Shaking, I lay in bed under my blankets staring at the bottomless pit of a ceiling. Every few minutes I glance at the digital clock across the room. 2:57 a.m. 2:58 a.m. 2:59 a.m. 3:00 a.m. Although I am literally watching the time pass, it feels as though I have been waiting for hours. But the clock finally changed to 3:00 a.m. and I quietly, but impetuously sprung out of bed and started gathering my things.

I didn’t feel incredibly worried or rushed. When they fall asleep, they stay asleep. Unless an outside force, such as myself, startles them awake. I don’t plan on doing that tonight.

I pack clothes, a toothbrush, my phone charger, the hair clippers we used for haircuts, some left over hair dye, and some food. I didn’t know where I was going, I just knew I couldn’t stay here. I was very meticulous about my actions, not trying to disturb the sleeping beasts in their pit of a bedroom.

Finally I was ready to leave. I walk to the door and stop about a foot away. It was sudden, and involuntary. Like my feet were instantly magnetized to the ground by an imperceptible force. And then I turned around.

Although my entire life was a lie, every memory a shame, they are still my memories. There were plenty of great memories I had in this house. When they would read me bedtime stories by the fire during the colder seasons. When they would play hide and clap all throughout the house with me. Parties. “Family”. The swing set in the backyard. These all could still put a smile on my face. I hate these people, but they were at once, my people.

As I got older, the memories got darker and more cloudy. I think my brain tried blocking a lot of those memories out. But they are all still so vivid. The times where he would get mad at her. The times where he would get mad at me. And sometimes, they were both mad at me. Those were the memories I try blocking out the most.

I snap out of my dazed state when I hear the creaking of an opening door. One of the great things about this house is that door. That door is the only door in the entire house that creaks when it opens. That is their door.

Almost immediately, I burst out of the front door like my life depended on it. And it did. I was running faster than I ever have in my life. Tears flying off of my face straight behind me as I sprint down the street. I didn’t even know I was crying. I ran for at least 15 minutes.

Looking around I had no idea where I was. I wasn’t allowed out of the house much, so I’m not familiar with the area at all. A panic started to rush over my body. Strangely, all I wanted to do was go home. That was the one place on this planet that was familiar to me. But I didn’t know where home was anymore. I started shaking, scanning the area for something that might look familiar, hyperventilating. And then, nothing.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Slowly regaining awareness, black faded into light. My eyes finally open completely and I’m surrounded by people I don’t know. I gasp and quickly shuffle backwards on the pavement.

“Are you okay, kid?”, a female bystander says.

She’s dressed in business attire. A navy blue, tight, neat skirt that reached right below her knee and a white, thin blouse that is tucked into her skirt. She wears some kind of bluetooth phone clipped to her ear. Her hair pulled back into a tight bun.

I nod, yes.

“Should we call 911?”, the male bystander says, “I don’t want to just leave him here…”

He was dressed informally. Jeans and a short sleeve t-shirt. He was about 5’9 with messy brown hair. His voice sounded nurturing. Hers sounded degrading.

“Yeah, okay.” She says to him before turning to me and saying, “hey kid, look, don’t worry we’re going to call for help. They’re gonna take good care of you.”

I start to sign, “My name is Conner DeVault…”

“Oh great…” the woman says under her breath. “Look, I don’t have time for this. I’m late for an incredibly important meeting.” She storms off, heels rapidly clicking down the pavement until they were just another memory. My mind was good at making memories, regardless if they were good or bad ones.

The man, turned and watched the woman hurry off. Then, looking at me with only his eyes, said, “Sorry about that, I don’t know what her problem was.”

I shrugged, feeling more and more calm by his presence. He seemed to genuinely care about my well being.

I sign again, “my name is Conner DeVault. I am 19 years old. I was abducted from my parents when I was two years old. I have been held captive for 17 years. Please help me.”

I don’t know how long I had been mute, but it has been for as long as I can remember. They did not let me learn sign language. I took every chance I got to learn it on my own, any way that I could. I have been practicing that sentence everyday for 10 years.

The man stammers, “I…I got no clue what you’re saying kid. I’m sorry I don’t know sign language. Maybe someone from the ambulance will understand you when they get here.”

The ambulance finally arrives after what felt like eternity and my heart started racing.

This might be it. This might finally be the moment I am found. After 19 years of waiting. Three EMT’s pour out of the back of the ambulance with a gurney and rush over to us.

“Hey guys, so I found this guy just passed out on the sidewalk about 15 minutes ago. He doesn’t speak, any of you know sign language?”, the bystander says.

One of the EMTs half heartedly raised his hand and said, “uh…I think I remember a little from high school. Okay kid, tell me your name.”

I start signing again, tears rolling down my face and heart bouncing off the wall of my chest cavity, “my name is Conner DeVault. I am 19 years old. I was abducted from my parents when I was two years old. I have been held captive for 17 years. Please help me.”

The EMT’s mouth practically fell to the floor. “Holy shit. Guys we need to call someone right now.”, says the EMT.

The other EMTs and the bystander all look confused and slightly afraid of what he was going to say.

“This is him…” he whispers.

“This is the presidents son.”