Andrew sat, leaned against the cement wall, staring into the room of toys and games. He had been alone there for almost two hours now. The other boy, Alex, had suddenly stood and said he had to go while they were in the middle of playing. It hadn’t bothered Andrew much at the time, though. He had quickly grown tired of playing with the child shortly after he had arrived. He was too worried about his mom, and the moment he had spoken up about it, Alex had thrown a tantrum, demanding Andrew play with him. Andrew had given up after not too long. The redhead scared the heck out of him. As such, he had been forced to play and pretend to be having fun for more than a couple hours, none of it being very fun at all.
Andrew sighed, knocking his head gently on the wall again. At first he had been glad to have the child leave. He felt safer in the room alone than he did with the kid around. Shortly after, though, the room began to creep him out, especially the fact that there didn’t seem to be any way for fresh air to circulate into the room. He was beginning to feel as if the air was running out, but he knew it was probably just in his mind. The room seemed large enough that it would have at least a few hours of air in it.
He turned, looking at the wall, wondering how he could possibly get through it. He had only seen it open two times, and both times it was the child who had done it. All Alex had done was place a palm on the wall and then the wall would glow white and vanish. Andrew had tried doing the same, but his hands didn’t seem to do anything to the wall, not that he was all that surprised.
He pushed off the wall, and mustering his energy, slowly dragged himself toward a nearby beanbag chair. He pulled himself into a comfortable position and leaned back. His mind traveled back to thoughts of his mother. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was okay… if she was even alive. Part of him refused to admit it was possible she was dead, but he knew he couldn’t be sure. There was no telling, since she had been shot. She had been pretty banged up even before being shot, and from what his mom had said at the time, Andrew guessed it had been the same guy that had hurt her last night.
This thought made the child frown. That meant his mom had lied to him when she told him L.A.W.E. had already caught the guy. He realized that she probably did it to protect him, so he wouldn’t worry, but it still made him feel bad. He didn’t like being lied to.
Of course, this thought was quickly pushed from his mind by another: why had they gone through so much trouble to capture him? He had been wondering that for a while now too. It didn’t make any sense. He had nothing to offer. Heck, he could barely move around on his own, so why kidnap him? Did they think his mom was rich or something? One look at their house had to tell them that wasn’t the case. And if it was for ransom, killing his mom would have been out of the question, and they had definitely wanted his mom dead. The man who drove the car had said so. Though, Andrew wasn’t sure exactly how much that man could be trusted either; he had tried to help these people, after all.
Andrew leaned his head back, sighing again and staring at the far wall. His eyes widened as he saw something in the wall, hiding behind a box of some sort. He could barely see it, only looking like a sliver of black in the otherwise gray wall. Curious and hopeful, Andrew rolled out of the chair and began the rather taxing and lengthy process of dragging himself across the cement floor toward the wall. The trip was made even more difficult by the toys and other objects lying scattered across the room. Looking at it all, Andrew suddenly realized why so many parents yelled at their kids to clean their rooms. It made it a pain to navigate through, if they weren’t.
After nearly five minutes of exhausting work, dragging himself across the floor, Andrew’s hand touched the now close wall. He pulled himself up to the box and lowered his head to peer at the black. A smile crossed his face as he felt a slight breeze blowing in through the hole. He had found a way out; all he had to do was move the box.
Andrew rolled around and maneuvered himself into a position parallel to the wall, and pushed the top of his head against the box as he tried to push himself forward. The twelve-year-old grunted as he strained with all his energy to move the box, pushing with every ounce of strength his feeble arms and legs could muster. After nearly a minute of pushing, the box began to slide. Surprised by the sudden movement, Andrew’s face fell down and hit the floor. He let out a cry of surprise and pain, then smiled. He could do it. He lifted his head back up and pulled forward again, pushing against the box with all his might. He grunted and groaned with his teeth clenched tight, until the box began to move once more. He kept pushing, moving the box further and further, until the hole was uncovered.
Andrew pushed himself back a moment to look at the hole. It was fairly small, only about two feet wide and barely over a foot tall. But, at the end of it he could see light. Andrew smiled and rolled into a position so he was lined up with the hole. He began forward, squeezing into the hole as he slowly slid forward. Wouldn’t they be surprised, when they came back and he was gone…