The abduction of a child is a tragedy. No one can fully understand or appreciate what a parent goes through at such a time, unless they have faced a similar tragedy. Every parent responds differently. Each parent copes with this nightmare in the best way he or she knows how.

John Walsh

 

Many cults start off with high ideals that get corrupted by leaders or their board of advisors who become power-hungry and dominate and control members' lives. No group with high ideals starts off as a 'cult'; they become one when their errant ways are exposed.

Philip Zimbardo

  

Prolog

 

It is the worst nightmare for all parents. You come home after work or after you went shopping, open the door to your house and know immediately something is wrong. Trying to tell yourself you're only imagining things and are too nervous from a movie you watched last night, you leave your groceries in the kitchen on the counter. Everything looks normal and yet, something feels wrong. You start to listen. It's quiet in the house. A quiet house is always suspicious, as a mother you've learnt that a while ago. With this strange feeling in your guts you walk into the living room, find the TV switched off, the toys on the floor. Like always. Now you're not annoyed, you notice it only and continue walking. Up the stairs, still listening to the silence. Before you reach the last step you call out the name. No response. Nothing to worry. Most times nobody responds when you call their names. They're always too busy with their toys, their games, lost in their own world. Who cares about a calling mother when Superman is saving the world? When you have to build a tower higher than anything that has ever been built?

The door is ajar, you look through the crack. Toys on the floor, some clothes too. So much for tidying up the room. An empty promise. Words said but not meant. Of course I'll tidy up my room when I get the ice cream, mother. I promise. It's so easy to make a promise when you're young and much easier to forget about it.

You push the door open, it hits the wall because of the force you use. The room looks like it did before you left. Nothing changed. The same toys, the same clothes, the same posters on the wall, the same cartoon bedding. A half full glass with juice on the desk, next to an unfinished drawing. So typical. You sit at your desk, draw a picture, have a new idea and right away you get up and do, whatever you came up with. No need to finish something, when there's something more exciting waiting for you.

But this empty room, the quiet house, it scares you. You expected to find somebody in here, call out the name again and again there's no answer. Now you're not walking anymore, you're running and your calls are louder, there's anxiety in it. You push doors open, look into wardrobes, cabinets, behind furniture. The shower, a big box in the attic, under the table. All the favorite hideouts you know from many times playing hide and seek. This doesn't feel like a game.

Not caring about the glass, you push the door to the garden open, run outside, continue to call out the name, continue to listen. Why is there no answer? Nobody could be this lost in their own world. The football in the corner, the empty swing, the bike in the grass. All of those things had been used today, you saw it. You watched. It had made you so happy to be a witness of these scenes, of seeing happiness.

You didn't notice the tears in your eyes, you turn your head in all directions, you call, leave the garden, run through the house, out of the front door. It doesn't matter you forgot your keys, nothing matters anymore. Nothing is important anymore. Except for one thing: getting an answer. Where was he? Why was he not at home?

Banging on the door to your neighbors, you know, this is the last chance you have for a happy ending. The best friend's house. Why does it take ages until somebody answers the door? You knock again, ring the bell. You are scared, you feel sick, you desperately need an answer or you go crazy. Shouldn't you hear voices? There were always voices when they play. Very loud voices.

Finally the door gets opened, you ignore the surprise and ask the questions, that seems to become your sense of living. You barely hear the respond, the look you get, the sorrow, that appears in the eyes of your neighbor and friend, tells you all. Nothing. You were wrong. Your last hope, the last chance everything would be fine, was gone. Without you noticing your legs give in, you break down and curl up on the cold stone floor, crying, shaking, knowing, something really bad happened.