The Gone

Chapter One

When I moved to Port Henry, I was expecting a small quaint fishing town on the northern tip of California, with a rich history, and a small community feel. Once I arrived, I felt as though I was dropped into a perfect town. The people were nice, the local scenery was beautiful. To the north and east, there were mountains, there was a river to the south, and the port was on the west. The town seemed fictional, surreal even. Then it happened.

Sarah DePrasse was the first kid to go missing, but when Charles Angleton went missing, it got the whole town on edge. There was so much tension, that the dullest of knives could cut it. Once Laura Michaelson went missing, everyone lost it. The town went from this perfect town to a lawless town, straight out of an old cowboy movie. We just didn't know who the hero would be. Who would be the one to come racing in on their mighty steed, and find out where these kids have been going. Back at the start of it, I never would have guessed that it would be me. Nobody would have. I mean, who would have, a 17-year-old boy only worried about his acne outbreak and getting through his freshman year, rescuing the town he moved to a month ago. That being said, this is my story.

I woke up to the sound of the loud blaring of my alarm clock. People always complained to me about the sound of my alarm clock made, but I didn't understand it. It would read out the date and time, in a perfect tone, which everyone else claimed was obnoxious. Sometimes, I would leave my alarm running for a few minutes just to see how long it would take for them to march into my room and turn it off. Most of the time, it was only a few minutes.

"Oh My god Charlie, shut that alarm off now!" I heard my mother scream from the other side of the house. Somehow, her voice drowned out the alarm for a short time, so that I had forgotten about it. As I walked out of my room, ready to do my morning run, I passed my father in the hallway.

"Where you going," he always asked

"Running," I would say. I know my parents didn't like me doing this every morning, with everything that was going on. They were overprotective of me, as if I was some sort of 17 year old baby, that couldn't take care of himself. I always ignored them. Running was my way to escape from all the thoughts in my head. It made me calm. I always run for 40 minutes, always the same route, passing the same points at the same time. People question it, but I like the systematic pattern of it. It's like a well tuned machine, each gear operating exactly as it should when it should.

Once I was done, I returned home, showered, and rushed out the door, just like always. I walked up the dirty stairs to bus 2 at a time, as I always did. I looked around the bus and saw the normal sights, little kids huddled together out of fear, and the juniors and seniors pulling pranks on everyone. I walked back 12 rows to my normal seat, and sat down next to the only person who ever really understood me, James. He was my best friend here, if you can call him that. We mostly just ignore each other, but my parents begged me to become friends with someone, so here he is. Hope you like him mom and dad.

I put in my headphones, and put on my music. I listened to the same songs in the same order every day, a compilation of songs that always got me ready for the day. I felt a light tap on my shoulder and looked up. There was a little kid, staring at me.

"What do you want," I said, not paying any attention to what he said. He said something like "I'm scared." The usual things the little kids say to us looking for comfort. I never comforted them, and just ignored the kid.

I arrived at my school, the infamous Henry High, and went straight to my locker. I looked down at my shoes for most of the walk, but would occasionally look up to find the occasional couple, or a few friends hanging out before the bell rang for the first period. When I reached the end of the hall and got to my locker, the only one in my little section without any decorations on the door, or inside. Just a plain yellow locker, in a sea of individualism. I still don't understand why people feel like they need to decorate their lockers and what-not. It was just a place for you to store your books in between class, and most of the kids found this to be sort of a safe zone for themselves.

I got my books for my first period, AP Chemistry. Mr Jacobson, our teacher, was the only person at this school I could tolerate. Most of the class hated him, because he was, as they put it "a boring teacher." I guess that's what I liked about him, the fact that he only talked about the work we were doing, and nothing else; no personal matters, no sports, just our work. After about 15 minutes of class, the first student broke down. This started happening quite often, to the point where I started keeping track of how many of my classmates broke down in tears. She quickly ran out of the class to the bathroom. She was the only person to break down that period.

Chemistry was followed by Math, History, and English. Math was a waste of time. The teacher was 20 minutes late, and couldn't stop crying for the rest of the class, so nothing got done in the class. There were also 10 students who cried in class, one after the other, until 11 people were gushing tears. Our history teacher, Mr. Gonzales, always tried to cheer up the class, so only 3 people cried in class. Our English teacher tried to cheer us up as well, but he was not successful. 8 people cried, and a few almost started.

That brought our total number to 23. 23 students break down in my class. While that sounds like a lot, it was hardly anything compared to most days. The week before, I set my record with 47 students and 2 teachers. As I sat down in the corner of the lunch room and started eating my turkey sandwich, I could feel most of the school looking at me, and I had no idea why. I decided to ignore the staring and pointing, and decided to just keep eating. I could hear them whispering, but I frankly didn't care. After I quickly ate my sandwich, I grabbed my bag, and went to the library to enjoy the silence and solitude that it brought. As I walked, everyone was pointing at me, staring, whispering, but I didn't care. They were probably jealous that my family was one of the few left in town that were still together.

When I reached the library, I finally felt a feeling of comfort in the isolation that I felt. No one was here, meaning I would not be getting any more obnoxious stares, no more fingers pointed, and no more whispers between friends about me. I sat down on a small sofa to the right of the door, put my headphones in, and closed my eyes. I slowly drifted off to sleep, waiting for my alarm to ring for me to start heading to class.

As I slept, I didn't dream. Most people say that I just don't remember having a dream, but I know that is not the case. I just sat there, waiting for my alarm to pull me out of the abyss of my mind. After a good 25 minutes of sleep, I arose, and started walking to my next class, Geometry.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, kids crying in class, everyone's minds wandering, the teachers, not being able to do anything, reluctantly continue to teach to nobody. After my Geography class, in which no one cried, I went to the bus pickup spot and got ready to go home, stay up late doing homework, and avoiding any interaction as much as I can. On the bus ride back to my house, I never listened to music, because the bus was always empty on the way back, meaning I didn't have to drown out the noise of anyone speaking, and could just relax in my thoughts, when suddenly, a blaring noise, much like my morning alarm, started playing. A few kids stood up to see what was the origin of the noise, but I knew what it was. A police cruiser ahead; another kid missing. Nothing new, nothing to worry about, or so I thought.

As the bus pulled onto my street, I saw the cruisers close to the end of the street, around where I lived. As we pulled closer and closer to my stop, I fully realized what had happened. The bus stopped, and I bolted for my front door, under the police tape surrounding my house, ignoring the cop warning me to stay back. As I burst through my door, I saw my mom, dad, and sister all sitting in the living room crying, and I fell down to my knees in defeat, we were no longer one of the lucky few; people would no longer be jealous of my luck, and I finally understood why the kids at school today were all pointing at me. I looked around the room again, glancing in every corner, every nook, and every cranny. My brother had gone missing.