“Don’t turn around.”

My hand froze next to the light switch and I dropped my laptop case to the floor in fright. The sound of expensive electronics smashing to pieces failed to register at all.

“Do not turn around Dad, but it’s me. Jason. Your son.”

It took every ounce of will not to turn around and look. Jason had been missing for 8 years now. He would be 16 next month.

“Jason? I don’t understand, what-” He cut me off sharply.
“Just listen. We don’t have a lot of time. The people who took me, still have me. But I recently did… a favour for them. This is sort of my reward. I wanted you to have some closure.”

“Who has you? Why can’t we go to the police? Wh-” He cut off my rambling again.

“I’m not here alone Dad. So don’t think things like that. I’m alive, I’m reasonably healthy, and right now I’m not in any physical danger.”

I couldn’t hold my tears back any longer.

“But are you happy?” I sobbed.

“There’s no such thing as happy,” he told me. “Now please, forget about me. Move on with your life.”