Lost

Five

Louis;

It's been over a month since Harry went missing. I've been searching every where, going over every lead I have over and over. Everything is a dead end.

We managed to i.d. the guy who took him. His name is Bruce Leyton. He's got quite the record too. Breaking and entering, robbery, and assault all on the list of crimes he's committed. He was let out of prison after a twenty-five year sentence only two years ago. The Cheshire p.d. had tabs on him up until a year ago, then he suddenly just disappeared without a trace.

The black van was also a dead end. Liam and Zayn found it parked at a drugstore down the street from the grocery store where Harry was taken. I have personally searched that van multiple times for any clue as to where he might've taken Harry. There's nothing. No trace of evidence at all.

I pace back and forth in my office, tugging at my hair, racking my brain for anything I could've possibly missed. But there's nothing. I flop down into my desk chair and lean my head back, closing my eyes.

Today is February 16th, which, if I'm not mistaken, means that Harry's birthday has already gone by. The guilt I feel for not having found him yet weighs on me every day. It shows too. There are dark circles under my eyes from my lack of sleep, and my shoulders seem to constantly be slumped forward from exhaustion. I need to find Harry. And soon.

I glance over at the clock. It's almost two o'clock in the morning. I suppose I should probably head home. I sigh, standing up from my chair. I am about to shut the door and lock up the station when the phone at the front desk rings.

This can't be good.

I rush back to the desk and pick up the phone on the third ring.

"Cheshire P.D. what is your emergency?" I say. I hear someone breathing heavily on the other end and after a minute they answer, the panic and fear evident in their voice. I nearly drop the phone in shock at what they say.

"My-y name is H-harry Styles, I've been m-missing for o-over a m-month now."

Harry; 1 hour earlier

I've been here now for about a month and a half. During that time I've tried and failed to escape a total of four times. Each time the punishment is worse. I now have scars all over my body from being cut, stabbed, and pricked. I'm covered in bruises from head to toe. They never seem to go away, new ones forming right as the old ones seem to fade. Nothing is ever life threatening though, just enough to make me scream in pain.

What Bruce doesn't realize is that I no longer care about the punishments. Sure they hurt like hell but through every failed attempt to get out of here, I learn what to do and what not to do the next time. And I will never give up.

I look up from where I am seated on my makeshift bed when the upstairs door opens.

Here we go again, I think as Bruce makes his way down the stairs. I get up and he leads me up to the kitchen. It's been a while since I've tried to escape.

Let's change that.

As we reach the top of the stairs I spin quickly and kick Bruce in the stomach, sending him flying backwards down the stairs.

Why didn't I think of that before!?

I peek down the flight of stairs and see that Bruce is unconscious. This gives me a little time. First, I need to untie this damn rope from my wrists. I can't do anything with my hands tied behind my back. Glancing around the room, I try to find something sharp. My eyes land on the knife left on the counter and I back up to it ,somehow managing to get it into my hand. In a matter of seconds I'm free. I rub my wrists and quickly walk over to the basement door, closing and locking it.