take me away then.” And Hanlon did, he snapped those cuffs on as fast as he could. Part of him was worried Shaw would change his mind.
“Is there anyone else in the home?” Lower asked, his voice wavered a little.
“Why don’t you take a look?” Albert grinned wider.
It was so strange how, even though Shaw was in cuffs, Hanlon felt like he had the upper hand in some way. The fact that he couldn’t determine why made him a little crazy. It scared the ever-loving shit out of him.
“Read him his rights and put him in the back of the cruiser,” Hanlon directed Lower, who looked awfully sore he was gonna have to be alone with Shaw. Hanlon felt a little guilty for subjecting him to it, but it was overshadowed by the relief it wasn’t him.
“I’m gonna go search the house, just to see if anyone else is inside. I’ll radio you if I find anything.”
The inside of Shaw’s home was dark. All the lights were off, and the curtains were drawn shut. It wasn’t pitch black by any means, but it was dark enough that Hanlon switched on the small flashlight he carried on his belt. The house wasn’t too big, just a quaint one bedroom like Loreen had described. Hanlon made his way through the kitchens and then the TV room. There was a door in the TV room, in the corner to the left of the entertainment system. Hanlon wandered over to it, he placed his hand on the doorknob and twisted it painfully slow. The door opened towards him and he was greeted by a wooden staircase, leading below into the darkness. That’s right, Loreen had mentioned a basement. Surely if there was some creepy child kidnapper, he’d want to keep his creepy child kidnapper stuff down below… Whatever that may be. Hanlon took in a deep breath and started down the stairs, his heart pounding.
“It’s just a basement,” he assured himself. Mostly, he just wanted to hear himself speak. “You’re not eight, you can walk down into a dark basement like a big boy.”
Unlike the rest of the house, the basement was pitch black. Hanlon shone his light around the space to find it was merely an empty room with the exception of a few things: a brand new mattress wrapped in plastic, a metal bucket that also looked to be new or unused, and a small cardboard box. Hanlon shone a light into the box and found it to be filled with toys, all scuffed with use. Star Wars figurines and model spaceships. Hanlon reached down and picked up a little plastic Han Solo with a fond smile; the box reminded him of his own childhood toys. Nostalgia was only a temporary break from the dread Hanlon felt as he tossed Han Solo back into the box.
Albert Shaw was too old for these to be his childhood toys. The idea hit him quickly; the first Star Wars film came out when Hanlon was twenty. The toys in the box weren’t even old enough to have belonged to him. Yet someone had played with them, and now they were in Shaw’s basement. Hanlon decided to go back upstairs; he could dwell on that box of toys forever, but it simply wasn’t good for him.
There was a short hallway attached to the TV room with two doors to the right and left. The right one was closed, and Hanlon’s first instinct was to check in there. But when he glanced at the door to the left, he saw it was slightly ajar. Not in an unnatural way, just the kind of position a door finds itself in when people are actually using it. Closed, only a quarter of the way, like someone hadn’t committed to slamming it shut.
Hanlon moved forever, pushing the door open slowly with his palm. It was a bedroom. There was a queen sized bed pushed up against the wall, and somebody was sleeping in it. Hanlon couldn’t see their face; only a little bit of brown hair could be seen from beneath the blanket. Hanlon moved slowly, creeping around the bed to where the person lay. At first, he could only see their eyes; the rest of their face was covered by a blanket. He reached out to slowly pull the fabric down, revealing the face of a teenage boy. Hanlon’s breath hitched; he matched Mike’s description just as well as Shaw had.
“Excuse me…” Hanlon said quietly at first. The kid didn’t stir and so Hanlon gave him a small nudge on the shoulder, “Hey!”
The boy’s eyes— one notably bruised— shot open and he snapped up from the bed. The blanket fell down his shoulders and pooled into his lap. That’s when Hanlon realized he was naked. Two sets of wide eyes stared at the other. The boy’s shoulders rose and fell as his breathing became uneven and panicked.
“I…” Hanlon was nearly speechless, “I’m gonna have to detain you due to reasonable suspicion that you were involved in an attempted kidnapping last night.”
The boy said nothing but Hanlon could tell he was in shock.
“But uh…” Hanlon averted his gaze up to the ceiling, “I’m gonna let you get dressed before we go, okay?”
The boy nodded slowly, his expression unchanging.
“I’ll turn my back just ah— Just tap me on the shoulder when you’re ready.” And so Hanlon made himself comfortable in the doorway with his back to the bedroom as the kid shuffled around. He heard the dresser drawer open and close, and then a minute later there was a tap on his shoulder.”
Hanlon turned around, the kid was dressed in a pair of blue plaid pajama pants with the drawstring pulled tight and a cream sweater that seemed a little big for him.
It was hard to determine his age. He definitely could’ve been in Highschool, but something about him made Hanlon consider he might be younger too. Maybe he was just a little scrawny.
“Shoes?” Hanlon asked him. The boy only had a pair of socks on his feet.
The kid shook his head.
“Don’t you have shoes? You’re gonna need shoes.”
The kid shook his head again.
“Well… I’m gonna cuff you, okay?” Hanlon reached to his belt only to remember he’d used his cuffs on Shaw. He reached for his walkie instead, and held down the button.
“Lower, there’s a boy in here, matches the description of the other perpetrator. I’m gonna need you to bring your handcuffs in here, I’m in the bedroom.”
“Copy that,” Lower replied on the other end.
“Now we wait…” Hanlon muttered to himself as he hooked his walkie back onto his belt. His gaze finally met the boy’s once more, “What’s your name?”
Suddenly, the boy’s face turned painfully serious, “I won’t say anything without a lawyer.”
