Chapter 4: The Address on the Paper
I read the address so many times that the numbers began to blur.
The paper trembled between my fingers.
NEXT WEEKEND: COLE GOES ALONE.
And beneath it, in Nathan's handwriting, the sentence I couldn't stop hearing in my head.
IF WE TELL OUR MOTHERS, THEY'LL NEVER LET US LEAVE.
I wanted to believe the sentence meant something innocent.
A prank.
A stupid challenge between two sixteen-year-old boys who had gotten themselves into trouble and were terrified of losing their freedom.
But then I remembered Nathan's hands.
The split skin.
The filthy bandages.
The bruises around his wrists.
The way he had ordered me to turn off the lights because a passing vehicle had frightened him.
Whatever had happened over those eight weekends, it wasn't a game anymore.
Denise stood beside me, staring at the paper.
"Let me see that.""
I handed it to her.
She read the address first, then the message.
Her face changed when she reached the bottom.
"No," she whispered.
I moved closer.
"Denise?""
She shook her head, refusing to look at me.
"No. Not my boy.""
"Do you recognize the address?""
She folded the paper along its existing crease, then unfolded it again.
"I don't know.""
But something in her voice told me she was holding something back.
"Denise, please. We have to stop protecting each other from the truth.""
She looked at me then.
Her eyes were swollen from crying, and her hands shook so badly that the paper rustled between her fingers.
"I've seen that road before.""
"Where?""
"On Cole's phone.""
My stomach tightened.
"When?""
"About a month ago. I was looking for a restaurant we could go to for his birthday. He was showing me something on his screen, and I saw a map open behind the app.""
She closed her eyes.
"There was a pin on an industrial road. I asked him what it was, and he immediately turned the phone over.""
"What did he say?""
"That it was nothing.""
I stared at the address.
"Did you ask again?""
"Of course I did. I'm his mother.""
She gave a broken laugh.
"He told me it was a place where some older boys practiced riding motorcycles. I told him he wasn't allowed anywhere near it.""
"And he promised?""
"He said he understood.""
Her expression crumpled.
"I believed him.""
I wanted to tell her that she couldn't have known.
I wanted to remind her that I had believed my own son every Friday when he said he was going to Cole's house.
But the words felt hollow.
We had both trusted the same lie.
And now our children were paying for it.
I called the hospital.
A nurse confirmed that Nathan was receiving care and that they were assessing his injuries and exhaustion. She couldn't give me a detailed update yet, but she assured me that he was conscious and being monitored.
I asked whether I could speak to him.
"He's resting at the moment," she said.
"We'll have someone contact you when he's ready.""
Resting.
I wondered when my son had last slept without worrying about what would happen when he woke up.
Denise began pacing the kitchen.
"We need to go to that address.""
"We need the police.""
"What if the police arrive and whoever is there moves Cole?""
"What if we go alone and make things worse?""
She stopped pacing.
For a long moment, she looked at me as though she wanted to argue.
Then she lowered her head.
"You're right.""
I took pictures of both sides of the paper.
I sent them to the officer whose number the emergency dispatcher had given me, explaining that the note suggested another teenager might be in danger.
The officer called back within minutes.
He asked us to stay home until someone could speak with us, and he warned us not to approach the address ourselves.
I agreed.
Then I looked at Denise.
Neither of us said what we were thinking.
We had no intention of driving there without help.
But we weren't going to sit still, either.
I opened my laptop and searched the address.
The result was a stretch of industrial property on the outskirts of town, near a collection of warehouses and service buildings.
One business listing had expired.
Another showed an address with no current phone number.
The satellite image was several years old.
A long, narrow building stood behind a fenced lot, surrounded by concrete and a few parked vehicles.
There were no visible signs identifying the business.
No photographs.
No useful reviews.
Nothing that explained why two teenage boys would spend their weekends there.
Denise leaned over my shoulder.
"Can you zoom in?""
I did.
The image became grainy.
A loading area.
A side entrance.
A line of windows near the roof.
Then I noticed something in the corner of the property.
A small building separated from the main structure.
It looked like an office.
Or perhaps a security booth.
"Why would a place like that need security?"" Denise asked.
"I don't know.""
I enlarged the image again.
The details dissolved into pixels.
My phone rang.
For one wild second, I thought it was the hospital.
Instead, an unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.
I answered cautiously.
"Hello?""
A man's voice came through.
"Is this Laura?""
"Who is this?""
"I understand your son has been asking questions.""
Every muscle in my body tightened.
"Who are you?""
"That doesn't matter right now.""
"How do you know my son?""
He paused.
Then he said, "Nathan made a mistake by coming home.""
I stood so quickly that the laptop nearly slid off the table.
"Where is Cole?""
The man gave a quiet sigh.
"You should concentrate on keeping Nathan safe.""
"Answer me!""
"You're making this more difficult than it needs to be.""
The call ended.
I stared at my phone.
