Missing?
This was an answer Anson hadn't expected, and he couldn't connect the dots.
Anson looked at Lucas. "So, did I find my way back on my own?"
"Wait, Luca, are you sure I'm really your brother? Not an impostor? Should we do a DNA test to be sure? It would be bad if there was a mistake."
Anson made a small joke, trying to lighten the mood, as the sadness and heaviness in the air were almost palpable.
It was suffocating.
However, this time Anson's humor didn't work.
Lucas's eyes were filled with struggle.
"Two days later, the family received a letter. Inside was a photograph and a ransom note."
"They demanded one hundred thousand dollars."
Anson was stunned—
This was... a kidnapping?
If it had been an abduction, the criminals wouldn't have contacted the child's parents at all. They would have sold the child off in secrecy, and the child would have disappeared without a trace, possibly never to be found again.
But that wasn't the case.
So, it was indeed a kidnapping, and most likely a premeditated one.
At that moment, Anson was very calm because he had no memory of the incident; it felt like he was listening to a story and could analyze it objectively.
But Lucas couldn't.
For a long, long time, he hadn't revisited those memories. He thought he had completely forgotten, that the wounds had fully healed.
They hadn't.
Everything was still so vivid; he could clearly remember every detail:
In the Polaroid photo, little Anson was tied to a chair, blindfolded, with his mouth covered. His pale cheeks bore smudges, and his clothes were dirty and covered in mud. The wounds on his arms and knees weren't even bandaged, stained with filth.
The background looked like a basement, where Anson was abandoned, alone amidst a pile of bricks and garbage.
When he closed his eyes, Lucas could still hear his mother's heart-wrenching cries and his father's pacing footsteps. Even if he locked himself in the closet and covered his ears with his hands, the sounds would still find their way in, almost overwhelming him.
His parents never blamed him, but he knew—
"It was my fault."
Lucas still believed that.
"If I hadn't taken you out, if I hadn't let go of your hand…"
Anson tried to pat Lucas on the shoulder but found it too difficult; his right hand froze mid-air. "But in the end, I did come back, didn't I?"
Lucas shook his head, shaking it hard, his eyes filled with pain.
"No, it wasn't supposed to be like this."
"We delivered the cash as instructed, but they didn't release you right away. Instead, they took the money and vanished without a trace, then sent your location to our home later."
"When the police found you, it was already five days later."
"You…you…"
Back then, Anson had been left like a stray dog in that basement, on the brink of death, his frail body seemingly about to break with just a gentle touch.
Lucas could never forgive himself. Ever.
He had almost lost Anson.
The little brother he had always cared for, always tried to protect with all his might.
But because of his foolishness and recklessness, he had nearly disappeared forever.
Even after surviving, Anson had endured such suffering and torment.
Unimaginable.
But Lucas had to constantly remind himself—
This wasn't about him. His guilt and pain could never compare to the terror Anson had experienced. He should dedicate his life to protecting Anson.
"In the hospital, you were in a coma for three days."
"When you woke up, you remembered nothing."
Lucas had been holding back, trying to recount the events as lightly as possible, avoiding the painful and dark details. But in a few words, too many secrets had already been revealed, and the situation was far more than it seemed.
During the first two days, everything was shrouded in fog; their anxiety and distress.
In the following five days, they had done everything they could, yet still had no answers.
The last three days were spent in constant fear, like frightened birds awaiting bad news.
What was seen and unseen, what was left unsaid, was far more harrowing than imagined.
The cruelest part was that no one knew what Anson had gone through during those ten days.
Those ten short days stretched out like a century, with every moment being a torment. The Wood family could only imagine and guess, tearing themselves apart with guilt and self-blame.
Now, all the questions finally had answers.
Beneath the calm surface, scars lay hidden, deep wounds reaching to the bone.
Happiness was merely an illusion, a carefully constructed façade.
Lucas gathered his courage and looked at Anson again, only to find that Anson's face remained calm, untroubled, showing no struggle, and instead gazed at him with concern, as if the one who had suffered all those years ago was him.
"Anson...do you really not remember?"
Lucas asked cautiously.
When Anson woke up, after the brief relief and joy, the Wood family found themselves torn. They weren't sure if they should ask Anson about those ten days, or if doing so would cause him more harm.
But Anson remembered nothing, as if nothing had ever happened.
Anson even pestered Lucas to take him to the carnival in Brooklyn, only quieting down with disappointment when Lucas told him it had already left.
They consulted a psychologist and conducted a full brain examination on Anson.
But there were no results.
Those ten days seemed to have been erased from Anson's mind.
Lucas always believed Anson was pretending, keeping silent to spare them, acting as if nothing had happened.
And he kept up the act for over ten years.
As time passed, Lucas began convincing himself that maybe Anson had truly forgotten, that perhaps they should all pretend nothing had happened, that it was the best way to move forward.
But late at night, Lucas couldn't help but relive those memories, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
What if—just hypothetically—if Anson remembered everything and they had all pretended nothing had happened, wouldn't that be cruel?
They had already hurt Anson once. Were they going to keep hurting him for over a decade?
This mere thought tormented Lucas over and over.
They kept telling themselves it was over, that the scars and memories had been left behind, that they should learn to live on. Yet, the effects of that event never faded and were deeply embedded in their souls, leaving them raw and bleeding.
And what about Anson?
Had he also been haunted by those nightmares, lurking in the dark, waiting for the right moment? Or had he never forgotten at all?
Lucas looked at Anson, his eyes filled with unease and fear.