Hanlon was surprised, “Okay, okay kid. That’s your right.”
Chapter Text
Finney wanted two things above all else: to go home and to be with Albert.
He hadn’t stopped shaking since he first arrived at the police station. Partly because the air was too cold, and partly because he was scared out of his mind. Everything was an assault on his senses; the lights were too bright and the air conditioner was too noisy, the camera that snapped his mugshot made him see a bunch of blotchy colors afterward. And all the people— There were too many people. Inside and outside, all talking and moving and staring.
Finney anxiously rubbed his finger against the smooth surface of the interrogation room table. He’d been sitting there for what felt like hours, handcuffed to a metal bar that was screwed onto the surface. He’d gone through cycles of crying, lying his head on the table, and staring at the wall as he contemplated the current situation.
“You know how they treat boys like you in prison? Not with the same love I treat you with— That’s for sure.”
Finney jumped when the door opened.
Sheriff Hanlon came in slowly. He didn’t look at Finney at first— He just strolled in and sat down in the chair across the table from where Finney had been seated. He pulled a small notepad from his uniform pocket, inspected it, and then placed it down on the table.
Finally, he met Finney’s gaze, “Now, kid, I know you’ve been in here for quite a while. Do you want anything to drink or eat before we begin?”
Finney stared at him, dumbfounded, a stray tear sliding down his cheek. His lips parted and slowly he shook his head.
Hanlon cleared his throat, “All right then, you let me know if you change your mind. Now I’m just gonna let you know what’s been happening since we put you in here, okay? This isn’t an interrogation; if anything, you can ask me questions.” Hanlon waited for some sort of response, but when he got none, he just turned his attention to his notebook.
“I’m sure nothing I’m about to say is a surprise to you, but… Well, we just got eyewitness identification from Michael Hughes identifying both you and Mr. Shaw. So we’re formally moving forward with a charge of attempted kidnapping for both of you. Okay?”
Finney squeezed his eyes tightly shut.
“I understand that you requested a public defender. I have to admit, I have a feeling that line was fed to you by someone— But it’s your legal right, so you can move on with the process of requesting a lawyer. Mind you, this will take up your one phone call, so if there’s anyone else you might want to talk to—“
“I want to talk to Al,” Finney said suddenly.
Hanlon was a little taken aback. “I’m sorry, but you cannot talk to Mr. Shaw. It’s called preventing collisions; we can’t allow you guys to agree on a false narrative for questioning.”
Finney’s gaze dropped to his cuffed wrists, his lips quivered, “okay…”
“Now, if you want to officially request a public defender now, we—“ There was a sudden knock at the door, intense and frantic. Both Finney and Hanlon turned their attention to the door. Hanlon stood from his seat.
“Sheriff?” It was Lower behind the door, “I think you should come see this…”
Hanlon turned back to Finney momentarily, “One moment…” He pushed his chair back to clear the way and strided out of the interrogation room to meet Lower outside.
“What is it?” Hanlon asked as he trailed Lower towards the latter’s desk.
“I was looking into Shaw a little bit. Loreen mentioned he moved here, so I thought I should see where from. He used to live in Denver, Colorado, in a small town called Galesburg. That’s where his vehicle was originally registered.”
Hanlon nodded, but he wasn’t quite following, “Okay?”
“So— Well, I got looking into some of their records, Galesburg’s, I mean,” Lower stopped in front of his desk. He picked something Hanlon couldn’t quite see off his desk.
“I want to know what you think.” Lower handed the paper over to Hanlon. It was a photocopy of the cover of some newspaper. The title read “Galesburg Grabber Takes Another!” Hanlon's eyes widened when he saw the photo that accompanied the story.
“I think…” Hanlon said slowly, eyes glued to the page. “I think the kid on his paper is sitting in our interrogation room right fucking now.”
Lower nodded eagerly and scrambled for more papers off his desk. He fed them to Hanlon one by one, each a different kid missing from the same suburban town in Colorado. The last one came before the media had even given The Grabber his name.
“I don’t think this was a first time thing,” Lower said, his voice hushed and quick. “I think this was just the first time he got caught.”
Hanlon rubbed the bottom of his face, staring at the picture of Finney Blake. This changed things, changed a lot of things.
“We’re gonna have to call the FBI,” Hanlon stated, “The crime has crossed state lines and these other boys… They might be dead. We’re looking at a serial child murderer if that’s the case.”
“Oh my god…” Lower took off his glasses so that he could rub his eyes.
“On the bright side…” Hanlon placed the stack of papers back down onto the desk, taking care to straighten them out, “That boy is going to have no trouble finding a lawyer once the media hears about this case.”
Hanlon was naive to think last night was any sort of crazy compared to what he was experiencing now. At first, the FBI only sent one agent down around noon. Then that one agent multiplied into a few more. Once the government vehicles began to pile up outside, citizens began to notice, and when they noticed, they gossiped— Then the media caught wind of the whole situation and began to swarm outside of the station. This only led to more FBI agents arriving to fend them off. The station’s usual population had nearly quadrupled in size, and that was before the lawyers showed up. And believe you, they did. Hanlon was right; the moment the case went public, hundreds of lawyers were scrambling to put their names on it. Two did: To represent Shaw, Marcus Markey, a criminal defense attorney known for picking hard cases. And for Finney Blake, Shelly Dambridge, a Brooklyn lawyer with a heavier accent and heavier attitude. They were both working pro bono; the true allure for them was the clout that much was clear.
I should really call my mom, Hanlon thought as he shook the hands of the two new arrivals, if I ever get the chance to. He really was living in some kind of movie, where a small town cop is rocked by what may be the nation's biggest current case.