Denise had heard enough to understand.
"Who was that?""
"I don't know.""
"Did he say Cole's name?""
I nodded.
She grabbed her own phone.
"I'm calling the police.""
Before she could dial, my phone buzzed again.
A text message.
There was no greeting.
No explanation.
Just one sentence.
*Tell your son to keep his mouth shut if he wants his friend to come home.*
Denise read it over my shoulder.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
For the first time that night, I understood something with absolute certainty.
Nathan hadn't been afraid of disappointing me.
He hadn't been afraid of getting grounded.
He hadn't been afraid of losing his phone or his freedom.
He had been afraid that someone would hurt Cole if he told the truth.
And now that person knew Nathan had come home.
The officer returned our call shortly afterward and told us that a patrol unit would be sent to our address to take statements.
He instructed us to preserve the messages and avoid responding to the unknown number.
We followed his instructions.
I saved the text.
I wrote down everything I remembered about the call.
Denise sat at the kitchen table with both hands pressed against her forehead.
"What if they really hurt him?""
I sat beside her.
"We're going to find him.""
"How can you promise that?""
I couldn't.
I knew that.
But I reached for her hand anyway.
"Because we're not going to stop looking.""
At 7:12 that morning, the hospital called.
Nathan was awake.
He had asked for me.
I grabbed my coat and car keys.
Denise stood immediately.
"I'm coming.""
We arrived at the hospital less than half an hour later.
A nurse led us to a room where Nathan lay beneath a white blanket, an IV attached to his arm.
His hands had been cleaned and dressed.
Without the dirt and soaked clothing, he looked younger.
Much younger.
Sixteen years old.
My little boy, who used to fall asleep on the living room floor during movies, was lying in a hospital bed as though the past two months had taken years from him.
He opened his eyes when we entered.
"Mom.""
I crossed the room and took his hand carefully.
"I'm here.""
He glanced at Denise.
"Did you find Cole?""
She swallowed.
"Not yet, sweetheart.""
He turned his face toward the window.
I waited until the nurse had stepped outside before showing him the photograph of the paper.
His eyes widened.
"Where did you find that?""
"In your sweatshirt.""
He tried to sit up.
"Did you tell anyone?""
"We contacted the police.""
His face drained of color.
"Mom, no!""
"Nathan, someone called me this morning. They threatened you and Cole.""
He went completely still.
I showed him the message.
He read it once.
Then he closed his eyes.
"They know.""
"Who are they?""
He shook his head.
"Please don't make me say it.""
I wanted to press him.
I wanted to demand every detail while I had the chance.
But then he looked at me, and I saw the same terror that had been in his face when he entered our house at 4:37 in the morning.
So I asked a different question.
"What did they make you do?""
Nathan stared at the ceiling.
For nearly a minute, he said nothing.
Then he whispered, "At first, it was just cleaning.""
"Cleaning what?""
"Everything.""
His fingers curled into the blanket.
"Floors. Equipment. Rooms. They said we could earn money if we helped them.""
Denise leaned forward.
"Who offered you money?""
Nathan's eyes filled with tears.
"That's how it started.""
He swallowed.
"Then they told us we couldn't leave until we'd paid back what they said we owed.""
"What did you owe them?""
"I don't know.""
His voice cracked.
"They kept adding things.""
I felt sick.
Nathan turned toward me.
"Mom, they have records.""
"What records?""
He shook his head.
"Things they made us sign. Times we worked. Things they said we broke.""
He drew a trembling breath.
"They said if we went to the police, they'd show everyone what we'd done.""
I stared at him.
"What have you done?""
His expression changed.
For a second, I thought he would finally tell me.
Instead, he whispered, "Things I didn't want to do.""
Denise began to cry quietly.
Nathan looked away.
"They told us we were old enough to be responsible for our choices. They said nobody would believe us if we complained.""
I took his hand more firmly.
"I believe you.""
He shook his head.
"You don't know everything.""
"Then tell me.""
He looked toward the closed door.
"They have a camera in the office.""
My stomach tightened.
"What office?""
"The one where they keep the records.""
He looked at Denise.
"Cole knows where the camera recordings go.""
Then he turned back to me.
"And if he tells anyone, they'll know who helped him.""
I was about to ask what he meant when a nurse knocked and entered with a doctor.
The doctor explained that Nathan needed rest and further evaluation. We were asked to step outside while they examined him.
I kissed Nathan's forehead before leaving.
"You're safe here," I whispered.
He caught my hand.
"Mom?""
"Yes?""
"Don't let them take Cole to the main building.""
I stared at him.
"Why?""
His lips trembled.
"Because that's where they keep the boys who owe the most.""
The door closed between us.
Denise clutched my arm.
Neither of us spoke.
Somewhere on the outskirts of town, in a building neither mother had known existed, our sons had been working under threats.
But Nathan had just told us something even more frightening.
May you like
There were other boys.
And Cole might be the next one sent inside.
