ABOUT RYAN

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TW AHEAD: mentions of physical and mental abuse, abduction, death, violence, underage, etc. Read only if you're comfortable!
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Ryan and his mother were abducted when he was three years old. They were out enjoying a day in the park, walking the scenic wooded trail, when their attackers struck. Initially they were aiming only for his mother, but a crying toddler in a green Step2 wagon wouldn't do, and so they ended up taking him as well. Their belongings were left scattered on the side of the trail, pushed down into the brush amongst the greenery and dead leaves. His beloved teddy, Flower, was left abandoned on the tiny bench-seat, waiting for him to pick her back up and take her along as he always did wherever he went. As the day passed, and the sun began to set, his little fingers never did grab her. Rather, the hands of a young twenty-something jogger found her, along with their uneaten lunch and wrinkled picnic blanket.
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From there on the police were dedicated to their case. His father and sisters were left in torment, unknowing of what had happened to their beloved family members, but they did all that they could to assist in the search. They put up flyers, talked to neighbors, strangers, went to cities all throughout the state of Michigan, the place where they'd lived since his oldest sister's birth in '85. For years no trace was found, not even a hair to hint at where Ryan and his mother could be. The depression ate away at his father; the man felt guilt for not being there, busy with a long day of work. As for his sisters, the pair had been at school, and nobody could have helped what'd happened to the two. But still they all felt some sort of responsibility for the incident.
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Meanwhile, Ryan and his mother had started their journey through hell. Their captors had taken them to a small town they'd never heard of, a remote place surrounded by cornfields and big grain silos. The men--and one woman, Ryan could remember. One middle-aged woman, with stringy graying hair and a rotten smile--brought them down into their Michigan basement (here is a good description of one to any who may be curious). They'd been incapacitated at the initial phase of the abduction, and the fuzziness in their heads prohibited them from making any sort of escape, though his mother still fought with a fury in her eyes. She knew what was happening, knew that her baby boy had been brought into this mess with her. The wellbeing of her son was all that she cared about, but even a mother's love was not enough to save the two.
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To her great relief however the men decided to allow Ryan to stay with her.
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She quickly learned that this was nothing to be relieved about in the slightest.
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What they did to her, they did to him. Their first week in they were stripped of their clothes and left in the dark, offered only drinks of yellowed water at certain intervals during the day (or night. They had no sense of time in the dank space below the earth) and denied food for four days straight. Ryan sobbed, clueless of what was going on, and his mother sobbed with him. About a week and a half in the men started to take his mother away, leading her up and into the blinding light. She disappeared for minutes to hours on end, there was never a way to determine how long she'd be gone for before she returned. But when she did, she was always exhausted, her voice was lost, she smelled of blood, sweat, and something wrong, and Ryan always cuddled close to her side, doing the only thing he could think to make her shaking body calm.
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Years passed, the same routine their new Everyday, and the more Ryan grew, the more the men grew interested in him. He had a "pretty" face, they liked to say. Good features, soft jaw (likely due to his lack of Vitamin D and exercise). His wane body was a delight to their eyes. The very first time he stumbled up those cursed, wooden steps (he was perhaps seven or eight then), his mother lashed out, shrieking and clawing at whoever she could get her mangled hands on. She was quickly beaten to the floor, too weak to fight their healthy muscles, and had a dirty rag shoved in her mouth. Her tears soaked into the concrete floor, numbingly cold against her skin, and she went limp with contrition at what she'd brought her son into. That was the first true time she'd wished he'd been killed, rather than kept underground with her. Death was merciful, life was not, and she was overwhelmed with remorse.
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A couple more years, and a new member was added to their sad little family. A teenaged girl, with soft blonde hair and big blue eyes, joined them in their personal hell. Ryan's mother immediately took to caring for her as she did her own children, holding the girl close and rasping soft lullabies in her ear. The girl's crying was harsh and heavy, and Ryan was a little shocked by it at the time. He realized, after a long moment of staring into the dark, that he and his mother hadn't had enough energy to do even that basic of a function in years. Empty and lifeless, he couldn't find it in him to offer her the same comfort that his mother did. The woman pushed herself always for the benefit of others, never giving up even when it seemed hope was lost forever. She was a light where there wasn't any.
