evenin' all.
***
Mitch sat in a tree in the woods behind his house, although his house was nowhere in sight anymore. He was about a mile away from it.
He was sitting there, his eyes closed as the breeze pushed his hair and gave him goosebumps.
He didn't bring anything with him except for the desperation for silence. Well, some form of silence.
Birds chirped, leaves rattled and the occasional deer ran across his eyesight.
It was peaceful, he needed it. Although it wasn't quiet for long.
"Hey!"
Mitch's eyes fluttered, he was practically on the verge of sleep. He looked down, and sure enough, a man was down there.
He sighed before replying. "What?"
The man looked kind of familiar, but he couldn't think of a name or any other information about this familiar face.
The man wore a dirty baseball cape, a zipped up water proof navy blue coat, ripped jeans and combat boots with dried mud on them. Mitch felt uneasy, but he felt safe ten feet above him in the tree.
"What're you doin out here, kid? It's almost sunset." Mitch crossed his arms subtly and tilted his head slightly.
"None of your business." He snapped back; waiting rather impatiently for this strange interaction to be over.
"Your parents must be looking for yous'." Mitch ignored his speech. He raised an eyebrows with a slight frown.
"And the mental ward must be looking for you. Leave me alone."
And just as Mitch was going to close his eyes and ignore him, the cock of a gun made him flinched so hard, he was afraid of falling.
"Get down from the tree."
***
Mitch shivered violently as he was lead through the woods with a gun pressed against the side of his head. The man also had his hand on his back, making sure to keep Mitch up with his fast walking pace.
Mitch was terrified, confused, and trying to think of a way to escape from the mans cold hold.
He remembered then why he looked familiar.
"If you see this man, call your local police station. He was last seen at a gas station in Gregsville with fifteen year old Scott Richard Hoying. Connie and Rick Hoying are giving out a cash reward for any valid tips that help with the returning of their kidnapped son."
Mitch's breath was fast, the possibilities were endless when it came to being in the hands of a complete, dangerous stranger.
Am I going into trafficking?
Will I be a slave?
Am I going to die?
His feet were beginning to hurt from the walking, and it was almost pitch black. But the man seemed to know exactly where they were going.
After what seemed like hours, they were approaching a cabin. It blended into the trees since the shade of the wood matched its surroundings quite well. There were no lights on from what he could see from outside, and as they walked up the porch stairs, the man pulled out a ring of keys.
Mitch had been silently crying the entire time, although he made no noise. The man picked out a key and unlocked one of the locks.
One out of five.
Once he was finished, he kicked the door open and slammed it shut. As he began bolting the door behind them, Mitch took in his surroundings. It smelled of smoke and chemicals, the living room to his right was a wreck with a ripped couch and cans and food on the coffee table. The T.V was playing a news channel, although the audio would occasionally skip.
