The Attached

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Present day...

The third day soon came. The third back home, the house quiet as ever and the press squealing like pigs at a farm. Squealing to know more about me, dying to know anything at all. From what I heard they didn't have much, only the basics which everyone knew in this town. 'Missing Kid Returns Home'. 'Matthew Lucas Escapes Captivity, Returning Home Ten Years After His Alleged Death'. That's pretty much all anyone knew, including the police, for they didn't seem so keen and on footing with finding the man who took me, as I had to admit, I wasn't so keen on telling them either. What was wrong with me? Shouldn't I be screaming out his name in anger, telling them exactly who he is and what he is capable of doing? Shouldn't I be telling them about Noah? Screaming his name out in fear of his death as well? Why am I so numb to everything going around me? Why haven't I given up both of them? Is it because I'm afraid he will kill Noah. That's it, isn't it? I'm breaking one of our biggest rules. One of our only rules. Because I am scared. I am a coward. I am a terrible friend. I was shell shocked. Shocked to be home. Shocked to have returned so suddenly, as if I was pushed into my old life all at once, before I was even ready to process all the details and even the slate thought of returning home.

  This morning, the house remaining ghost like, the usual as I was the only one up now. My parents still in bed I assumed. My siblings as well. Are mom and dad sleeping in the same room? In the same bed now? Does that mean they have patched up the hole between them? Sealed it up? Are they back together now? Is everything going to go back to the way things were? But why can't that happen sooner? Why does it feel like something is missing? Something from my life? This life? What's missing though. Something just doesn't feel right being back here. Like I wasn't supposed to return home. Like I wasn't meant to get out. But if I wasn't meant to get out, why did I? There must be a reason. This must have been meant to happen. But what happens now? Where do I go from here?

  Stepping down the stairs in another pair of my brother's sweatpants, I yawned as I scuffed my hair a ways, turning the corner and plopping down the steps. And soon after as I would reach the bottom stair, that's when I realized why the house was so quiet, with officer Moyer sitting in the living room with my patents, as if they were waiting to shout surprise! You have to talk to the police! I was not so thrilled, a feeling of dread washing over on a repeat rinse while I moaned and head straight in the opposite direction. Making my way to the kitchen, not wanting to deal with anyone at the moment. Of course, the time I was just thinking of the next time I would have to talk to Moyer, she is cozying up in our living room. Great. I don't want to talk though. I don't want to have to tell them anything. I don't want to risk them knowing any details, running them in the news for everyone to see, including Michael who I know would destroy any remaining evidence that could prove he is or was involved with this. Even having to protect the bastard himself, for he knew they were looking for him, he would kill Noah as well. Trying to not lead or have any clues surrounding his name. He would play the Kevin Turner card, and claim he was being set up and falsely accused. If he covered his tracks properly, which I know he would, getting off with murder, kidnapping along with a whole bunch more crimes and charges. He would get off clean, although I would know, he would and Noah would know they did have the right guy. So no, I did not want to talk. I wasn't even sure what I wanted to say to them. Do I tell them about him, or not? What if they can't save him? But how will I know unless I tell them about him?

  "Matthew, I need to ask you some more questions," officer Moyer followed me into the kitchen, scratching my head as if it was clear I just woke up. Moaning some more in annoyance and utter complacence, I steeped into the kitchen grabbing a large cup from the cupboard above, pouring the freshly made coffee completely black swirling around in the mug, and I took a hefty sip. I didn't care what to eat or drink at the moment, I just wanted something to occupy myself instead of answering miserable questions.