joists. He glanced back and saw that Rufus was already doing the same.
Two doors waited at the end of the hall. Sam opened one and found only darkness and the smell of mold. It was a linen closet, empty except for green-black speckles that marred the ancient cabbage-rose wallpaper that had been laid down on the shelves. Shutting the door, Sam moved to the next room.
At some point, this had probably been intended as the master bedroom, although the house had obviously been built long before anyone had started doing en suite bathrooms with Jacuzzi tubs and whatever the hell else suburban wives dreamed of. It was bigger than the other bedrooms, though, with a closet that, not quite walk-in, might be described as shuffle-in. Two mismatched windows, one large and one small, looked out the back, their glass thin and old.
What held Sam’s attention, though, were the unmistakable smells of piss and shit, of something else he could only describe as fear. It was a miasma, polluting the room. Pushing the door open as far as he could, he rucked up his shirt again to cover his nose and mouth, and then he paced the perimeter of the room. On the wall with the door, he found what he was looking for, beckoned to Rufus, and pointed.
The work had obviously been done quickly, without any care for the damage to the walls, and some effort had been made to remove the most incriminating pieces. All that remained was a series of thick bolts anchored in the studs. Plaster crumbs flecked the floorboards, and although someone must have swept, the effort had been sloppy—maybe, Sam thought, even hurried. Not even enough time to remove the bolts, which told the most important part of the story.
Rufus tilted his head to the side as he studied the wall. He put his wrist against the bolts, frowned, then moved into a crouch—which was where his body needed to be for everything to line up.
“These kids were chained,” he said, but the statement inflected upward into a question, almost like Rufus needed confirmation because it was too fucking gross to believe on his own.
Nodding, Sam held out a hand. “Some of them, at least. Stand up; it’s bad enough knowing without having to see it too.”
Rufus grabbed Sam’s hand and got to his feet. “Disgusting….”
“Have you seen anything that might tell us where they went? They left in a hurry, I think.” Rufus hadn’t let go of Sam’s hand, and Sam didn’t let go either. Walking through a nightmare like this was bad, really bad, and having Rufus helped. “Maybe because of Jake? He got too close? Christ, I don’t know.”
“That’s a distinct possibility.” Rufus moved to the doorway, tugging Sam with him. “I want to check the fridge.” He shot a look over his shoulder and clarified with “To see if anything is spoiled. It’ll give us a timetable, at least.”
“And then we have to check the basement.”
Rufus grunted. He went back down the hall, slow and careful steps all the way to the death-trap staircase, then to the first floor. He let go of Sam’s hand once they entered the kitchen, walking more confidently across the room to the fridge. Rufus leaned in to examine the sparse contents, grabbed a gallon jug of whole milk, popped the top, and took a sniff.
“Not spoiled,” he said before putting it back. He shut the door and studied a dated toaster surrounded by crumbs on the countertop. His gaze roamed over dirty dishes in the sink, and then he began to open the lower cupboards before finding a garbage bin. Rufus crouched and dug through the trash—almost exclusively fast food wrappers. “There’s dozens of burger wrappers in here.” He looked at Sam. “No Happy Meals, but I don’t think I need that kind of evidence to conclude they were feeding a lot of people—kids—the cheapest shit they could buy.”
“When you’re hungry enough, you’ll eat anything,” Sam said. “And it’s one more mechanism to ensure good behavior.”
Rufus frowned and shoved the bin back under the cupboard. He rose to his feet and pointed at a closed door on the other side of the fridge. “Basement, I’m guessing.”
“If you want,” Sam said, “you can check the main floor and upstairs once more. Make sure we didn’t miss anything.”
“I’m not afraid of basements,” Rufus protested, squaring his shoulders. He stepped over the bowl from earlier and opened the door. He reached into the dark and felt around the