evenin' all.
***

Mitch sat in a tree in the woods behind his house, although his house was nowhere in sight anymore. He was about a mile away from it.

He was sitting there, his eyes closed as the breeze pushed his hair and gave him goosebumps.
He didn't bring anything with him except for the desperation for silence. Well, some form of silence.
Birds chirped, leaves rattled and the occasional deer ran across his eyesight.

It was peaceful, he needed it. Although it wasn't quiet for long.

"Hey!"

Mitch's eyes fluttered, he was practically on the verge of sleep. He looked down, and sure enough, a man was down there.
He sighed before replying. "What?"
The man looked kind of familiar, but he couldn't think of a name or any other information about this familiar face.

The man wore a dirty baseball cape, a zipped up water proof navy blue coat, ripped jeans and combat boots with dried mud on them. Mitch felt uneasy, but he felt safe ten feet above him in the tree.

"What're you doin out here, kid? It's almost sunset." Mitch crossed his arms subtly and tilted his head slightly.
"None of your business." He snapped back; waiting rather impatiently for this strange interaction to be over.

"Your parents must be looking for yous'." Mitch ignored his speech. He raised an eyebrows with a slight frown.
"And the mental ward must be looking for you. Leave me alone."

And just as Mitch was going to close his eyes and ignore him, the cock of a gun made him flinched so hard, he was afraid of falling.

"Get down from the tree."

***

Mitch shivered violently as he was lead through the woods with a gun pressed against the side of his head. The man also had his hand on his back, making sure to keep Mitch up with his fast walking pace.

Mitch was terrified, confused, and trying to think of a way to escape from the mans cold hold.
He remembered then why he looked familiar.

"If you see this man, call your local police station. He was last seen at a gas station in Gregsville with fifteen year old Scott Richard Hoying. Connie and Rick Hoying are giving out a cash reward for any valid tips that help with the returning of their kidnapped son."

Mitch's breath was fast, the possibilities were endless when it came to being in the hands of a complete, dangerous stranger.

Am I going into trafficking?

Will I be a slave?

Am I going to die?

His feet were beginning to hurt from the walking, and it was almost pitch black. But the man seemed to know exactly where they were going.

After what seemed like hours, they were approaching a cabin. It blended into the trees since the shade of the wood matched its surroundings quite well. There were no lights on from what he could see from outside, and as they walked up the porch stairs, the man pulled out a ring of keys.

Mitch had been silently crying the entire time, although he made no noise. The man picked out a key and unlocked one of the locks.

One out of five.

Once he was finished, he kicked the door open and slammed it shut. As he began bolting the door behind them, Mitch took in his surroundings. It smelled of smoke and chemicals, the living room to his right was a wreck with a ripped couch and cans and food on the coffee table. The T.V was playing a news channel, although the audio would occasionally skip.

To his left was the kitchen which was absolutely filthy. The stove was stained with grease, and the table held old food as well.
Mitch then heard loud barking, and soon two large dogs were running up to him. Mitch's breath hitched, scared out of his mind.

The man said nothing as he grabbed Mitch's wrist roughly, the gun held loosely in his other hand.
He lead Mitch to a closet, which inside held a trap door. Mitch's breath grew faster, and the dizziness he began feeling made him even more anxious.

He unlocked the trap door, and all he could see was a ladder going into the darkness.
The man gestured for Mitch to walk down. Mitch hugged himself, hiccuping a cry before continuing to hyperventilate.

"Shut up." The man said annoyedly. Mitch continued crying, but he tried to be quiet this time. He took a few steps forward and looked down the trap door, and he could only see darkness.

"Get in." The man ordered with his grumbly voice. Mitch nodded slightly, deciding it best to not argue with a man who held a gun.
He very carefully started in the first steps, the wood seeking old a shaky, which scared him. He was afraid of it snapping and then he'd fall into the rabbit hole below him.

As he took a few more steps down, he man unexpectedly closed the trap door.
Mitch, surprisingly, began hyperventilating even more even though it felt like he was at max panic.

He became even more terrified when he heard a voice coming from the darkness.
"H-hello?"

Mitch gasped, and almost fell.
He couldn't keep it in anymore and began crying loudly, taking large breaths as he tried to relax himself, although that seemed unlikely.
"Hey, hey. Shh, be quiet." The voice frantically said, with a tone of urgency and slight comfort. Mitch finally reached the floor, which was cold cement.

It was complete dark, except for what was behind the ladder which he couldn't see before. A small light bulb hung from the ceiling, and sure enough, Scott Hoying was standing there underneath it.

"What's your name?" Scott asked, walking forward and immediately pulling him into a hug. Mitch couldn't seem to form words, as he just cried harder. Scott caressed the back of his head, and although they'd just met, Mitch held onto him for dear life.

"Shh, shh. You have to try and be quiet, okay? I know your scared, b-but you need to be quieter or else he'll get upset, okay? What's your name?" Scott asked again. Mitch finally pulled away to rub his face.

