'This is the last footage we have of him. A white van is then seen driving away on the CCTV from a shop about one hundred yards away'
Wilbur nodded, his eyes fixed on the screen as the clip of Tommy played on repeat. His heart ached, filled with guilt and remorse for allowing him to walk home alone.
The police officer continued. 'We've been able to make out the number plate on the van and we can confirm that it belongs to a man called Derick Munsey, who has a previous criminal record.'
Wilbur looked up at the officer with red puffy eyes. 'W-what's on his record?'
'Theft and, I'm so sorry to say this, but he was a prime suspect in a murder case; he never got charged because of the lack of biological evidence..'
Wilbur didn't respond. He just stared at the floor, trying to distance himself from the situation. Tommy had been kidnapped by a murderer. Surely this couldn't actually be happening?
'D-do you know where h-he might have taken him?' Wilbur began to bite his nails.
'We've checked at his place of residence, but it seems that he has not been there for a while, but we contacted his family and they seem to be cooperating. They've offered us some more addresses that he might be at, and we have officers going over immediately to check there.'
'Okay.' Wilbur's voice was barely over a whisper.
'Would you like a drink?' The officer asked. Wilbur shook his head; he was sure that if he ate or drank anything he would throw up.
'I'll leave you here then. I'll tell you immediately if there's any update.'
And with that, the officer left.
• • •
Darkness.
His head throbbed.
His throat was so swollen he could barely breathe.
Was he dead?
Yes.
Or maybe not.
Tommy tried to move his limbs, relieved to find that his hands were no longer tied behind his back, but his heart began to pound when he realised that he was in some sort of sack. Mind racing, he ran through what could have happened in his mind. He thought about being strangled, about how his vision had caved in, and that's when it hit him. His captor had thought he was dead, and must have discarded his 'body' somewhere in this sack.
Tommy began to uncontrollably panic; Derick would definitely have left him in a secluded area, meaning that there would be nobody to call out to for help. He was stuck here unless he managed to get himself out of this situation.
What if he had been buried?
What if he had a limited amount of oxygen left?
Tommy began to frantically claw at the sack in an attempt to rip it, but to no avail. It was made out of a thick woven material. He tried feeling around; perhaps there was an entrance to the sack that hadn't been sealed properly. Nothing.
He tried rolling over, and to his relief the entire sack moved. He hadn't been buried, and he wasn't in a box. He could vaguely smell damn earth and greenery, so his best guess was that he was in a woodland somewhere.
Trying to calm himself, Tommy ran through his options. He couldn't get out of the sack. He could move whilst inside, but only barely. That left him with only praying that someone would find him. He racked his brains, eventually coming to the conclusion that he must be somewhere near a footpath; he had been a dead weight whilst unconscious, so Derick wouldn't have been able to carry him very far.
And so Tommy began to shout.
His voice was hoarse; his bruised and swollen throat muted his cries so that they were barely mewls.
That was when he gave up; there was no point in trying anymore. He allowed himself to gently sob as he realised that he would never again see the sky, feel grainy sand beneath his feet whilst breathing in the salty sea air and, most importantly, he would never see or talk to his friends again.
He didn't even get to say goodbye.
Thank you all so much for almost 4k reads, I really appreciate each and every one of you (and a vote would be amazing :D )