Hanlon showed Ms. Dambridge to the interrogation room where Finney Blake was sitting as one of the FBI’s men took Markey to Shaw. He hadn’t been in since reporting the charges to the boy. He couldn’t question him without a lawyer present, and yet that was all he wanted to do— So he steered clear, sending Mary in to deliver snacks and water periodically. He undoubtedly had more sympathy for Finney, even before Lower had discovered the newspaper. It was hard to see the face of a criminal in Finney’s brown doe eyes and small frame, difficult to look past the dark bruise under his eye and red circle around his neck. If anything, Lower's discovery only validated Hanlon’s feelings on the kid.
Dambridge strided into the room the moment Hanlon opened the door. She had a sort of confidence to her, with sleek heels and big shoulder pads; a large leather bag hung from her shoulder. She could’ve been a savvier, smarter version of Loreen Johnson, Hanlon thought. She was a woman who meant business, no doubt about it.
“Good evening, Mr. Blake,” Dambridge’s hand darted out for a shake; her long ruby nails were claws ready to dig into her opponent. Finney hesitantly shook her hand with the one not cuffed to the bar. Dambridge glanced over her shoulder with fiery eyes, “Sheriff, I’d like to speak with my client privately before questioning. If you don’t mind.” Hanlon didn’t mind, and he knew Dambridge did, so he scurried out without another word. Dambridge was pleased, and she began to unpack her bag.
“I’ve got some good news for you tonight Mr. Blake, so try not to look so downtrodden, hm?” Finney’s expression didn’t change.
Dambridge situated a big binder in front of her and licked a finger before she began flipping pages, “If everything works out the way I know it will, we'll have you on your way home to Colorado to await your trial. And once that trial arrives, you’ll be a free man. How does that sound?”
“I won’t go to jail?” Finney asked, his voice hushed and quiet.
“Not if I can help it now,” Dambridge found the page she was looking for and lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose. “You just have to work with me, okay? Work with me and we’ll win this case together.” She reached into her big bag again and took out a notebook and a pen. She clicked the pen open ceremoniously and hovered it over the page.
“You just gotta fill me in on a few blank spots.”
“You’re gonna ask me questions?” Finney stared down at the table.
“Yes, but it’s not like an interrogation. You’re gonna tell me what happened so I can help you prove your innocence, not so I can incriminate you. We just need to prove to the jury that Albert Shaw forced you to assist in the kidnapping of the Hughes boy, easy peasy.”
“I met Albert when I was eighteen…” Finney mumbled at the table.
Dambridge scrunched her eyebrows together, “Excuse me?”
Finney looked up at her and spoke louder, “I ran away from home, and I met Al when I was eighteen.”
The grin on Dambridge's face slowly melted away, and she became more serious, “Now Finney… I didn’t ask you that, and I can’t help you if you lie to me before I even ask you any real questions.”
“I’m not lying,” Finney asserted, but his mouth began to quiver.
“There’s evidence you were abducted. Are you saying that everything the police discovered is false?”
Finney stared down at the table again, “Al isn’t a bad guy.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You think he kidnapped me.”
“Did he?”
Finney paused, and he began to rub his index finger against the table again.
“Okay, let me ask you this,” Dambridge leaned closer, “what kind of relationship do you think you have with Mr. Shaw?”
Finney said nothing, his lips pressed together in a firm line as he avoided eye contact.
“Okay, how about this,” Dambridge scribbled something down in her notebook, “I’ll describe a relationship status and you tell me if you think it applies to the way you feel about Mr. Shaw.”
She didn't wait for a response, “Father?”
Finney nodded, tracing circles into the table,
“Okay… Friend?”
“Yeah.”
“Mm-hmm… Romantic?”
Finney finally lifted his head, he stared at Dambridge for a while and then slowly he nodded yes.
“Alright.” Dambridge wrote down the words, dotting the eyes with great force. She looked at Finney in a challenging kinda way, and then she said, “I’m gonna ask you one more question, and you need to tell me the truth or I won’t be able to help you.”
“Okay,” Finney croaked.
“Did you ever have sexual relations with Albert Shaw?”
Finney took in a deep breath, he averted his gaze to the wall for a moment and then back to Dambridge.
“Yes…” He whispered.
“That’s all I needed to know,” Dambridge flipped her notebook and binder shut and stood up as she shoved them in her bag.
On her way out the door, she said, “I’m requesting a mental health evaluation,” though it was unclear whether she was speaking to Finney or Hanlon, who was waiting outside. “And he’s going back to his family in Colorado for the time being.”
Chapter 4
Notes:
Thanks for any comments and kudos! Obliviously this fic is canon divergence but I have seen The Black Phone 2 and I will be borrowing certain aspects from it. No spoilers yet though!
Chapter Text
Gwen could hardly believe the news that Finney was found.
She was having such a boring mundane day that such news was a complete shock to her senses, like jumping into a cold pool. Except Gwen was overjoyed by that chilly water, she’d been waiting for it.
She’d been sitting in World History when the intercom went off: Gwendolyn Blake please report to the main office, thank you. For a moment she was the center of the class's attention as she walked down the row of desks out the classroom door.
She wasn’t expecting her dad to be waiting for her in the office. Terrence Blake had righted himself after Finney’s disappearance. He stopped drinking; four and a half years completely sober. He took his GED and went into training to be a Pharmacy technician and later secured a job at the local pharmacy. With that extra income, he surprised Gwen with a car for her sixteenth birthday. Even his physical look changed, he shaved the beard off entirely and tamed his mullet. Gwen loved her dad, she was sure of that now, even if maybe she hadn’t loved the man he was before.
“Gwenny!” The smile on Terrence’s face was almost childlike, “Gwen I’m sorry to interrupt your class but— I got the call and I had to come and tell you—“
“What?” Gwen asked, “What is it?”
