Murderer

Chapter 6: Brendon

I woke up on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. I thought I was just waking up from a bad dream, that Ryan was actually okay, and...

I turned my head to the right, seeing Ryan's empty bed. A cold shiver passed through my body, which was spread out like a rug on his bedroom floor. Suddenly, I broke out in a sweat and I stood up, rushing out of the room only to be stopped in my tracks by his dad.

"What's going on, Brendon? Where is Ryan? Why did you pass out in his room?" he demanded answers. I myself had no idea what was going on. I didn't even know if those screams were really his, but I was assuming the worst since it was unlike Ryan to return home. He wasn't here, still.

"First of all, how long was I out?!" I asked, trying to create some sort of hope for Ryan. Maybe I ran faster than he was walking and got to his house before him.

"Three hours. You completely wiped out a few seconds after you entered his room." he said, worried.

Oh god.

"We need to call the police. Ryan walked away from me in a small argument. I chased after him but I never got to catch up to him. I heard screaming and someone yelling for help, but I couldn't completely make out if it was Ryan or not because I never heard something so horrifying before. I think somebody took him. I think somebody is hurting him..." I started tearing up.

The thought of somebody hurting Ryan is the worst thing you can imagine. I had a perceived thought of him in a basement somewhere. It would be dark, cold, alone, and scary. He would probably be shirtless, left there to shiver, sweat, and starve while his hands would be tied up to some pole that held up the whole house together. I felt myself clenching my fists, nobody can do that to him. Not without a war. But what am I saying. I let my friend walk into the night, probably thinking that I hated him or something for not wanting to do what I asked of him. I cursed to myself, that was the last time we talked and it was a horrible feeling. An argument is the last thing I wanted to happen if I were to ever say goodbye to him.

Ryan's dad was an absolute mess. He had the police on the phone in one hand, explaining what happened, with a bottle of beer in the other. He was talking with a very concerned tone to the police for what seemed like forever until he finally hung up. I looked up at him fast, as if he offered me something to eat and I hadn't eaten in years.

"They're sending a cop over to grab a picture of him, and then they're sending out an Amber Alert. Unfortunately I don't have any recent pictures of him...he changed his appearance a lot this year and I want them to have a more recent photo of him..." he said tiredly.

"I'm going to run to my house, I got photos of him from this year. Don't worry!" I said, already half way out the door.

I started with a light jog, which turned into steady run, which transformed into me having an emotional break down while running like his life depended on it. I mean it did. Not that I was going to find him at my house or something, but maybe somebody will recognize him if only they see a current picture of him. So what I was doing would bring us a step closer to finding him, hopefully. That hope, turned into a blur of sinister thoughts. It's all my fault he's in this situation. I should have been there for him, should have caught up with him and walked him home. I shouldn't have even asked him to drink beer in the first place. I should have never even asked him to give up his goody-goody life with me. We should have never found that pond. We should have never became friends, maybe he'd be alright if it wasn't for me. What if he's dead. What if he was tortured, whipped, and starving right now. Shit, it's only been a few hours but he likes to eat a lot, fast metabolism. I slapped myself for thinking such horrid things. Positive thoughts, Brendon.

I finally reached my house, and I looked like I went to hell and back. It was around nine at night, and my mom ran up to me in concern.

"Brendon! Oh dear, why are you all sweaty? Did something happen?" she asked me twenty questions while rubbing my hair back and patting my head with a towel. I moved her hand away, there was no time for this.

"Ryan...he got taken...I need pictures of him from this year." I said, running around the house looking for the pictures.

"Oh no, that's horrible!" my mom cried. She grabbed an envelope of pictures that she had developed a few weeks ago. "Here, honey. Take these!"

"Thanks, mom. We're going to find him, I know it. I know somebody had to have seen him." I said, keeping a determined look on my face. Then I spun and ran out the door, clutching the envelop of pictures close to me as I dashed back to Ryan's house.