The Devil's Puppet

≪•◦Chapter 6.2❈Armstrong◦•≫

Abigail sighed as she walked through the family neighborhood, staring at all the houses. She took a deep breath, taking in the smell of nature. The smell of a barbecue lingered. Abigail turned, watching as smoke flew in the air from behind a house. She could hear a happy family spending quality time with each other in their backyard, laughing and having the time of their life.

She began to wonder about her family. How Sapnap could've had that if she wouldn't have fucked around with her coworkers and blamed it on Jackson. If she hadn't gotten mad at her son for wanting to see his father, for calling her out on her mistakes, maybe none of this would've happened. Maybe they would've been home and Abigail would've talked to Jackson properly. Something they couldn't do when they first saw each other in Orlando.

After all, the death of Liam brought them together. The disappearance of their son brings them closer. "Abigail?"

The woman turned around, not finding Sam behind her. She abruptly turned forward, finding the teen in the distance. He was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at her confusedly. "Sorry... I got distracted," she said, moving her legs. Abigail caught up to the teen, putting her hand on his back. She led him forward, keeping a warm smile on her face whenever she looked at him.

Sam smiled, "The houses are up ahead. Do you think they're home?"

Abigail nodded, "I'm sure your parents are home today. I doubt they would be anywhere else at a time like this. If not, your phone should be where you left it before you got kidnapped, right?"

The teen shrugged, "That's true... if my Mom and Dad aren't home, I could call them. Do you think they'll believe it? What if they think someone is prank-calling them?"

She took a deep breath as she wrapped her arm around the boy. "Trust me, Sam, they'll know it's you. They're your parents, I doubt they wouldn't recognize who their son is," she said. Sam smiled as he nodded, leaning into the side hug as they walked down the sidewalk. They walked quietly until they reached their homes, staring at both buildings. In the driveway, Sam's parents' cars were parked inside the gate. Abigail turned to look at Jackson's house, staring at the man's car. The police car was gone, though.

"Here," Abigail sighed, letting go of Sam. "I'll walk you to the front door."

Sam nodded, "Thank you."

She walked beside the teen, accompanying the boy to his house. Sam stepped up the driveway, opening the gate. He turned to Abigail, giving her one last smile. "I can't believe we're home now," he said.

Abigail nodded, tears pricking her eyes. "Me neither."

Sam took a deep breath as he closed the gate behind him, not moving forward. Before he began to walk, he said one last thing. "Don't forget about the Laboratory. The police need to know."

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not going to let it slip my mind. Get inside and be with your parents, Sam. Take care of yourself, I'll see you around."

The teen nodded, turning his body toward the front door. He walked up the path, staring at the entrance to his home. Sam shakily lifted his hand, turning the doorknob. It was locked. He kneeled, grabbing the key from inside the pot beside the door. He carefully unlocked the door, dropping it back into the pot. "Here we go..." he sighed, turning the knob. Sam was met with the warmth of the living room, staring at the kitchen. He closed the door behind him, "Mom, Dad?"

Both parents turned their attention from the picture of Sam on the table to the door, their eyes widening.

-- -- -- -- --

Diiiiing!~

Abigail pushed the front doors of the police station open, listening to the small bell hanging from the corner. She stepped inside, feeling the cool air-conditioned air inside hit her face. She shutters, goosebumps trailing from her arms to her legs. She looked up from the ground, looking at all the security and officers standing at the central entrance of the station. People were sitting at the chairs, filling out forms and trying to contact their families.