“Not if I kill them first,” I tell Gus back.

* * *

I ain’t ever thought about hurting or killing a person before. That’s not my way. I don’t got a mean bone in my body, or at least I don’t think I did before coming to this place. But being locked in the dark does bad things to a person’s mind. It changes them. Turns them into something new. I’m not the same person I was before that man and that lady stole me.

If it wasn’t for Gus, I wouldn’t have survived so long in this place. Gus is the best thing that happened to me.

I don’t know for certain when Gus arrived. All I know is that he showed up out of the blue one time when I was dead asleep. I went to sleep and when I woke up, he was there, crying in the corner, worse off than me.

That man and that lady, he told me, had opened up the basement door, shoved him down them steps, locked up behind him. Gus was twelve at the time. Only God knows if he’s still twelve.

What Gus told me when he stopped his crying was that they used that big red Clifford dog of theirs to cajole him into their car, just like fishing bait. Poor Gus liked dogs. And he couldn’t help himself when the lady smiled kindly at him and asked if he wanted to pet her dog, which was sticking its big red head out of the car window.

Gus had been at the playground that day, playing ball with himself when they stole him. Shooting hoops. There wasn’t anyone around to see them go. His ball got left behind. I wondered why Gus was playing ball alone, and if that meant he didn’t have any friends, but I never asked him. Things like that don’t matter anymore, anyway, ’cause now he’s got me.

* * *

Day and night, I continue to work on my spoon. I don’t know how long I’ve been going at it, but I’ve whittled it down enough that I’ve gotten myself a point. It ain’t the best point ever. It’s jagged and uneven, but at the top of that spoon, the metal thins to a sharp tip. When I stab it into my finger it hurts. I’m too chicken to stab it hard enough to make it bleed, but before too long I’m gonna have to. I’ve got to test it. I’ve got to know if it works.

I lost track of how long I’ve been carving this dang thing. Long enough that my hand’s tired as all get-out. Gus offered to do it for me, but I said no ’cause I didn’t want him getting in trouble. I know he doesn’t want to help ’cause he’s scared half to death of what I’m doing. He was just trying to be nice, but if someone’s gonna take the fall for this spoon, it’s me.

I hide that spoon when I ain’t working on it. I hide it inside the toilet tank, put the lid back on and cover it up.

But it’s not hidden now ’cause now I’m working on it, even though the man and the lady are right upstairs. I ain’t got no other choice if we’re ever gonna get out of here. I’ve got the lid off the toilet. I’m going at it full tilt with my spoon when I hear the lady declare to the man that she’s got to feed us. There ain’t no warning then because the door yanks suddenly open, and there it is again, that thin scrap of light that hurts my eyes.

All at once that lady’s at the top of them steps. “Come get your dinner,” she says, and I don’t make a move to go ’cause usually when she says it like that, she just sets the dog bowl there at the top of them steps and leaves it for us. But not tonight. Because tonight, when we don’t come, she says, “How many times have I told you before that I ain’t your dang waitress and this ain’t no dang restaurant? You better get your ass up here and get your dinner in five seconds or else. Five,” she barks out, keeping count.

I look at Gus, but he’s scared stiff. I got to be the one to do it ’cause Gus is frozen in fear. He can’t move.

“Four,” she says, and before I know it, the lady’s counting down faster than I can get my spoon back in the toilet, get the lid quietly on and push my sleepy legs up off the floor and run.

I’m not dumb. I know how many seconds it is till she reaches one, and it’s not many. I remember how to count and do math, ’cause my minute math worksheets are one of them things that I do in my head when I’m bored to death. I know that the lady will be at one in no time flat.

“Three,” she’s saying. I ain’t ever gonna get there in time. My hands and legs are shaking. My heartbeat is thumping loud. I catch a glimpse of Gus out of the corner of my eye as I go running by. He’s sitting on the floor with his legs pulled into him, scared as heck, wanting to cry.

The lady reaches one right around the same time my feet hit the bottom step. She’s up there at the top of them steps, looking down at me. I got to squint my eyes to see her because my eyes ain’t used to the light. She’s standing up there holding her nasty meal in the dog dish.

I hear her ugly laugh when she gets to one. She’s delighted in having me run scared.

“You ain’t hungry?” she asks, standing smugly at the top of them steps, like a know-it-all. She don’t wait for an answer. Before I can get a word out, she asks, “You think I got all day to sit around here and wait for you to come get your food?”

“No, ma’am,” I say, my lips quivering.

“No, ma’am, what?” she asks sharply.

“No, ma’am, I don’t think you got all day to sit around and wait for me to come get my food,” I say, the words rattling in my throat.

“You ain’t hungry?” she asks, and I got to think a minute about what the right answer is. I am hungry. I’m just not hungry for her food. But if I tell her that, she’ll be angry ’cause she went to the trouble of making me food.

“I am hungry, ma’am.”

That lady tells me, “It would be good for you to show some gratitude from time to time. I ain’t gotta feed you, you know? I could just leave you here to starve to death.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” I say. My eyes stare hard at the floor so I don’t have to see her ugly face.