“They found Finney!” Terence exclaimed, “They found him alive!”
It was the cold water Gwen had been waiting for, splashing onto her face and waking her up from the bore of History. She constantly cycled through hope her brother was alive, and acceptance he was dead. Sometimes she’d wish that if he was dead, that they would just find his naked body in a ditch somewhere. At the very least that would be closure, they could give him a proper burial and Gwen wouldn’t have to spend the rest of her life wondering. But now, she could finally stop wondering and Finney’s corpse didn’t need to be found anywhere because he wasn’t dead at all. Gwen buried her face into her fathers chest, her eyes stung with tears of pure joy.
“Where?” She asked, it came out like a sob but she didn’t even care. “Where is he?”
“Pennsylvania,” Terrence said, “Finney’s in Pennsylvania.” God, Gwen thought, it’s just a miracle Finney is anywhere but in the ground.
They stood like that for a moment longer, father and daughter in a tight embrace. Then, Terrence turned to the receptionist, “I’d like to take Gwen out of class for the rest of the day, if that’s alright.” The receptionist was clearly moved and quickly agreed, handing Terrence a permission slip and calling down for someone to bring Gwen’s stuff from the classroom.
The atmosphere changed once they got in the car. At first neither of them said anything, Gwen was still just taking it in. She was going to see Finney again, after five years of assuming he was dead.
“Is he coming back to Colorado?” Gwen asked.
“Yes… His lawyer called me about it.” Terrence put his hands on the wheel but he didn’t start the car.
“I didn’t want to say it in front of the secretary but he's facing an attempted kidnapping charge.” Terrence twisted the key in the ignition, Gwen leaned forward in her seat.
“Attempted kidnapping?” Her jaw went slack, “But— He was kidnapped, I don’t understand—”
“He was an accomplice in a crime trying to abduct a ten year old boy. It was him and another man that the police detained and then the kid identified both of them. They think the older man is—“
“The grabber,” Gwen finished for him. “That fucking piece of shit!”
“He’s a suspect, yes.”
“So who is he? Who’s the Grabber's real name?”
“They couldn’t tell me… Supposedly Finney was living with him but, well they haven’t been able to properly question Finney yet. It’s possible he escaped from the grabber and was displaced, they have no idea. His lawyer thinks he has a good case to prove he’s innocent; she wants him to have a mental evaluation before he’s questioned. She’s worried he might incriminate himself if he’s questioned now. Said she’s gonna find us a good shrink in the area to take him to in the meantime.”
“So when will he be here?” Gwen stared down at her lap. Finney being found safe and sound was too good to be true after all, there was a catch.
“I don’t know yet, soon I think. She said they’d call when they had an update. I think they’re just working out transportation. He’ll be on probation while he’s here too. They just think it’s better he stays with us for comfort. They don’t want to detain him after he’s been captive for so long.”
“Okay…” Gwen said slowly, “So what now?”
“We just have to prepare. I guess we should straighten up his room, everything is probably covered in dust. I was thinking maybe we could go out to dinner as a family when he comes back. But I don’t know, I’m worried about the press,” Terrence flicked on his turn signal.
Gwen rolled her eyes, “Assholes.” Reporters had flooded their yard a week after Finney first disappeared. Eventually they got bored and the case went cold so slowly they disappeared. They wouldn’t be able to resist this Gwen knew.
“We’ve been through it once, we can deal with it again,” Terrence sighed. Gwen nodded, her face tense at the thought. The majority of the car ride home after that was quiet. They’d just turned down their street when Gwen looked at her father.
“Dad, do you… think he’ll be the same?”
Terrence shrugged, “I don’t know.”
Finney was different, but when he was escorted up the sidewalk to the Blake household by two agents Gwen couldn’t yet tell. She stared at him through the living room window, kneeling backwards on the couch.
He was taller maybe, still skinny. His hair was a little longer than it had been, he had on new clothes. But other than that, he was nearly the Finney she’d last seen. When they were close enough to the front door Gwen slid off the couch and bounded to the front door where her father was already waiting. He opened the door before the agents even knocked.
“Finney!” Gwen was on her brother in a second, throwing her arms around him. “Holy shit! I can’t believe you're really here.” Finney said nothing, he didn’t even hug back. Gwen pulled back, expecting more fanfare.
When he noticed she was looking he mustered a small smile, “Hey Gwen.” Up close Gwen could see the dark bruise beneath his eye and the reddish purple ring around his neck. She decided she wouldn’t bring it up, not now.
Gwen held Finney’s hand in hers, his hands were cold and boney. She guided him inside where they intercepted their father.
“I’m glad you're back,” Terrence said. He hesitated to give Finney a pat on the shoulder.
“Okay…” Finney said slowly, his eyes focused on the house. The FBI agents had filled the doorway.
“Mr. Blake,” one of them said.
Finney looked over his shoulder, but when he realized they were addressing his father he continued to survey his surroundings.
“If you don’t mind, we'd like to go over Finney’s probation rules with you.”
“Oh sure, of course.”
Gwen tuned out their conversation, lending all her attention to Finney.
“Do you want to look around?” She whispered.
Finney nodded, his eyes wide and spacey. He began walking down the hall and Gwen trailed him. That’s how they traveled through most of the house, Finney wandering, picking things up and putting them down again. He was like a freshly adopted kitten exploring their owners' new home, curious and yet nonchalant. He didn’t seem overjoyed like Gwen had expected him to be, but maybe it was just that she was having unrealistic expectations. Finally they arrived outside Finney’s room.
