Missing - Chapter 1

The neighborhood grocery store was small but had everything and more you needed, was open six a.m. to eight p.m., and was in business six out of the seven days a week. Tommy worked the morning shift from six to noon, earning just enough money to make a living. People rarely came in, and right now his cashier lane was empty. Today, Tommy felt particularly moody and pissed.

His hands clenched the side of the grey old-time register, pulsing with anger and shivering with rage. It was one of those days where his whole past flashed before his eyes, day by day, milestone by milestone. September 17, 2011 was the date. Sixteen years had gone by, and today he remembered it all.

Sixteen years ago. His first glance at Austin Haley, the man who started it all. Austin had a dashing blonde fohawk, lovely murky brown eyes, and was more or less of a coward. He worked on a farm only a few miles away, and apparently needed a farmhand. The corn was growing a bit fast that year, and Austin just couldn't bear to harvest it all by himself - not even including the chickens to feed, cows to milk, and sheep to shear. Tommy could just picture what the bastard thought as he idled and crawled across the streets of the innocent little town of Colesburg. Hmmm, thought Austin. Why not just pick up a tough looking boy off the streets to work for me? Never mind asking for a farmhand or paying another, older, stronger teenage boy from the next town over. No, let's kidnap an innocent child and call him mine. And what about him. Little Tommy doesn't have a bad enough life yet. Let's give him hell.

Thirteen years ago. The realization that his parents were never coming for him. Two years on the farm. Two years of hell. Never a police car driving into the driveway of Haley's Farm and asking around for the mysteriously disappeared boy. You know, the one that was at least popular enough to acknowledge the existence of? Nope. Not a single black-and-white flashing car with the words 'Delaware County Police' scrawled onto the shiny paint. By then, Tommy's hands were rough and calloused from all the hard work in the field. His back stung every time the ragged white tunic rubbed against the lash marks. The lash marks were supposed to be a reminder of all the times he had tried to run away, but ultimately failed. Austin was a criminal. Tommy remembered the day when he gazed longingly down the road, knowing that just around the bend lay his own home. Home, sweet home, he envisioned. Its wrap-a-round porch, white picket fence, and his bedroom on the top floor with the unfinished science project still laying haphazard on the wooden floor. At that point, Tommy never expected to walk the ways around the curve.
An old lady walked up the register with a small handful of items. He glanced up at her, then gently took the butter, milk, and party balloons from her frail hands. Tommy inhaled sharply at the sight of his calluses, still there after all these years. They were scars leading into his past.

"Are you alright, dear?" Mrs. Brunswick asked kindly. Tommy nodded, passing the balloons over the scanner.

"That will be ten dollars even, m'am," he said. She nodded, gave him the ten dollar bill, then was on her way. Staring at her, he thought again of the day he was kidnapped. It was in front of her old, dank yellow house. He disappeared in front of her house, and now she didn't even remember him. Shaking his head, he took another deep breath and the flashbacks continued.

Ten years ago. His first real beating. Tommy had a set time he could come from working in the field everyday. Eight p.m. sharp. Doesn't matter if he was finished or not, that was the time. Tommy glanced down at his watch - one of the only reminders of his past life, and realized it was one minute after eight. Immediately, fear pulsed through his veins. He knew what would happen. Austin threatened him with it since the moment he had been shoved through his front door, mouth covered in silver, shiny duct tape.

"First, a shove," said Austin, licking his lips. "Then, maybe a punch to the chin. A kick to the groin. Not bad considering what I can and will choose to do." He fingered the edge of his belt, hinting that he can and will choose to lash him. And more. Tommy couldn't even begin to imagine what would happen. He refused to, even.

Tommy breathed in and out, trying to calm himself down. Setting down the milk bucket with a bang, sending milk slopping onto the ground, he sprinted out the barn door, locked it, then made his way to the tidy, well-kept blue colonial house sitting a few hundred yards away. Austin already stood in the back door of the house, tall in the porch light. Even his silhouette seemed angry, thought Tommy. Longingly, he glanced once again to the road leading back to Colesburg, but still knew there was no chance of escape. It would only provide another beating opportunity, adding to the beating he would already get.