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The girl's name was Avery. Despite his silence, she took to Ryan in the days following her introduction, sitting by him frequently in the cold, damp corner of the basement. She would tell him things that she was learning in school, like geography, math, even how to play some notes on the clarinet (she was in band, she'd said). He knew some of the things she told him about, like how to count to certain numbers and ways to say certain words. But most of her knowledge went over his head. His mother could only teach him so much on the ravaged pads of his fingers, and through the croak of her voice. After Avery's initial breakdown, she tried to stay positive, seeming to catch on to the intentions of Ryan's mother. But he could always hear her sniffling in the shadows, wiping dirt in her eyes every time she tried to will the tears away.
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When Ryan was about thirteen or so, his mother didn't come back down for days. Weeks. Months. He shook and sat at attention at all times, ignoring the applesauce Avery tried to feed him, ignoring the way she whispered reassurances in his ear. He grew thinner than he'd ever been, and this resulted in him being at his weakest. The men took advantage of this, bringing him up more frequently than they used to. Each time they did, Ryan forced himself to look beyond what they wanted and what they did, his blurred vision always on the lookout for his mother inside the one hall and room that he knew. There were new stains on the floor, but he didn't think much of them. There were stains everywhere. What importance did a few newer ones possess?
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Apparently Avery found something in them that he didn't. She whispered things to herself, always coming back to the topic of "murder." It was a term Ryan had heard in passing, but his mother had never gone into depth about it. He always figured she didn't like to talk about it, whatever it truly was. He developed the habit of tuning Avery out, preferring to just get lost in his own little, narrow-minded world instead. As more time passed, he became nearly mute, utterly compliant in every way. His thoughts were no longer brightened by Avery's shared lessons. They were tainted by the men upstairs, swirling around what they wanted, what they told him. I am only useful when I am being used, was a common mantra in his head. Sometimes, it was the only thought he reflected on for hours upon hours, and the worst thing was, he believed it one-hundred percent.
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It was Avery's sudden loss, six years down the road, that knocked him out of the endless cycle in his head. Just like his mother, she didn't come back down those wooden stairs, and this time, he didn't try to imagine her returning. He felt his body go cold, his chest grow heavy, and he knew, deep down, that he was alone. For the first time in years, he cried on his own volition, without the influence of those around him. The tears overcame him in silence, dripping onto the concrete in the same place his mother's had pooled so hopelessly. He grew weak with them, curling into himself on the hard floor, shivering and dirty and aching in every nook and cranny of his body. For a long moment he remained there, hands pressed desperately to his eyes, and then they came for him. They didn't talk, didn't throw mockery and insults around with laughter in their eyes and voices. They were dead silent, silhouettes against the light. The foreboding feeling in his chest grew like the swell of a tide.
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They dragged him up, his mouth gagged and hands tied, ignoring the way his legs and feet refused to cooperate with their hurried pace. He weighed nothing more than a feather to them anyways, so they cared little as they pulled him along like a sack of potatoes. Trying to stop his tears from falling, but failing every time he looked at the ugly, peeling wallpaper, he eventually recognized that they weren't going where they always did. They were taking him somewhere new, somewhere... farther. They were going outside, and the realization made his weak heart falter in his chest before picking up into a hurried craze. Where were they headed? Why was the routine suddenly different, almost seventeen whole years after they'd first shoved him down that dark ugly hole? The wind against his face felt harsh and cold, so different than the warm, moist breaths he'd grown familiar to.
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They took him out back, to a thick tree-line that grew behind the house. He started to cry harder, overwhelmed and confused and so very very scared. Everything hurt; the wind, the twigs, the grass. He didn't recognize any of it and it frightened him to his very core. The walk they took lasted about ten minutes, until he was deep in the trees and surrounded by nothing but nature. True, genuine nature. If only the sun had been out, to show him the radiant green of the leaves, but it wasn't. Only the moon offered light that night, its round face often hidden by the passing of the clouds. He whimpered quietly, frequently repeating in his mind that he would be good, please, he'd be good. But they couldn't hear his thoughts, and he couldn't speak around the gag to let them know.