“We cleaned your room for you. We didn’t redecorate or anything because we didn’t know what you’d like. But Dad bought you new sheets and stuff… A lot of your old toys and things were donated a while ago though… Sorry…” Gwen grimaced. Sorry we got rid of your stuff, she thought sourly, we thought you were dead.
“It’s okay,” Finney said as he pushed the door open to his room and wandered inside. He looked at his room like it was the first time he’d ever seen it, studying old space posters that had begun to peel. Finally he sat down on the edge of his bed and Gwen joined him.
“I have so much to tell you,” she said, “I have my drivers license now, that car in the driveway parked in front of Dad’s truck is mine.”
Finney picked at the blanket, “Cool.”
“I have a part time job at the roller rink too— Oh and I have a boyfriend, I can’t wait to introduce you. His name is Ernesto… Arellano. Remember? Robin’s brother? I think you two will get along really well.”
“I wish I could introduce you to Al…” Finney peered at her from behind his bangs.
“Who is Al?”
“My favorite person in the whole world…” Finney paused and finally looked Gwen in the eye, studying her face. “I like your hair,” he said.
Gwen smiled, she’d gotten her hair cut into a pixie sophomore year. “Thanks, I wanted to look like Princess Diana.”
“I don’t know who that is,” Finney laid back on his bed, his legs dangling at the knee. “But I really like your hair.”
“Well thanks anyway,” Gwen pulled her knees up to her chest, “Is there anything you wanna talk about?” Finney shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. It was still decorated with glow in the dark stars.
“Well then, is there anything you wanna do?” Gwen suddenly began to feel awkward. It was like her relationship with Finney had received a soft reset.
Finney thought about it and then he lifted his head off the bed to look at her, “I want to watch TV.”
And that was all Finney really did for the rest of the night. He parked himself on the couch and watched cartoons. Gwen sat beside him, bored, but unwilling to leave her brother when he’d just come back. She resisted the urge to ask him questions from his time gone, Terrence had already advised her not to.
Gwen bit her lip, “Do you like Growing Pains?”
“Hmm?” Finney hummed, his eyes glued to the TV. They were in the middle of a Looney Tunes episode.
“It’s a show, were you…” Gwen decided not to ask if he could watch TV, “did you ever see it?”
“No.”
“Would you wanna watch that instead of this? I have the first couple episodes on VHS.”
“No.”
“Okay…” Gwen shifted in her seat. The front door closed signaling the agents had left, Terrence came into the living room, stopping in the doorway.
“It’s been suggested Finney stays low for a little bit, we don’t need the press here yet. So we’re not gonna go out to eat. I was just gonna order some pizza instead.” Both Terrence and Gwen turned to Finney for any semblance of a reaction, his eyes bored into the TV screen.
“What kinda pizza do you like, Finney?”
“I don’t eat pizza,” Finney droned. Al never ordered anything to the house. Nor would he pick up any sort of fast food, not wanting to risk anyone noticing he was a single man buying two meals. Besides, he’d always tell Finney it was junk anyway.
“Okay…” Terrence said slowly, his eyes darting to Gwen who just shrugged.
“How about Chinese?” Gwen suggested. Finney said nothing.
“Do you like Chinese food, Finney?” Terrence asked.
Finney bit his nail, “No. But I eat rice.”
“So you just want rice?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure that will be enough?” Terrence asked, “They have some plain chicken too, or we can get you steamed vegetables.”
“I don’t want anything else,” Finney finally turned to look at his father. Terrence hardly recognized his son. The Finney he knew would’ve been thrilled to have pizza, he’d never been much of a picky eater. In that moment he wished he hadn’t wasted the time he had with young Finney being a dead beat.
“Gwen, could you call the Chinese place and put in our order? I’ll have my usual.”
Gwen nodded, she wasn’t nearly as invested in Looney Tunes as Finney was and she was eager for something to do. She slid off the couch and disappeared into the kitchen to grab the phone. Terrence sat down beside Finney, leaving a good amount of space between them.
“Did the FBI guys tell you about your probation limits?”
“Yeah,” Finney replied.
“Do you remember them?”
Finney shrugged, his gaze dropping to his lap.
“Well you have to meet with your probation officer, it’s one of those guys that dropped you off here. They’re hanging around to investigate some old properties Shaw has around here. You can’t commit any more crimes, obviously. No drug use. You can’t leave town except to go to your appointments with your psychologist. I don’t know if they told you but his name is Dr. Song, your first meeting is Monday. Gwen or I will drive you.”
“Okay.”
“And… If you ever need to talk about anything…” Terrence trailed off before seemingly regaining confidence halfway through the sentence, “Just know you can go to Gwen or I, we’re here for you. We’re glad you're back.”
“Thanks,” Finney replied but he seemed disingenuous. Terrence worried if maybe Finney hated him, he couldn’t blame the kid if he did. He hadn’t been a good father before Finney had been abducted.
The next morning Finney was up before Gwen and she found him in the living room watching cartoons— It was a little trippy seeing him in the same exact place she’d left him after so much time. But she knew Finney had gone to bed, she’d heard him crying in his room.
“Did you have a good sleep?” She asked anyway, even if she had an idea of the answer. Finney’s eyes were still red and puffy with tears.
“I want to go home…” He muttered, his voice was shaky.
“You are home,” Gwen told him.
Finney just shook his head, he wasn’t. Last night when he crawled into bed the homesickness took over. He wanted to be back in his house in Pennsylvania, in bed with Al. He hadn’t slept alone in years. Now the feeling of an empty bed was alien to him.
To Gwen, Finney just seemed hollow. Hollow and sad, like all his emotion and personality had been drained out of him and replaced with melancholy. She had expected him to be happy to have his freedom back. Like a bird being freed from a cage or a dog being let out into the yard. But Finney was ultimately unmotivated to do much of anything other than stare at a screen and eat plain rice. Even then he seemed to just be passing time.