Cautiously, he stepped onto the porch. Austin came forth, belt already in hand, and lifted 14-year-old Tommy by his collar.

"You son of a bitch," Austin whispered in his ear. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut. "Look at me. Look at me, you son of a bitch. What did I tell you? Night after night, day after day, it's still eight p.m. And don't you think of back-talking me, boy. You know it." A rough hand swung around and hit him in the cheek. A stinging feeling spread throughout his entire face, and Tommy knew the red mark was already beginning to appear. "Open your eyes! Open your eyes, god damn it!"

Tommy whimpered but opened his eyes just a crack. Austin threw him  the splintery wooden porch floor, then dragged him inside for what the tiny slap was actually worth. And Tommy was pretty sure even Colesburg could hear his injured screams.

The register. Get back to the register, screamed Tommy. His head echoed with the thoughts as he clutched the stupid register with all his might. It shivered under the pure strength of his arms, and Tommy was shaking himself with the amount of strength it took to breathe, breathe, get back to reality. It's only a memory, Tommy. It's in the past. It's all about now, and now is breathing. It's all about breathing. But Tommy still knew the flashbacks would keep coming on this anniversary day, until his life was over and he was really here.

Eight years ago. The Great Escape. Tommy's feet slapped down on the hard, black asphalt. He was strong enough by now that he was sure he could make it. The Great Escape, he called it. The escape plan that made sure that he would make it out alive, and back to Colesburg. He had run it over in his mind several times before, working out every nook and everything that might go wrong. He found a way to get around that. This was it.

Step One: Lock the barn door. Tonight was milking night. The cows were done.

Step Two. Make sure that you were done at least five minutes before eight.

Step Three: Crawl your way through the wheat stalks and make your way to the edge of the road. Austin can't see you.

Step Four: Run.

It was perfect. It was genius. It can be done. Tommy completed the first three steps, and now was getting through the fourth. He was nearing the bend. Only a few miles. He could do this. Glancing down at his watch, he saw it was eight o' five. Austin would be searching for him now; it was time to get a move on. Hurriedly, Tommy quickened his pace, matching his footsteps to his heartbeats. The bend was ever so close. Right there. Readying himself a bit, he took off full-speed and powered around the turn. The one he had looked at and gazed in want for so many years. The turn was his.

Tears started rolling down his cheeks as ten more minutes of running led him to Main St. of Colesburg. For once, they were tears of joy. The overwhelming happy feeling bubbled up inside him, until it forced him to just lay on the Colesburg pavement and bawl his eyes out while everyone else slept peacefully. Tommy was home.

Seven years and nine months ago. Or, to be exact, nine months and twelve days. Tommy couldn't take it. He just couldn't take it. The anger toward his parents still was turmoil behind his happy-to-be-home façade. Nobody remembered him. Jared had moved on to the big and mighty city of Des Moines, where Iowa dreams came true. In the 600-something residents of Colesburg, someone had to have remembered average Tommy. But it seemed not one did. Back home, Tommy was all alone. In the farm, he at least had Austin. Not that he wanted to go back. Hell no. Tommy never wanted to think about the damned place, much less go back.

But the thing that troubled him the most was the fact that Tommy was only a few miles away from his house on Main St., and his parents never found him. He was alone for eight years. Nobody came and took him away from the bastard Austin. And as far as he was concerned, that was all his parent's fault. All eight years, they never came. And Tommy just couldn't take it.

There was an old house at the end of Church St., a little pink thing with two stories, a wrap-a-round porch, and no one looking after it. Abandoned. Tommy had taken camp in the house, which he nicknamed Old Vienna(he liked the ring of it, not that it fit the house). It's front room was Tommy's secret room. It was empty except for a dilapidated sea-foam green couch facing away from the meticulously covered window - if you can even call it a couch. The threads were barely holding the thing together, so it looked more foam than cloth. Upon seeing the empty room, Tommy took the chance to start using the room as not living quarters, but as a collection room. The square, plain room conveniently held the door leading down to the basement, which was about the size of the actual house itself. The basement had plain grey, yet-to-be-painted walls, cement flooring, and an unfinished ceiling with a single shade-less bulb swinging from the center of it. It was perfect for what he needed it for. Tommy's mind, almost psychotic with all those years being lost from the world, began to formulate a sort of plan to ease his conscience. Along with the house, Tommy had "inherited" an old van which was laying "abandoned" on the side of the road. It was stark white with a few dirt smudges and as good as new. With the money from his job, Tommy could pay for gas for the van.

