Psychopathic ✔️

Chapter Three

Frankie gained consciousness as a beeping noise sounded. It was only two long buzz-like sounds that came from somewhere across the room. He slowly opened his eyes, which were slowly adjusting to the bright white room he was in. Frankie sat up, looking across the room where the door had opened. His face was numb but he could feel how it burned and he could feel the bumps on his skin. Dried blood - that once leaked from his cuts and bruises - was caked on his face and he felt disgusted by it.

The man at the door set two medal trays on the ground, each one having plates of food and cups filled with beverages on them. Frankie waited until the man left the room before he tried to get up. He was in desperate need to use the bathroom and noticed the little room connected to the room he currently sat in. It too had padded walls and floors. It held a toilet without a lid or seat along with a broken looking sink. The only thing in the room that looked fairly clean was the toilet paper that sat on the sink.

Frankie slowly got up and made his way to the bathroom that had no door. It was clear that whoever had captured him didn't allow privacy to their hostages. He reached the bathroom and entered it, the small room reeked of must and mold, yet Frankie had to relieve himself. He noticed that there wasn't a shower nor a bath in the small room, which he questioned greatly.

He washed his face with the water; trying his best to rid his aching face of anything that may infect the open wounds that settled on his skin. Even though the water stung his bruised face and his hands made that worse, he continued to wash his face. He was eager for the bruises to heal - he didn't want to feel the burning and numbness on his face for any longer than he had to.

After he exited the bathroom he grabbed his tray and scurried back to his bed, sitting crisscross on it.

"You'll get used to the food here after a while. It isn't really all that bad, it's actually better than what they gave me back in the mental facility." Mitch started, not looking at Frankie but instead eating his food. "Man, they were so many restrictions there. They wouldn't even let me have a roommate, I still don't know why. I remember this one time when . . . " He droned off, telling Frankie about how his life - before he had been taken and placed where he was now - had went about.

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Kayla and Sandra stood worriedly in front of a police officer as they sat in their chairs. The two ladies had told the officer their problem and had already filled out a form. Since Frankie had been missing for twenty four hours, the officer was willing to put up flyers and look into it.

"He didn't return home yesterday?" The police officer asked, wanting to confirm what Sandra had told him. She nodded her head anxiously, wanting to start the search for her only child as soon as possible. "Had he been acting suspicious? Like he had wanted to run away?" He questioned, looking at the missing boy's mum.

"Frankie would never do that. He was happy with his life and he wouldn't run away - and if Frankie did, he would've at least left a note." Sandra stated, confident that her son would never do such a preposterous thing. The man nodded, writing some things down on the paper in front of him.

"You're the kid's friend, correct?" He inquired as he turned to Kayla, wanting to question her about Frankie. She nodded, wanting to do anything she could to help find her best friend. "I know teenagers aren't always making the right decisions, and sometimes they do stupid things. So tell me - and be honest now - was Frankie into drugs? Did he ever mention it? Did he by any chance sneak around to places?" Kayla gave him a incredulous look and shook her head so fast she could've gotten whiplash.

And so the officer questioned the two women and wrote more things down, eager to find the boy and bring him back to his family and friends.

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