“I was thinking we could go to the mall,” Gwen suggested. “They built it a couple years ago. We could get you some new clothes, Dad already said he’d give us money. You could try an orange julius, I think you’d like them.”
“Okay,” Finney rested his head on the arm of the couch and stretched the rest of his body across the cushions, “Do you have cereal?”
“I think we have some fruity pebbles, do you want a bowl?”
Finney said nothing, he didn’t eat Fruity Pebbles he ate Special K, that was what Al got for him.
Gwen decided to go fix him a bowl anyway. She poured milk and cereal into a plastic bowl with Marvin The Martian at the bottom and stuck a spoon in it. But when he came back into the living room, Finney was asleep.
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Chapter Text
Having Finney in the passenger seat was like driving around a stranger who wore her brother’s face, Gwen decided. She felt like a cab driver.
Finney had slept until noon, a bad night's sleep had caught up with him, and both Gwen and Terrence agreed to leave him to nap on the couch. Gwen herself had resided in her room to get some school work she’d been procrastinating on. It was noon when Finney arrived at her doorway, his hair tussled from sleep.
“Are we still going to the mall?”
So the two got into Gwen’s 1983 Nissan Pulsar.
“Y’know…” Gwen had said, “If you got your license, we could share this car.”
“I don’t want to get my license,” Finney replied. And that was that. Gwen turned up the radio; “You Drive Me Wild” by the Runaways was playing on the radio.
The Galesburg Mall was the most exciting thing built in the town in a long time. It was huge, took a whole year to build, and brought in kids from towns over. It was the hot hangout spot; the default place to head after school. Gwen was excited to share the place she’d spent so much time at with Finney.
“Will this be your first time at a mall?” Gwen asked as she pulled into a spot in the massive parking lot.
“Yeah.” Finney was staring out the window; he had been the entire ride. Gwen wondered if he was just taking in the outside world after being away from it for so long. Has Finney been away from the outside world? Gwen realized she was basing all her ideas on hypotheticals. In her mind, Finney had lived a life in shackles, but— He didn’t seem that way.
“I want to go home…” That’s what Finney had to tell her this morning. But where was home if not here? It certainly couldn’t be with The Grabber, Gwen thought. Whoever he was.
As usual, the Galesburg Mall was packed. People of all walks of life walked past each other to get to the next store. Teens hung around in groups, snapping bubblegum and eating snacks from the food court. Not that Gwen paid much attention to anyone else, her gaze was stuck on Finney, who had stopped just past the automatic doors. He stared at the commotion with wide eyes. The inside of the mall reminded him of all the people at the police station; it was over simulating.
“I changed my mind,” he said suddenly.
“What?” Gwen stopped beside him, and people weaved around the siblings with a couple of passing looks.
“I want to go back to the house.” Finney tried to turn around, but Gwen stood in his way.
“Wait!” She said, “You still need clothes! We have to get you some clothes, it’ll be quick, okay?”
Finney shook his head, “I have clothes.”
“They don’t fit you anymore, your shoes don’t either.”
“The clothes at home fit me.”
It took Gwen a second to realize that home wasn’t the Blake house. Yet again, Finney was giving the label to wherever he’d come from in Pennsylvania.
“You won’t get those for a long time, maybe never…” Gwen said. “You have to get clothes.” This only agitated Finney more, and he tried to get past her. Gwen went on the offensive, blocking him once more.
“Gwen, stop…” He moved again, but Gwen blocked him. People began to glance at them as they passed.
“Come on, Finney—“ Gwen grabbed Finney’s wrist as he tried to get past her, tugging him back.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Finney snapped; he yanked his wrist back so quickly it took Gwen with it. She fell forward, landing on the tile with a loud, sickening splat. It wasn’t the fall that shocked her, though; it was Finney.
People began to stare.
He was different now. It was impossible to expect him not to be. He’d grown up, his voice deepened, and he got taller. But it wasn’t just cosmetic changes, clearly— Five years ago Finney would’ve never tugged Gwen to the floor after cursing at her.
“I’m sorry…” Finney said quickly as Gwen hoisted herself up.
“No, it’s…” Gwen frowned, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”
Once Gwen was back on her feet, she and Finney just stared at each other, eyes wide. Shame crept in slowly as they realized they’d both contributed to making a scene.
“We can go home—“
“I’ll get some clothes—“
They spoke over each other and then stared at each other again. Ultimately, Finney made the first move.
“You’re right,” he said, “I need clothes. I’d like you to help me pick them out.”
“Okay…” Gwen nodded, “Let's go.”
Gwen couldn’t tell if it was just guilt that made Finney corporate, or if he’d truly had a change of heart. One thing was clear: he had no true interest in fashion.
After an hour in Sears Finney was a walking clothes wrack. Gwen just kept piling hangers into his hands, and when he couldn’t hold any more, she began carrying new garments herself.
“Are you sure this isn’t too much?” Finney asked as Gwen dug through the jeans.
“I’m sure.” Gwen sounded painfully confident so Finney felt like he had no choice but to believe her.
“We won’t buy all of it,” she said, “you’ll pick out what you like best once you try everything on— What pants size are you?”
Finney just shrugged; the clothes hanging from his arms swung with the movement. Albert bought all his clothes. Albert bought all of his things.
Finney got used to Albert coming home with a bunch of big brown shopping bags. He’d learned what it meant. Albert had gone to the store and bought new things.
Finney was watching TV when he heard the door open; he learned what that meant, too. Al was home. He and Samson raced to meet Al at the door. Finney made sure to keep his distance from the dog lest he bite.