The next day
, Tommy hopped in his car, bringing with him a stolen duct tape roll and a length of rope from the grocery store. He drove out to Farley, Iowa. It was only a thirty minute drive and three towns over - easy enough. Upon arriving, Tommy searched for the nearest grocery store. After finding Farley Groceries, he went and bought five bottles of milk. He fingered the labels of each one as he grabbed them off the shelf. Expiration date: next Tuesday. Brand: Lucerne. Two percent. But it wasn't the milk he was after. It was the missing pictures. He turned the half-gallons over one by one in his hands, eyeing the pictures of missing children. Having bought milk a few times already, two of the five were already familiar. Janice Johnson, read one of them. Age five, blonde hair, blue eyes, went missing two years ago. Last seen at the Farley Community Park. The other familiar one was a boy named Thomas Sundquist. Age eight, dark brown hair, blue eyes, went missing eight years ago. Last seen: Edgewood-Colesburg Elementary School. Tommy's throat went dry; he had to shake the anger off. This would deal with it.

The other three were as uninteresting as Janice. A teenager called Blake, a toddler by the name of Alice, and a little boy who didn't have any information, just a picture and a name: Lily. The police didn't know anything. They would do well enough. Tommy threw the cartons in the little shopping basket and went to pay. The cashier, an old pasty white man, eyed him closely as he rang them up.

"You ain't from around here, eh?" the old man asked. Tommy just shook his head and smiled a fake smile.

"No sir. I'm on my way to somewhere else," he answered with another fake grin. The cashier nodded, pleased by the answer, then sent him on his way. Tommy wouldn't be leaving though. He had one more thing - or, rather a child - to pick up.

On 3rd Ave. was West Dubuque County School, where all the children went. Right now it was about the time the school bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Tommy prowled in his stark white van, probably looking the slightest bit suspicious, along 3rd Ave. He was searching for a little kid, around six or eight. And there were a lot to choose from. Eyes scanning the streets rapidly, he spotted a little girl skipping along with no other friend talking to her. She was alone. Perfect.

Trying to seem unsuspicious and normal, he stayed alongside the girl as best he could until there was an opportunity to take her. She turned onto an empty street much like the street Tommy was kidnapped in. Perfect little houses lining a little street with little sidewalks and a little child walking on them. Skipping, even. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but Tommy blinked them away. He had to concentrate.

Swiftly, Tommy screeched to a halt and jumped out of his van. The girl screamed - but not loud enough. On this quiet small-town street nobody heard her. He slapped his hand over her mouth to turn her screaming into mumbling, wrapped his other arm around her waist, and carried her to the van. After throwing her into the back, with its cold metal floors, he managed to duct tape the girl's mouth shut and tie her hands together. The doors slammed shut, Tommy got in the driver's seat, and it was over.

Twenty minutes later - he was speeding - the van arrived in the driveway of Old Vienna, the innocent pink home that would come to hold terrible secrets. Tommy grabbed the kid from the back of his van, ushered her inside, and dragged her down the loud, rotten wood steps leading to the cavern-like basement. She thrashed and tried to wrestle with him as they went, but it was no use. Eight years held captive on a farm had toughened him up, and this little girl didn't know what hard work was.

The duct tape was ripped off her mouth. Immediately, her mumbling rose again to screaming. Tommy smiled a crooked little smile.

"They can't hear you," he whispered to her, an evil tone snaking into his voice. "Nobody can hear you." This only caused her to scream louder. In her yelling for help, Tommy readied himself for what he named The Second Great Escape. Escape from consciousness.

"Nobody," Tommy started, then paused again, his arms reaching toward her throat. "Can save you." His fingers stroked her chin, feathered her face, then finally wrapped around the throat. "No one."


Today.