Dean

It took a week and a half to recover. A week and a half before I could walk on my own. The doctor said my ankles had been sprained when I sprang forward off my bike, that I was lucky that I hadn't snapped any bones.

"In most motorcycle accidents like this, we see broken femurs. You, son, are incredibly lucky. You definitely wouldn't have had the strength to walk to your house and tell your mother what happened. You would have bled out long before that." He said, a smile on his thin white lips. I had shivered and looked away, imagining the chances that I had been able to get home. It would have taken almost three days for my parents to find out she was missing. At that point, it seemed like a big deal. But after almost another week, I realized it wouldn't have made much difference if I had actually bled out.

During that week and a half, nothing had happened.

Well, sure my parents filed Erin missing, and sure the police had come and tapped the phone, talking about how wealthy my dad was and saying it was probably just for money. But all that had done was make every single phone call made to our house recorded, and there were still no calls from her kidnapper.

I spent my days lounging, upset and angsty, wishing that I could change the past.

My best friend, Christopher Newhall, came to visit every day, but it still didn't feel right. He would crack jokes and tease me in his usual nervous manner, but his presence wasn't really as comforting as I had hoped it would be. He would yank at his curly black hair as my mom came in for her five minute checkup and asked how I was doing and if we needed snacks. Then he would blush and look at me, double checking to see if I needed food and then asking her for something for me even if I had stressed that I wasn't hungry.

Every time.

So when I finally could walk again, I wasn't surprised to find that I was only alone when I was in the bathroom. Someone was always by my side, though it differed every day. My mom, or my grandmother, Christopher, even my father sometimes.

Slowly, slowly, their worry faded. But as it did, their stress skyrocketed. Soon I was always alone. Christopher didn't dare to come over anymore, my parents were always yelling at each other, and my mood had plummeted, they always fought at night and I stopped sleeping just as soon as I got better.

It was a chilly Wednesday afternoon when I finally put my foot down. I was sitting at the table with my grandmother, a frown on my face and a mug of hot chocolate in my hands, when I heard the stomping steps of my father go up the stairs and the door to his bedroom door slam. My mother walked into the kitchen, her eyes were sunken and sad, and she barely looked like the same woman she had on that Friday. She had lost weight, surely. Her clothes hung limply on her barely-there frame. Almost as if they were hung up on a stick. She walked over to me and my grandmother, coffeepot in hand.

"Thirsty, Mom?" She asked, not even waiting for an answer before she started to pour coffee into the almost full mug, her entire body shaking. I knew for a fact that my she wasn't thirsty. In fact, as she stood by the window and smoked her fifth cigarette, my grandmother Genevieve had complained that so much coffee made her have stomach problems. But even as the mug overfilled and spilled the cold, black liquid onto the table, my grandmother didn't say anything. She watched the coffee spill like she had no point in life but to do just that.

For some reason, the sight of the spilled coffee broke my resolve, and I stood as fast as I could and slammed my hands onto the table, watching as the mug I had been holding roll off the table and shatter against the tile.

Both women gasped and turned to look at me. I kept my eyes down and stormed off, ignoring their voices calling for me. I grabbed my jacket from it's hook, shoved on some shoes, and then managed to be out the door and down the drive in six seconds.

My car, a white Chevrolet Chevelle, my dad's first car. 1964!, He had said, The first year it came out! He had given it to me last year, on my sixteenth birthday, but at the time, it seemed insignificant. Now however, was a different story.

I slid into the seat, shifting uncomfortably and then starting the engine. I pulled out of the driveway and headed towards Christopher's house. I hadn't seen him in only a few days, but I was going crazy, and he seemed to be the only person who could ever understand what I was going through.

Unsurprisingly, he was on his porch, sipping at a glass of water and biting at his lips. I parked my car on the side of the road and walked across his yard to him, flopping down beside him. He sighed and looked over at me, his blue eyes watery.

"Any news?" He whispered, as if he was afraid to ask me. It's not like I was her older brother. It's not like I was her best friend for the first twelve years of her life. It's not like I was more of a parent to her than our actual parents some days. It's not like the entire world was fading away now that she was gone. It's not like I felt like I was drowning in my own fear of losing her and that it had frozen over me. Oh wait.

"No." I said. "We haven't heard anything."

"Dude, that's awful. I'm sorry." He muttered, kicking at the gravel beneath his feet.

"It's fine." I sighed. "But I'm not letting this go on. I'm going after her." It hadn't really occurred to me until that moment, but suddenly that sounded like a much better idea that anything I had thought of.

Chris stared at me. "Are you serious? That's bogus! There's no way you can do that!" He said, losing his quiet tone.

I rolled my eyes and stood up, wiping gravel off of my jacket . "Whatever. I'm going. You can't stop me." I bit my lip and started off down the lawn. I only stopped when Christopher grabbed my arm.

"Dean! You can't just leave! Your parents already have one missing kid, they don't need two." He babbled, wringing his hands together.

I couldn't help but think about how much of a worrywart he was. He never seemed to do anything with confidence. "I'll be fine. And my parents won't care. I'm able to move out in less than a year, it's not that big of a deal." He opened his mouth to speak, no doubt about to say something about legal rights, stupid bookworm. "I'm just going to find Erin," I interrupted, not even slightly in the mood to hear what he was trying to say. "It's not like I'm taking on the guy with a unsharpened pencil."

Chris sighed and pulled on the sleeves of his purple blazer. "Fine. Then... Well, then I'm coming with you." He said, pulling on his bravest face.

Now that was a surprise. Chris wasn't the kid who volunteered to go on a rescue mission. He was the kid who ate lunch alone in the boys locker room, trying to avoid everyone else. In fact, I met Chris in the boys locker room, during our lunch hour. He honestly looked just as surprised as I felt.

"Wow. Okay. Whatever you say. I'm not going to say no, i could use the company. Now do what you need to do. I'll be in the car." I informed him before turning to get back in my car.

"Wait, we're leaving now?" Christopher squeaked, eyes wide as saucers.

"Well, duh. The sooner we leave the more likely it is that Erin will be okay." I grunted, pulling open the driver's door and sliding into my car.

Christopher swallowed hard and then bobbed his head. "Okay!" He said, "I'll be right back!" He rushed into the house, only to come back a moment later and delicately grab the water glass he had left on the steps and slink back inside.

I rolled my eyes and smacked my forehead with the base of my palm.

Though I had to admit, Christopher on the road with me would make the entire trip that much easier. For a moment, I smiled at the thought of him lecturing me on the importance of seatbelts as we sped down the road to find Erin.