Caged

He had been in that cellar for two weeks. His father’s men would come down three times a day to give him food and water. He was allowed to get up to use the small washroom connected to the bedroom, but that was all. There was a small window located high up, almost to the ceiling; too small to attempt a break out. Not that he would try; he had no idea where he was.

After ‘Johan’ murdered his own wife in cold blood, he had Jonathan strapped into a vehicle, drugged and kept unconscious until he awoke in the dark prison like room after who knows how many days later. Jonathan had yet to see his father in all this time. 
When he first awoke, alone and cold, he cried. He cried for his poor mother, who surely did not deserve her fate. He cried for himself, who was surely in for the same fate sooner or later. He cried for the life he thought he had and how many lies he’d been fed. He cried for his own stupidity. Jonathan scolded himself for not going to the police when he had the chance. And then what? His father would have his own son killed by the men who worked for him? Most likely.

Jonathan was curled in a ball on his hard, rock like bed, shivering from the cold that surrounded the room. He had looked out the window earlier that day; snow covered the ground, there was no heat where he was and all he had been given was a small blanket that did nothing to preserve heat. That was when the door opened. Jonathan closed his eyes; surely this was it; his last day. It was not time for any meals yet and no one ever visited for any other reason. Sure enough...it was his father. Jonathan had never despised a face more.
Johan carried a thick duvet in his arms, a small smile on his face. Jonathan was not sure what there was to be happy about. He also had a book in his hand.

Sighing, Johan took a seat on the chair that was on the right corner of the mall room, nearly touching Jonathan’s small bed.

“Hello, son. How are you?” Jonathan continued to shiver as he thought of the many different ways that he could kill the man in front of him. Another sigh from Johan. “I know, you’re very angry with me, but really you should be angry at yourself. Your mother and I gave you a good life and you wanted to just...throw that away. Well...now here you are and your dear sweet mother is dead.” He threw the blanket over his son and tossed the book at his feet. “I never wanted children, you know. But your mother was so insistent. ‘All my friends have babies and they’re so cute’. God, I couldn’t stand that woman.”

Jonathan wanted to cry. His life had always been a lie. Since day 1.

“I plan to kill you, Jonathan, very soon. I’m sorry to tell you this, but I can’t have you running off and telling anyone about any of this. If you would have just kept your nose in your own business, we would have let you go, when you turned 21.” Lies. “But you chose this instead. Enjoy your last few days, son.”

The door slammed behind him. Jonathan let his tears fall free. He wondered what he could have ever done to deserve a fate such as this.

He wanted to fight this...to fight for his life, but he was so weak...and so tired. Plus, he had no idea where he was or where to go.

Jonathan wrapped the thick blankets around himself tighter and willed himself to sleep. It would make his death come quicker.

...

It did not. Jonathan sat in that room for another two days before he decided that no, he did not want to die, Not yet; he was only 17 years old, there was too much of life that he had yet to experience. And he would be damned if his father took that away from him.
So Jonathan began devising a plan. How on earth was he to get out? Well, it would have to be when the man came to bring him his meal. That was the only time that the door was left open for any period of time. He would have to attack the man.

Jonathan gulped audibly. He had never attacked a person before. He was’t sure if he even knew how. Jonathan was not a big boy, he had never had any reason to exercise. The only thing he had ever done at home was read and he only reached 5’5” from his mother’s side. He sucked it up. This would have to get done.
Jonathan ran to the small chair in the corner of his prison. Very carefully, he unscrewed two of the legs from the base. His escape would have to be the same day, who knew how much longer he had. He had read about this in a book that his mother had once bought him. Jonathan knew that it was a stupid notion, but he wanted to say that it was as though his mother knew he would be needing to use this some day.

Quickly shaking those thoughts out of his head, Jonathan quickly made his way into the bathroom with the legs. Using one, he looked away as he sharply brought it to the glass mirror. It would definitely made noise and he hoped it would take time for anyone to think of it as serious.

His fingers bled and he shuffled through the glass shards until he came across two very big, very sharp pieces. Placing those aside, he ran back into the room to recover the thin sheet that he had been sleeping with until recently. Using all of his might, he ripped it into as thin of strands and he could and set to attaching the glass to the legs of the chair. He was making spears. Only two, that would be all he would be able to carry and he hoped it was enough.