"I-I'm Mitch... a-are you Scott Hoying?" Mitch asked, his voice weak. Scott frowned, nodding. He held Mitch's hands and guided him over to a cot with a few blankets on it.
"I'm so sorry, Mitch." Scott whispered, Mitch sitting down on the cot.

"We have to get out of here." Mitch said quickly, the realization of it beginning to set in. Scott shook his head slightly.
"Mitch, don't try to... especially not when he's right upstairs."

Mitch didn't say anything else as a sob bubbled up his throat again. Scott sat next to him and hugged him tightly, trying to relax him although it was pointless.

Mitch wondered how Scott was so calm. Probably because he'd been here for months, and he already knew of everything going on. What to do and what not to do.

Mitch would have to learn that, too.

But first, he would try to escape.

***
Two months later.
***

"Good morning..." Mitch mumbled as he noticed Scott stirring awake. Mitch had already been awake for hours, and that was clear by the exhausted expression on his face.

Scott fluttered his eyes open before rubbing them tiredly.
"What time is it?" Scott mumbled.

"Before breakfast."
Since they didn't have a clock in the basement, or any window, there was really no way of telling the time. So they way they tried to, was when their kidnaper gave them breakfast, when he left the house, and when they faintly heard the night news playing on the television.

Scott sighed as he looked around the cold basement. The only thing in there was the cot which was kind of big enough for the both of them, and boxes on the other side which they were forbidden to touch.

Days were long and boring. Although they preferred doing nothing then when their captor was home. They didn't actually know his name, but Scott said in his head, he refers to him as Cap.

Mitch thought it was short for, 'captor' but Scott quickly said 'no,' and said he was referring to his baseball cap which he was always wearing.

Scott took notice in Mitch's body language. Uncomfortable, tired, upset.
The last one was always there, so that wasn't unusual, but the other two were. "You alright?" Scott asked. Mitch glanced over at him, shaking his head no.

They never lie in there. What's the point? What's the point of keeping secrets or lying about anything? There wasn't.

Scott then remembered and sighed, sitting up taller and putting his hand on Mitch's leg.
"What was it?"

Mitch sighed and shook his head slightly, looking down at it lap.
"He was just ranting and ranting... that's all it was at first. Then he started acting all weird and started blaming me for everything in his life..." Mitch scoffed.

"Then he practically pushed me in the closet and slammed the trap door closed." Scott sighed, knowing what it was like. Cap would randomly collect one of the boys to rant to as if they were a friend.

But then he'd get angrier and angrier as he ranted and either hit them, or screamed at them. Sometimes both.
Mitch sometimes wondered what there purpose was in the basement.

The question was always brought up. Why did he take us?
But neither of them could figure out why. The quite obvious reason was for them to be a slave for any purposes he needed, but that didn't seem to be the case, thankfully.
They just stayed in the basement until he needed to talk. Guess that's what they were, then. Just listeners.

As selfish as it seems, Scott was somehow grateful Mitch was with him. Of course he hated Mitch being unhappy and scared, but Scott had been alone for months, completely cutoff from everything except for Cap.
Over the two months Mitch had been there, they'd learned everything there was to know about each other. Family, friends, school. Opinions on everything they could think of. Because that's all there was to do. Talk.
Scott would often think they'd be best friends in the outside world. The world outside of the basement.

But that wasn't the only reason. More people equals more thoughts, more ideas.

"Have you ever secretly gone through those boxes?" Mitch asked Scott softly. Scott shook his head. "I've told you before. I haven't. I don't want to risk getting caught and then beaten."

Mitch pressed his lips together.
Scott shook his head. "Mitch, no. We'll get caught and he'll kill us both, he's so strict." Scott said sternly, noticing Mitch's look at the boxes. Mitch looked over at Scott with narrowed eyes.
"Don't you want to get out of here? What if there's something in there that can help us?" He asked. Scott looked over at the boxes.

"We'd have to do it when we know for a fact he's not here." Mitch nodded in agreement. "We never know, though. We just hear the door... what if it's him testing us?"
Scott shook his head slightly.

"I don't think he's smart enough to do that." Mitch giggled quietly and looked back toward Scott.
Before Mitch could say anything, they heard the trap door open and then heavy steps down he ladder.

Scott gave Mitch's hand a squeeze. "Mornin'..." grumbled the man. Neither replied, but watched intently as he held a bin of food that would last then the day.

Least he didn't starve them... they were lucky.

Mitch looked at his hands. Usually he held a gun, he always held a gun. But this time, he didn't have one.

His pants didn't have pockets, and he didn't have a holder. Scott seemed to notice too, because he glanced and Mitch and they shared a knowing look.

"Blondie, I need your help. I spilt beer on the carpet, go clean it up while I walk Whisky around the woods."
Whisky was one of his dogs... how appropriate.

"Yes sir." Scott said, immediately releasing Mitch's hand and standing up. As Scott walked with him over to the ladder, he gave him a slight nod. A kid that exchanged a plan they hadn't even discussed yet. Mitch nodded, though.

Cap was being careless.
And he would pay for that.

The only thing Mitch knew for sure was, though... was that that beer wouldn't be the only thing that needed to be cleaned out of the carpet that night.

***