Page 8 of The Devil's Den

There’s also a lady named Ms. Greco who was making me take medicine for a lot of days. I forgot what it’s for, but she said I would feel better if I took it, so I did.

Moving around, I get up, and my stomach still hurts a little, but not like before. I yank my left hand too hard, the long silver chain pinching my wrist when I pick up the bucket I have to pee in. It’s gross. This place is gross.

Every day I’m still here, I try not to cry, but I can’t stop. I want my family. I want my brothers. Why haven’t they come for me? Could they really have given me away?

When I finish using the bucket, the chain clanks as I pull my pants up and sit back down. A man comes to empty the bucket once a day, then he throws me in the shower. It’s always cold. They don’t let me use warm water. I shiver as I think about it, hating it every time. But I go really fast and try to think about sunshine. It doesn’t help though.

I can’t even run away. There’s a key for the chain, a lock at my wrist, and the other end around the radiator. At least I get food. Ms. Greco brings me down stuff on a tray. She makes really yummy things, like Dad used to make. She even quietly asks me what I like to eat, and sometimes she gets it for me.

There’s a girl who lives here too. I saw her once a few days ago, when they brought me down here from the bedroom upstairs. She was just staring as they dragged me to the first floor, like I was a monkey in a circus or something.

But I haven’t seen her around since then. She’s tiny with very light brown eyes and blonde hair. It’s so yellow and shiny, it reminds me of the sun.

But if she lives here, she must be bad too. Even the lady who brings me food must be bad. If she was nice, she would let me out.

How long will they keep me here? Maybe if I act nice, Agnelo will let me leave. But each day I’m here, I don’t think that’s true.

I think he’s going to keep me here.

Forever.

* * *

AIDA

Dad is home today. He’s usually gone during the afternoons, out with my uncles or doing work stuff, whatever that is.

He hasn’t let me see Matteo since they put him in the basement. I was hoping to say hi or something, maybe share some of my toys, if he likes dolls that is. I do have a police car that lights up. Maybe he’ll like that.

I asked my father if I could go see him down there, but he shot me down. I’m too scared to sneak without his permission. I don’t want to make him mad. He’s already always so angry.

Ms. Greco just finished making spaghetti and meatballs for lunch, putting some into a small bowl for Matteo. She picks up a tray, walking it out to the living room, where Dad sits, scrolling through channels, and I follow her out.

“I—” she says to him, clearing her throat, stopping at the back of the couch. “I’m going to bring lunch down to him, Agnelo, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, fine. Make sure you don’t give that shit too much.” He continues watching television.

“Daddy, may I please go with her?” I put on my sweetest puppy-dog face as I jog up to him, my hands in a praying position, my head slanted to the side. “Pretty please.”

“Didn’t I already tell you no when you asked yesterday?” His voice gets scary loud.

“Okay.” I drop my chin and pout, looking up, hoping he’ll feel bad and change his mind. “Sorry.”

“Hmm.” That one word has me lifting my head. His eyebrows do this thing, like he’s thinking about something. “You know what?” He smiles, and I instantly get excited because he doesn’t do that a lot. “I think you should go see him. He could use a friend.”

“Really?” I grin excitedly, and for the first time in a long time, I’m happy.

“Oh, yeah. And you know what else?”

“What?” I clap, practically jumping.

“From now on, it’ll be your job to bring him the food. You think you can do it all by yourself?”

“Of course, Daddy! Thank you! I’m not a baby!”

“You can start now.” He turns to Ms. Greco. “Give her the tray.”

“I—ahh.” She peers at the food. “Maybe she can carry the bowl first, then come back for the water bottle?”

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