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After reaching their supposed destination they let him fall to the ground, his body too weak to hold him up. The land here was softer, less scattered with fallen branches and leaves. His hair went dark with dirt and he shuddered from the chill of the nighttime air against his bare skin, watching the tall men with hazed eyes. They talked amongst themselves, most of their words too quick for him to keep up with. He accepted whatever it was they were planning to do and dropped his head to the ground, closing his eyes and feeling the burn of his tears stinging behind his lids. After what felt like forever, but couldn't have been because it looked exactly the same outside once he reopened his eyes, one of the men grabbed him by his shoulders and forced him back up, keeping him on his knees. It was a position he knew all too well and he waited obediently, eyes downcast. But what he expected never came.
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Instead a sharp jolt of pain seared through his neck, sending his body into a shocked state of agony and desperation. He cried out, muffled by the obstruction in his mouth, and fought against his bindings, his weak wrists chafing uselessly until they bled. The men were in a frantic hurry, sloppily pushing him into a small dip in the earth with their feet. They used the sides of their boots to push dirt over him, getting him mostly covered until just the tip of his nose poked out. It must've been good enough because after that they were gone, and he was laying in darkness again, struggling to breathe against the rich-smelling particles in his nostrils. He hadn't noticed the hole in the ground. He hadn't noticed that this was how he was going to die that night.
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Ryan lost consciousness, the twinge in his neck too great to handle. His body went cold and limp and he didn't hear the strange sound starting to echo in the trees. To the men and women who arrived on the scene a handful of minutes later, they nearly passed him by until one of them shouted for the rest to, "Stop! Look!" They did and scrambled to pull him out from the earth, the packing of the dirt fortunately loose and thinly layered. Many of them expected him to be dead, but a press of cold fingertips against his crimson neck hinted at a pulse, weak and fluttering. They called in medical help immediately, and that was how he didn't die that night. 
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In the flurry of organized chaos, a brief moment called his consciousness to life, his eyes just barely managing to open. A plastic mask was over his face but he spoke regardless of it, his voice a grating whisper as he told them, "Mama. Mama is inside."
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Or, at least, he tried to. The words barely made it out, but one of the women standing at his side somehow managed to catch the gist. She sent a concerned look at her colleagues and went with a small team into the rundown house, searching everywhere, even the locked, padded basement. But there was nobody in the home. It was empty, abandoned.
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----
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Avery's disappearance was due to an incredible stroke of luck. She'd managed to sneak her way out of the house when her tormentors were busy with each other, noticing that for the first time since she'd been captured they had left their door foolishly unlocked, and had raced and raced along the road until she came to the next house on the street, weak and trembling and sobbing for help. Nobody went after her, knowing that if they didn't see her on the road, they were done for. Acting only for themselves, they'd gone and retrieved Ryan, took him out to silence him for good, and ran. A dead man could tell no secrets. But a job done poorly left room for error, and their mistake was made, whether they'd known it or not. The police had shown up shortly after, and Ryan's life was instantly changed.
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----
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His mother was buried only feet away from his own to-be grave. They hadn't killed her. Intentionally.
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PRESENT
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Ryan's rescue was back in June. He's been recovering at the hospital and with various fosters who are willing to take him in ever since, though most only keep him for a short time before sending him back. His nightmares and submissive demeanor are difficult to deal with, even for the more experienced.
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He has therapy sessions which have been brought down to only twice a week now, and he is improving, albeit one day at a time.
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As for his father and sisters, the former died in a car accident, taken down by dangerously icy roads and unwary drivers years back. His sisters, having been told that the case for their mother and brother had gone cold, eventually accepted the difficult reality that their fate was likely death and they moved across the country after the passing of their father. Both live in Washington now, one married and the other nose-deep in books. They came, once, to visit Ryan after everything, but his reaction was vehement with overwhelmed emotion and had set him back leagues in the progress he'd made. Out of shared concern, they decided it would be best to keep him in a professional environment for some time longer, but chose to bring him to Seattle, in case he did end up coming around at any point. Upon his arrival they agreed on a mutual decision to wait longer before visiting again, and now send him frequent notes and cards to show their love and support.
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If only he could read.

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call me
SOLACE

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