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Rafe’s rough hands come to rest on my cold cheeks. “These boys will be okay, Meg. We’ll help them. Trust me.”
I nod, a sob escaping me. I think of Zay, our baby, and shiver. Need to hold him, make sure he’s okay. That he’s not suffering like these kids.
“We’ll go get him in a minute,” he says.
Oh God, did I speak my fears out loud?
I’m not going to break apart over this. If anything, I should be taking care of the others. Of these kids. Of Zane. Of…
“Where is Audrey?” I grab his hands and push to my feet. “Aud?”
I see her hanging back, on the stairs, a protective hand over her tummy. Good, I think vaguely. I’m glad she stayed back.
Rafe kisses me, a quick, bruising kiss. “Here, take the flashlight and check on her. I’ll check on Zane.”
It’s a deal, I think, and go to her. She looks as shell-shocked as I feel.
“God, Meg,” she whispers, her eyes shiny with tears. “What is this? It’s like we’ve gone down into hell.”
Maybe we have. “Let’s just sit here until the police arrive.”
We sit on the frigid metal steps, holding hands. Asher and Rafe are talking to Zane who’s shaking so badly I can see it from here. Dakota is tugging on his arm.
The others are standing around the kids, hiding them from sight. They’re discussing something. Tessa and Erin are crouched down, but I can’t tell what’s going on.
“Have you seen them?” Audrey’s voice trembles. “The kids?”
I shake my head. “Just a glimpse.”
“How bad is it? Are they… are they hurt? Oh God…”
“Aud.” I rub her back in circles. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I want to see them.”
I want to tell her no. That she’ll distress herself more. That it isn’t good for the baby. But I think the worst shock is over. Now we need to process this, to see it, absorb it, understand it.
So I pull her to her feet, and we cross to the group of our friends. Asher turns, sees us, and starts toward us. He wraps an arm around Audrey’s waist, and she lets go of my hand to cling to him.
She’s in good hands, so I leave them whispering to each other and glance at Rafe who’s still talking to Zane and Dakota, then back at the tight group around the kids, stepping behind the crouched forms of Erin and Tessa.
And there they are. I count five of them. Probably boys, though it’s hard to tell under the grime and shaggy hair. They’re all wearing dirty pants and sweaters, but the cold in the basement is damp and makes my bones ache.
“It’s okay,” Tessa is telling the nearest kid, keeping her hands open in front of her. “We won’t hurt you. What’s your name?”
The kid draws back from her, dark eyes wide, leaning into another kid with pale blond hair who’s scratching at a sore on his cheek.
“We’re here to help you,” Erin says, and then, “Guys, maybe you should step back.”
How long have they been prisoners here?
How long since Kenneth Shaw gave them water and food?
How long since he last hurt them? Because he did. It’s in the way they move, in the blood spattering their clothes, in the way they flinch whenever one of us moves or speaks.
“I hear something. I think the police are here,” Tyler says and steps back. “I’m gonna go out, show them the way.”
What will happen to these kids? After they’re washed and their wounds are treated, after they’ve had a good meal in them and a psychologist has evaluated them… where will they go? Into foster care?
