Mom held my hand tightly again as we navigated the crowd at the gate. When we finally broke free into the corridor, Dad waved to a young woman who was holding up a piece of paper with the word 'Winston' on it. She waved back and we made our way over. It took me a moment to remember that Winston was my last name. This made me cringe.

Once we got less than ten feet away from her, she dropped the sign, ran to us, and picked me up and swung me around. Then she cupped my face with her hands. "T-Tabby?" I said.

"Yes! You're okay! Oh my gods, I missed you so much!" She squeezed me tightly.

"Hey, you really don't need to do that." I said, my cheeks growing warm.

Tabby released me and held me at arm's length. "Yes I do; you're my baby brother, a-and I thought you were dead, and... I lone you. I love you so fucking much!" She sniffled and sobbed and let me go. "You smell so bad."

"She's right, bud; you need a shower." Dad clapped me on the back.

"Yeah. Okay." I said quietly.

Mom put her arm around my shoulder and the four of us walked out of the airport and got into Tabby's car.

I silently watched the city buildings slip by outside my window; countless people going about their life. I was one of them again. From now on, I could live my life as I please.

Tabby parked us on the side of the road in front of a slightly run-down apartment building that looked like an ivy-covered piece of cheese wedged tightly between two rocky slices of bread; as if the other buildings could crush it at any moment. There were cracks in the stone, some of its windows were boarded up, and there was garbage strewn across the sidewalk in front of the building.

"We're home!" Mom squeezed my hand again. "It's not much, I know."

"Oh, no, it's great!" I replied.

The four of us filed into the building. The lobby didn't look any better than the exterior; the furniture was faded colorless, covered in a thick layer of dust, and torn; small chunks of gray fluff scattered across the floor. The stained and faded wallpaper was peeling off the walls, revealing the wooden paneling. All but one overhead light was out and that one was flickering. The whole room smelled like rotting eggs and skunk spray.

"I promise; our apartment ISN'T gross like this." Tabby assured me.

"ANYTHING'S better than where I've been." I said. Mom wrapped her arms around me tightly.

They led me to the elevator and pressed the button for the eighth floor. Soft music played, muffled by the elevator squeaking and humming as we ascended. When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, I was surprised that the hallway was actually in pretty good condition; only one overhead light was out and the wallpaper was nailed neatly to the walls.

We stopped at a door near the end of the hall. Dad tapped the door and told me, "see here; this is it; apartment 3." Then he unlocked it and all of us went in.

I stood in the middle of the common room in awe; it looked extremely familiar, yet so foreign. The setup was the same as I'd remembered our old apartment being; tv against the wall, then a table, a couch, and two chairs at the ends of the table.

Then I saw the pictures.

I walked over to the wall next to the coat rack and took a closer look. It was... ME. Not from before my abduction, but colored sketches of my face. In all of them, I was a teenager. Then the realization dawned on me; these sketches must've been estimates of what the police thought I'd look like if I was still alive. They were pretty much spot on. Except for the hair; they'd drawn it short, as if I'd been getting haircuts all those years, which I hadn't; my platinum hair curled slightly past my shoulders. I twirled a lock around my finger.

Mom, Dad, and Tabby looked at the pictures as well, with a look of mourning.

"They printed them in the papers over the years." Mom looked at me. "Just in case."

Dad decided to change the subject by asking me, "hey buddy, do you like your hair like that, or you wanna cut it?"

"I-I guess I'd like to cut it." I replied.

Mom let go of me, walked across the room, and pulled a camera from the closet. "Smile, baby!"

I smiled the best I could and she took my picture. Then she took another one, then another, then another until Dad told her to not waste the film and she placed it on the table. "Well, Tabitha, I suppose you should help your father with dinner while I draw Dallas a bath." She said, pulling me by the arm to the bathroom, where she twisted the tub faucet, causing water to begin filling the tub. "Alright, honey, see this knob right over here?" She pointed to a small knob right next to the faucet.

I nodded.

"If the water gets too cold, twist it to the left, and if it's too hot, twist it to the right. Use soap, don't take too long, and if you need any help at all, knock on the door." She left the room, shutting the door behind her.

For a moment, I just stared at the faucet, watching bullets of water splash into the tub. Then I removed all of my clothes and maneuvered around the tub nervously. I glanced over my shoulders. There were no windows of any kind, just like the room with the water tank. There was a prickly feeling and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. My stomach tied itself in knots and I began looking through drawers and cabinets, in and around the overflowing laundry hamper, behind the towel rack, in the toilet, convinced that my captors were hiding somewhere in this room, cameras in hand. A voice in my head tried to stop my paranoia, assuring me that I was home, my captors were in prison, I'm just taking a bathe to wash off seven years of stench and grime.

I cautiously dipped my toe into the water. It was lukewarm. I twisted the knob next to the faucet to the left, eventually making the water comfortably warm. I laid down my whole body in the tub except my head. I found the soap and cleaned myself with it. I was surprised and disgusted at how much dirt came out of my hair when I scrubbed the soap into my scalp.

When I was done, I pulled the plug, allowing the water to go down the drain, and I got out, dried off, and pulled my clothes back on, then exited the bathroom.

Tabby had set four places at the table and Mom and Dad were in the kitchen, from where delicious aromas made my stomach growl. I walked in.

"Wow! I didn't think you could get any blonder!" Dad teased, ruffling my hair.

I chuckled. "So what are you making?"

"Spaghetti and meatballs." Mom smiled at me from the stove. "Your favorite!"

"Yum!" I had completely forgotten that. "Thanks."

"Aw, it's no problem, dear."

_______________________

Sorry it took s long guys

Love ya!

CC