Albert was balancing two stuffed bags under each arm. When he saw the boy and the dog, he exclaimed, “Step back, step back!” Though it was unclear whether the demand was directed towards.
Finney sat down at one of the chairs at the kitchen table, narrowly avoiding a nip from Samson, and Albert dropped the bags in front of him. Samson sniffed around the old man’s feet and created a tripping hazard, something Albert lightly cursed at him for. Finney peeled the end of the closet bag down to peek inside.
“I brought some things back for you,” Albert grinned as he began to unpack a bag that contained mostly produce. Finney had expected something; Albert often brought gifts for him. Never anything big or expensive, just small things. Toys, candy, books, and comics— All new things that made the house more exciting.
“I think they’re in that one,” Albert pointed a finger towards the bag second closest to Finney and then busied himself sorting apples into a bowl.
Finney wasted no time pulling the bag towards him. The first thing he pulled out was a cream sweater. Finney pulled it over his head. Albert looked over his shoulder and smiled.
“Is it warm?”
Finney smiled back and nodded before reaching into the bag again. Out he pulled a small tin container labeled: Hot Coco Mix. Beneath that was a little green mug with ducklings following a mama duck printed on the outside.
“I thought you could have cocoa in your very own mug,” Al said.
Finney looked between the two items, “Tonight?”
Al pulled a fresh apple from one of the bags and took a bite; it made a satisfying crunch.
“Sure,” he said, and then he walked over to stand by Finney’s side, leaning forward. “There should be one more thing, it’s fragile, so be careful.”
Finney reached into the bag, his fingers brushed against something smooth and cold. He ran his fingers down what seemed to be some kind of sphere and grasped the wooden base beneath it so he could slowly pull it out of the bag.
It was a snow globe, inside was a scene of two happy snowmen sitting in a field of glittery white snow. One snowman was big and the other little; they were both dressed in festive scarves and winter hats. Albert leaned close, so close Finney could feel his stubble pressing against his cheek.
“They’re like us,” Al whispered. His breath was hot and smelled faintly of apple. “Well? Why don’t you shake it?”
Finney did just that, and suddenly the globe was full of a flurry of round snowflakes and glitter. Finney placed the snowglobe down on the table and slouched so he could be eye level with it.
“Do you like it?” Al asked.
Finney nodded, his eyes heavy lidded as he watched the contents fall. “Yes, thank you.” Albert grinned, the same satisfied grin he had on when he first presented the bag to Finney.
He took another crisp bite of his apple, “If you’re a good boy, maybe Santa will bring you more presents for Christmas.”
“Do you like it?” Gwen asked.
She said it loud enough to break Finney from his daze.
“Like what?”
Gwen raised a brow, “The sweater, do you like the sweater?” She was holding up a navy blue weather with white stripes.
“Sure,” Finney muttered.
Gwen seemed doubtful, but she added the hanger to the rest of her collection, “I think we have enough now. Let's go to the changing room so you can try everything on.”
“Do I have to?” Finney followed her across the store to the changing rooms.
“Yeah, we need to make sure everything fits. You can weed out what you like and what you don’t too— It will be quick here—“ Gwen pressed a T-shirt and jeans to Finney’s chest. She traded them for the cluster of clothing Finney was carrying. “Try those on, let me see when you’ve changed. Okay?”
“Okay…” Finney disappeared behind the changing room curtain. It was a small little area, with a body length mirror and a couple of hooks. Finney began to change into the clothes picked out for him. Her guessing on the sizes had been pretty on point. The jeans fit nicely, and the shirt was only a little big. Finney looked at himself in the mirror, and he dug his fists into the pockets. It’d been a while since he’d worn jeans; at home, he only ever wore sweats or pajama pants. He almost looked his age, in new clothes. From the waist down at least— The longer Finney stared at himself, the more it looked like the shirt was wearing him, eating him alive. Then there were his arms, covered in scars that Finney instinctively began to scratch at. He was still scratching when he pulled back the curtain to show Gwen.
“The jeans fit well,” Gwen said but she wasn’t looking at the jeans; she was looking at Finney’s arm. She opened her mouth again, closed it, and then added, “You shouldn’t scratch those.”
“No, it’s fine,” Finney replied, “They’re healed, Al said it’s normal for them to itch sometimes.”
“How’d you get them?” Gwen asked, she said it with hesitation. She wanted to know, she just didn't know if she should ask— But she had to, she had to ask something.
“Time,” Finney said quickly, “over time, not all at once. Y’know, things happen and stuff. Do I have to try on anything else?”
“Uh—“ Gwen quickly assessed the mountain of clothes she was holding, her mind still lingering on Finney’s arms. “Well, if the jeans fit… I guess I’ll just put away the other sizes. Maybe we can lose a couple of t-shirts. But I think we should be fine to pay, do you wanna go to the food court?”
“Sure,” Finney shrugged.
Gwen was wondering if Finney truly wanted to go to the food court or if he’d only agreed to appease her. She couldn’t get him to agree to eat anything she offered. Orange Julius, Auntie Anne's, Cinnabon, all snubbed. The frustration of last night's dinner was back tenfold.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Gwen finally asked, “All you ate last night was rice. You didn’t even finish it. Come on, Orange Julius has sooo many flavors you can try. Just to get something in your stomach.”
“I’m okay,” Finney insisted. His eyes darted around the room, taking in a little bit of everything.
“Well, I want a smoothie,” Gwen declared, “So I’m gonna go get one. You can try a sip if you want.” Gwen began walking back towards the Orange Julius kiosk, shopping bags swishing back and forth from her wrists. Finney followed close behind, not wanting to be left behind in the mall chaos. Gwen was just walking fast enough for there to be a small gap between them, and then a stranger unknowingly filled that gap. Finney tried to walk around them. The twine strings of shopping bags he held started to feel tight on his wrists, and suddenly, he couldn’t see Gwen anymore. She was buried in a sea of shoppers, and so was Finney.