Still, no one had come to investigate the sound of breaking glass. For that, Jonathan was happy. He ensured that the glass attachment was strong enough, he placed these off to the side. Ripping another, slightly large patch of fabric, he filled this with the other glass shards that had fallen in the sink. There was so much that it was beginning to rip the fabric, but Jonathan did not mind, he tied it as tight as he could. Taking this and the two other weapons, Jonathan made his way into the small room and waited.

...

Two hours. Jonathan was beginning to lose hope.

‘What if they stop feeding me to get me ready for my execution?’ He thought to himself.

But he stayed where he was, hidden behind the door, just in case.
His waiting paid off.

Another 15 minutes and the sound of keys jingling behind the door caused Jonathan’s heart rate to speed up. It was now or never. The door swung in front of Jonathan’s spot, effectively hiding him from the man who came to bring him food. The guy must have seen the broken glass on the floor of the bathroom because he made a noise of surprise at the back of his throat and dropped the tray to the ground. Jonathan wasted no more time. Quicker than he’s ever moved in his life - and with so much more fear, Jonathan emerged from behind the firm door and struck. The spear went straight through the man’s backside and right out of the front. He would die of internal hemorrhaging and blood loss before ever being able to call for help.

Jonathan dropped to his knees with a weak cry. He just killed a man. Standing up on shaky legs, Jonathan went towards the man and rifled through is body with trembling fingers. He came up with a gun, a cellphone and a set of keys. He quickly removed the man’s shoes and socks and placed them on his own bare feet.

Thankfully, they were just a tad too big, but they would do just perfectly. He also made to the take the man’s jacket that was quickly soaking in blood. Jonathan stopped halfway, a sob leaving his lips as his fingers continued to quiver. One more deep breath and he was pulling the jacket away from the man and onto his own body.

Jonathan stumbled out of the room. He should have looked to see if anyone was in the hallway. He realized this a bit too late, but thankfully it was clear and there was only one way to go. From the size, Jonathan would say that he was inside of a nice sized home. Not too large and hopefully it was near other homes. Hopefully his father was away.

“Focus, John, just focus. Don’t be stupid, you know what you’re doing. Don’t be stupid! Focus!” He whispered to himself all the way down the hall until he reached another door. This one was unlocked and led to a flight of stairs. Jonathan knew that this is where the problem would be. There were bound to be more men upstairs. If he could find a door that led outside, he would be safe.

Three deep breaths.

Jonathan was pushing himself up the stairs, one step at a time, as quiet as he could possibly be.

His heart dropped.

There were voices.

Someone was talking, another laughing. They sounded close.
How was Jonathan supposed to get out of this one?
It took five minutes for him to hear the sound of retreating
footsteps. Three deep breaths.

Jonathan pushed the door open, checked his surroundings and slunk out. He quickly walked out and hid himself in a nook not too far from the door.

By this point, tears were actively streaming down his face. He was still not sure if he could make it out alive, but he had to at least try. Jonathan muffled his sobs with the back of his hand and peered around the nook. He had been right, it was a nice size home.

There was a grand piano across from him, in a large living room, surrounded by comfortable looking leather and plush sofas and chairs. There was a large plasma screen television...and a front door.

Jonathan almost screamed for joy. And then...

“Trevor, Gimbly! How’s the brat doing downstairs?”

Jonathan threw his head back around the nook and brought the other hand to cover his mouth as well, tears pouring down his cheeks. His nose was running, but out of fear of being seen, he simply let it run down his face. His father - no, that murderer - had come home. Jonathan could hear the pounding of footsteps coming down the stairs where he was sure the two men had gone. Jonathan was ready to bolt right back down the stairs, hide the body, clean the room and pretend that nothing had happened, but he knew that he would probably not get another chance like this. It was either now or never. He just had to pray that no one passed his nook or he could be shot on sight.

Jonathan clutched the gun tighter.

“He’s doin’ good as far as we know. We sent Ray down there to give him food like 10 minutes ago and then he said he was goin’ out for a smoke. You know how long those breaks can be.”
Jonathan could hear Johan scoff.

“Get him prepped tonight. I want this to be clean, middle of the night, do the body dump then pretend like we were never here. I’m going to take a shower, don’t bother me unless it’s important.”

Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief when he heard his father slowly making his way up the stairs. He heard another set of feet follow, but there was still the one that was unaccounted for. Jonathan wanted to peer out, but was afraid that the man was right beside him; he had read enough novels to know that this always seemed to be the case. But he realized that he couldn’t very well stand there forever. Sooner or later the men would be going to prepare him for execution and they would see the body and go on an all out man hunt. He had to be very far away before any of that happened.

Three deep breaths.

There was thankfully no one around the corner, but now Jonathan had no idea where the other man went. But there was the front door...in sight.

Jonathan went to take a step out when the television turned on. He was sitting on the sofa, blocking Jonathan’s way to the front door. He could have broken down and cried right there.

‘But there has to be another way out! Think, John! A nice house like this must have a backyard and the way to the backyard is through a back or side door. Just...make your way to the kitchen and work from there.’

Three deep breaths.

Jonathan quietly slunk his way out from behind the nook and keeping his body completely flush to the wall and his eyes locked on the man’s back, made his way to his right to where he hoped there was a kitchen.

Luck seemed to be on his side. Jonathan quickly entered the kitchen space, watching where he placed his feet and ducked behind the breakfast bar and out of sight. Right in front of him...sliding glass doors that led outside.

His heart sunk. For as far as he could see, the only thing visible was trees, lots and lots of trees. The home was completely surrounded by woods. Jonathan didn’t care; he had a better chance out there than he did when he currently was. Daring another glance towards the rest of the home, Jonathan could see that the man was laughing at something on the television, back still to John and the door.

He made a run for it.

Jonathan realized that he could have been more smart with his escape, gone quietly so that he could have a few hours lead on the group, but he saw freedom and panicked. He jumped from his hiding spot, pulled the door open with a loud ‘bang’ and ran as fast as his legs could take him.

As soon as Jonathan passed the yard into the first set of trees, he thought he was free, he wanted to scream in joy. And then the first bullet whizzed by his head.

Jonathan threw himself to the opposite side, but continued pushing his legs as fast as they would go. He was glad to have taken the man’s boots as twigs and snow crunched beneath him. His feet surely would have gone numb by this point.

Jonathan ran and ran and ran. He wasn’t sure how fast he was going or how far; all he knew was that he was out and he would not stop unless he was sure that he was free.

Another bullet. Voices. Yelling.

They were gaining on him. Jonathan did not want to stray from his straight path; the last thing he needed was to somehow end up back at that house.

Sobs racked his body. His legs had never ached so much in his life. The voices were getting farther away, he could barely hear them, though he knew that they were most likely still following him. He knew that Johan would not just let him get away; he knew too much.

Jonathan’s lungs burned; he felt as though he had been running for hours. In the midst of his hurry, he had dropped the spear and the gun; if he was found, Jonathan would be defenseless.

A lightening in the woods; Jonathan’s legs pushed him that much harder. And then he saw it...the mailbox. He burst through those woods and wasted no time running across the lawn and to the first home he saw. Most likely the first home for miles. This too was surrounded by woods. There was not another home to be seen.
Jonathan pounded and sobbed. He watched the woods, praying that no one would come bursting through and shoot him. But he continued to pound. For a second he was worried that there was no one home. That he would have to continue running, but then the door opened.

The man was large, burly, handlebar mustache and thick woolly beard. But his eyes sparkled with some sort of kindness. Jonathan
begged.

He wasn’t quite sure what was coming out of his mouth, but he dropped to the ground and begged. Begged to be hidden, begged for be saved.

He didn’t know what made the man pick him up and take him into the house. Perhaps it was the sobbing and tears, it could have been the fact that when Jonathan dropped himself onto the man’s porch, he simply had no energy to get himself back up, or it could have been the faint sounds of gunshots in the distance. But the man took Jonathan by his underarms and dragged the boy inside. He never felt so small.

The man’s family had come out; a nice looking wife with a worried and fearful look on her face, a scared looking daughter who couldn’t be older than 8 years old and a burly, protective looking son who glared at the sobbing mess of a teen in front of him. Any other moment and Jonathan would have been embarrassed.

