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One of the films he made me watch over and over and over again was People Under the Stairs. The movie creeped me out, yes. But what really scared me all these years is what that boy in the group home did to one of the other girls there, and it scarred me for life.
He used to hide under the basement stairs, waiting for one of us to come down to do our laundry. One day, he was able to grab one of the girl’s ankles, and she fell down the stairs. Luckily, she only broke her arm, but he scared her into silence. I had been leery of stairs with open or no risers ever since then. I was terrified someone would be lurking under them.
A horrid stench assaulted my senses, and I gagged bringing me out of my reverie. I held a hand to my stomach and one to my mouth.
“Put your face in your shirt,” Lincoln gently bade me. “It helps a little,” he said in a muffled voice. “What happened to you that made you fear the dark and hate stairs?”
We continued down the steps, and I cringed when the steps creaked. “Nothing,” I said too quickly.
“One day you’ll talk to me,” he said confidently, showing me the man I first met. Since we had made our connection, we both seemed to be treading carefully around each other.
“Maybe,” I said flippantly.
I had to stifle a scream when tattoo man came back down the steps and moved right through us, ending our conversation…for now.
We reached the bottom of the steps, and I cried out. Lincoln encircled me in a hug once more.
Men, women, and children were chained up on a concrete floor. There were about ten of them. They were filthy and covered in their own bodily fluids. A single light bulb with a pull-down chain attached to it illuminated the space
“This is real, isn’t this?” I whispered in horror.
“I think it is,” Lincoln replied grimly.
“What do we do?” I leaned my head into his shoulder. “And how did you know the stats on human trafficking?”
At that moment I didn’t care that we had just met. I didn’t care that there was an awkwardness between us that I didn’t know how to bridge.
“We need to figure out where we are precisely, then determine how we can free them.” Lincoln rubbed my back. “And one of the foundations I’m a part of help with runaway teens. A lot of them find themselves in situations like this.”
I didn’t want to admire Lincoln, but he was making it harder for me not to. Jemmy did a lot, and I mean a lot, of stalking on her celebrity crush. She never told me about this foundation, so I was under the impression that he did it out of the kindness of his heart and not for notoriety or kudos.
“How can we free them?” I asked in frustration.
“Earlier,” Lincoln said after a few moments of silence. “You talked to all of us in our heads. Can you do that right now?”
“I can try,” I said tentatively. “I mean, we’re in Harry’s head with the help of Alex, but stranger things have happened.”
I closed my eyes trying to ignore the things around me.
Remy, I called out in my head.
Nothing.
Jace
Nothing.
I opened my eyes and looked at him in frustration. Tears filled my eyes.
“Can we go back and let them know what we’re seeing?” I asked.
“We don’t have any time,” Lincoln said grimly. “We have to act fast.”
Tattoo man was plying alcohol to the people chained to the floor and walls. Their heads bobbled listlessly. Only one boy around Micah’s age seemed to be fighting the man. The man got angry and backhanded him before stomping off again.
His greasy black locks fell in his eyes. He looked like he was Hispanic and his resemblance to Kade broke my heart.
“Help me,” the boy cried in despair, his accent thick. His voice barely a croak. “Ayúdame.”