“Gwen!” He called out, when suddenly there was a flash of white. Finney froze, stunned by the sudden intrusion. He tried to blink the light from his eyes, but bright, colorful splotches danced around his field of vision.
“Excuse me, Finney Blake!” A woman with blonde feathered hair and a red blazer pushed her way in front of him, creating a roadblock in the foot traffic. Behind her was a man with a camera, aiming for another flash.
“I’m so glad we were able to catch up with you! I’m Mia Hawk, reporter for The Denver Daily. I was wondering if you could give a statement on the current climate of your case?” The woman spoke a mile a minute, as if she knew any longer would give Finney a chance to get away.
“My lawyer says I can’t talk to you…” Finney tried to push past them, craning his neck for any glimpse of Gwen.
“How about just telling us how you feel?” The reporter pushed, asserting herself in Finney’s way once more, “How does it feel to be out of captivity after so long?”
It feels like too much, Finney thought. But in reality, he said nothing, ignoring her prompt and shielding his face from the camera.
Sensing she was going to lose him anyway, the reporter suddenly became bolder, “There are rumors that you and Albert Shaw had consensual sexual relations. Is that true? Or did he force himself onto you? Do you identify as a queer?”
“I don’t know…” Finney muttered, trying to turn the other way. Now people were beginning to look at him, it felt like they were closing him in to watch his interrogation.
“He isn’t gonna talk to you fuck nuggets! If you want information, you can go to Shelly Dambridge, his lawyer!” Suddenly, Gwen was at his side, tugging him through the crowd.
Finney’s vision was filled with light once more as they bounded through the sunny parking lot. That’s when they saw even more news vans parked alongside the curb. A man in a bright blue suit being followed by another man with a chunky video camera, began to pursue the Blake siblings the moment they got past the mall’s sliding door exit.
Gwen broke out into a run, dragging Finney along with her. Their bags swung like heavy pendulums, crashing against each other.
“Excuse me!” The reporter in the suit shouted, “Finney Blake! I just have a couple of questions!”
Behind him, Mia Hawk and her photographer had just emerged from the mall and began to give chase too.
Gwen fumbled for her keys, and she finally let go of Finney so that she could run to the driver's side of her car and unlock the door. She threw herself in the front seat, and her bags in the back and leaned over to open the passengers side for Finney, who scrambled in after her. By then, a hoard of reporters had formed around the truck, all fighting for a photo or video. Gwen revved up the engine and began to back up. She started slowly at first to give the journalists time to scatter, and when they didn't, she jolted the car backwards, scaring them back.
“Fuck off!” She yelled, hitting the gas and speeding out of her spot. The tires squealed, and the journalists cleared the way as quickly as possible. Gwen shifted into drive and sped forward out of the parking lot.
“Those jerks stalked us for weeks when everything first happened,” Gwen grumbled as she hit the turn signal. “You didn't say anything to them, did you?”
“No, I know not to.” Finney stared down at the bag in his lap. It was stuffed with new jeans.
“Good,” Gwen said and in that moment Finney felt like she was older than him. Here Gwen was, sitting behind the wheel of a car ensuring Finney was making good decisions like a parent. He realized it frustrated him.
“You don’t need to ask me if I said anything, I know not to,” Finney reiterated.
“I was just making sure,” Gwen shrugged. Her knuckles were white from squeezing the steering wheel; she was still angry about the press.
“Well, you don’t have to.”
“Okay! Fine, sorry…” Gwen apologized, but she didn’t sound sorry. Finney didn't care to discuss it any further; he just turned to look out the window.
There was an extra car in their driveway when they arrived home. For a split second, Finney worried it was the press; somehow, they’d beaten them home. But upon a longer look, he realized that wasn’t the case. This car was a black Mercedes, squeaky clean and shiny. It wasn’t the kinda car a journalist would take to an interview. Gwen noticed the car too, but she didn’t say anything about it. The siblings just silently carried the shopping bags inside, and their father opened the door for them. His expression was solemn.
“Miss. Dambridge is here to talk to you, Finney. She needs you to answer some questions.”
Dambridge wasn't supposed to arrive until the day after Finney’s first appointment with the shrink. But Finney’s appointment wasn't until tomorrow, and there she was, sitting on Blake's couch with that thick binder open on the coffee table. She was frowning down at the pages, and a steaming cup of coffee in Terrance’s mug sat beside her, untouched. Her head shot up the moment Finney entered the room, Gwen and Terrence lingering behind him.
Dambridge patted the space beside her, and Finney sat. She flipped her binder closed and shifted her glasses up her nose, making intense eye contact with Finney. The kind of eye contact made him want to squirm and squeeze his eyes tight.
“Now I'm not one to sugarcoat things, and I like to get straight to business…” Dambridge began, “There has been a discovery during the search of Albert Shaw’s Pennsylvania property that I’ve been made aware of, and I need you to tell me what you know. This information won’t go to the cops, just me, okay?”
Finney nodded, his eyes locked on hers.
“Okay…” Dambridge adjusted herself on the couch and crossed one leg over the other, “Is there a body buried in Mr. Shaw’s backyard?”
The atmosphere in the room dropped; nobody was breathing or moving. It seemed even the clock had frozen due to the tension, or maybe everyone was too focused on the question to mind a quiet ticking.
Finney swallowed hard and blinked, “Yeah, there is.”
melon (Guest) on Chapter 2 Thu 09 Oct 2025 09:05AM UTC
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