The man led him to the kitchen, where he pushed the island away to reveal a door in the floor. Jonathan sobbed louder. Not another trap. He prayed for this not to be a trap. He sobbed and kicked and pushed away as the man tried to lead him underneath. He could not deal with another trap. He just wanted to be free. The man saw his struggles and let the boy go. A look of understanding crossed his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The man spoke, his voice deep, yet kind. “I won’t force you down there, but it’s clear that there are people after you and if you found this place, then they surely will. You need to hide, okay.” Jonathan shook his head. “I promise that I will let you out afterwards. You have my word. Do you know what a pinky promise is?” The man bent down to Jonathan’s height. The boy nodded, almost feeling dumb. “Then you know that you can never break a pinky promise. Ask my daughter, I never break my pinky promises.”

Jonathan’s sobs lessened as he wrapped his pinky with the man’s. Although hesitating, Jonathan made his way down the stairs where he was led. He knew that if this was a trap, there would be no way out and at that point, he wasn’t sure if he cared. He was just so tired.

Jonathan was sure that he would be left alone down there, but to his surprise, the man’s nice looking wife and terrifying looking son followed. One with a bucket and soap, another with a steaming plate of food.

There were no windows, but there was bed and a radio with walkie-talkies. Jonathan slowly made his way to the bed and tentatively took a seat. He wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. A migraine was forming, but he had stopped sobbing.
The woman with the kind smile and bright green eyes handed him a large glass of water.

“Drink this, honey. You’ll feel better.”

Jonathan made no protest and drank. It felt as though his throat had been parched for hours. Water never tasted so good.
While Jonathan ate - trying so hard not to scarf it all down in one bite - the kind woman dipped a cloth in the water and proceeded to wash some of the dirt and blood from his face. Jonathan still had the man’s blood on his hands. No matter how hard he scrubbed at them with his fingernails, they would not go away. 
The woman’s hands folded over his and stopped his scratching.

“You’re okay now.”
...

Jonathan was left alone when a loud banging came from the front door. They were finally here to check. He shook like a leaf when the door once again closed on top of him, except this time, he was alone; the kind woman had left him all alone. Alone to think. That was a very dangerous thing for him to do at the present time.

But he was just so tired. He couldn’t remember a time when he got a full night’s rest without the fear of being killed at any second. Granted he still had those fears where he was, but he didn’t really care at the moment. He felt that if he was going to die, then he would not fight it. He was just so tired.

...

When the family were finally able to come check on the boy - after the two large men came barreling into their home, guns pointed at every surface and after the police had also been notified and searched the entire premises - he was fast asleep on the bed in their shelter. For a while they just stood and stared at his sleeping figure. After about ten minutes of this, the woman took her daughter by the hand and informed her that it was time for bed.

The security alarms had been set around the house, they were at least safe for that moment.

That left the father and son to stand and stare at the sleeping boy. It didn’t look like anything would wake him up from his fretful sleep.

“Who is he?” The son asked his father, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He didn’t trust the kid. No good child would have large men chasing after him with guns. What could this boy have done?

“I don’t know, but we’re taking him to the station tomorrow, that’s for sure.” The father sighed, rubbing the migraine from his temples. He was a federal agent. He wasn’t sure if hiding the boy from the men was the best thing to do, but the poor thing had just looked so frightened. “He had looked so terrified when I was trying to get him down here. I have a feeling he’s been kept in similar places...with less hospitality.”

Another five minutes and the men still said nothing but stared.

“You should try to get some sleep. I can stay down here for the night and watch over him.”

The father took a long look at his son before nodding and making his way back up the stairs. There were two entrances to the space; one underneath the island in the kitchen and another hidden in the pantry. He had decided to use this one...just in case they were being watched, which he was certain that they were.

The young man curled himself up on the identical bed across from the one the boy took refuge. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the kid. He didn’t like that he had chosen their family, but there weren’t many other homes nearby. None for a few miles down the road before they hit the city. Most people weren’t even aware that this place even existed.

He wondered what the boy could have possibly gotten himself into. What could be so bad that he had to run for his life into the woods? His face was cut up from running through branches at a great speed, there were rips in his jeans from stumbling. The shoes on his feet and the jacket that covered him seemed too big and too out of place to have belonged to him. And there had been blood on his hands...blood that didn’t belong to him.

The young man didn’t know how to put that information together to form a solid hypothesis as to what happened that evening. But he had to admit that the boy looked just a bit too small and too frightened to be able to hurt anyone.

Closing his eyes and bringing the thick duvet over himself, the young man decided that it would be best to get some sleep. Perhaps his mind would be more clear tomorrow.