Someone help me get back to my son


Okay, so, I need some help from someone who knows how to work the internet better that I do and I figured this was the place, you guys are good with this sort of stuff, right? I’m just really scared and I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry, I’ll just tell the story. Okay.

This morning started really just like any other day, I’m a stay-at-home mom and my husband works so he lets me sleep in because I’m usually up frequently with our son. He’s only three months old and doesn’t sleep through the night yet. Anyway, my husband was already gone when Josh started crying over the baby monitor. It wasn’t thatmom-something-is-wrong-come-help-right-now crying, it was just that sort of casual hey-i-might-be-hungry-but-I’m-not-sure-and-wow-that-spot-on-the-wall-is-pretty-shiny sort of crying, so I turned the volume down and lay in bed for another minute or two, just waking up.

I got up and put on my robe (one of the perks of being a stay-at-home mom to a single tiny infant, yes, I wear a robe in the mornings, and yes, I’m enjoying it while it lasts) and went upstairs. By the time I opened his door he wasn’t crying anymore, just lying on his back doing that happy cooing laughing thing and kicking his arms and legs at the invisible fun he was having above his head. Earlier that week he’d discovered his toes but right now they were covered in footies and I’m pretty sure he’d forgotten they were there.

I tickled him and talked to him and played with him a minute before I picked him up and changed him. I noticed a small drop of blood on the side of his mouth but it wasn’t bothering him. He scratches himself in the night sometimes (and those baby gloves? Please. A joke. They last four seconds.) so I figured he’d just gotten a little nick in the corner of his mouth.

I carried him downstairs and fed him in the rocking chair, read a bit, ate breakfast myself, gave him some tummy time in front of an audience of stuffed animals he was always so eager to get to but crawling is still (thank god) a while off for us. I like that he stays where I put him and doesn’t move! Yet. Anyway, it was a pretty typical morning for us. Literally nothing happened that was weird. I can’t think of a single thing. I mean we were out of milk for my cereal so I had a piece of toast instead but it would be a far fetch calling that “weird”.

About 11 o’clock I got Joshie and myself dressed because I had a doctor’s appointment. The spot on his cheek came back, the little drop of blood. I wiped it off.

I packed Joshie’s bag and dropped him off at my mother’s. I kissed him “bye” but he loves her so much I’m pretty sure he didn’t even notice. I said, “See you later, little prince,” and turned around and walked away from him. It wasn’t a big deal, I was dropping him off at his grandmother’s house. What parent doesn’t feel safe dropping a kid off at their grandparent’s house?

So I got to my appointment on time and the doctor let me in. His office is kind of small, a bit smaller than the average sized bedroom. There’s a fake plant in one corner, the walls are kind of a light grey color with abstract paintings in bright red and yellow brushstrokes on the walls. There is a small coffee table and a couch under a window and a chair where the doctor sits near the door. No cold exam tables in this office, I like that. I hate exam tables.

The doctor began. “So, Alicia. Tell me about your morning, how are you feeling?”

“Great,” I said. “No complaints.”

“So the side effects from the medication? The ones we talked about?”


“No side effects?”

I frowned and shook my head. “I mean, I really can’t remember. That’s good, right?”

He smiled. “Sure. That’s great. But you have been taking the medicine I’ve been giving you?”

Sure, why not? I’m pretty sure I have been, what kind of crazy person doesn’t take their medicine?

“Of course.”

“Great. So, anything new with you? Anything new I should know?”

I shrugged. “I mean, not really. Joshie’s doing fine. Growing like a weed! He barely fits his pajamas anymore.” I laughed. “Rick–” that’s my husband, sorry, the doctor knows this, though “–’s job is going great, he’s up for a promotion next week so he’s crazy stressed about that, putting in lots of overtime and such.”

He stared at me. There was a small frown on his face as he studied me. His thumb rubbed against his pointer and he kept staring and after a minute it made me nervous. I felt myself beginning to shrink away, I didn’t like this feeling. Something terrible and hot started to crawl in my gut.

“And where is Joshie now?” he asked, finally.

I let out a huge breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “At my mom’s,” I said.

He studied me again, but he wasn’t looking at me, he was looking past me, looking at himself through me, trying to decide what to say next.

“Alicia, have you been taking your medication? Actually swallowing it?”

“I already said yes!” Anger was replacing the terrible hot gut feeling and I could feel it bubbling out, feel it spreading into my arms and fingers, I could feel it behind my eyes.

“Alicia, your son is dead.”

My heart stopped. My lungs stopped. My world stopped. Then I realized this must be some sort of sick, cruel joke. Of course Josh isn’t dead. I dropped him off at my mother’s this morning. How would the doctor have heard of his death before I did? I relaxed a little.

The doctor stood up and pressed a button on the wall. Immediately two nurses came but he didn’t let them into the room. I heard him speak to one of them.

“Alicia Moore needs to be placed on injectables immediately. Stop all oral dosage. Yes?”

They nodded and left. He sat back down.

“Alicia, your son is dead. He died two years ago. You stabbed your husband and you stabbed your son and he is dead. You have to snap out of this psychosis. It’s dangerous. Your son is dead.”

I knew he was talking but all I could hear were waves. Like at the beach, but they were loud, as if I’d taken a deep breath and put my face under the waves and they were engulfing me and I was drowning. I got sick. I think I threw up. I definitely passed out.

When I woke up I was in a room, but it wasn’t my room, lying on a bed, but it wasn’t my bed. My arms and legs were strapped down and the lights were not the right colors. Several people looked down on me and then removed a pad from inside my mouth and untied me but I could barely move. I felt at peace, but not truly at peace. I felt like someone had taken peace and jammed it into my eyesockets and down my throat. I felt like peace had been forced on me. They didn’t say anything but took me to another room that wasn’t my room and laid me down on another bed that wasn’t my bed. I wanted to claw, to scream, to tell them to fuck off and let me see my son, I tried to run and call the police and tell them I’d been kidnapped and something terrible was happening but all those things happened inside my head. Outside, I just sat there. My brain couldn’t make my arms and legs and mouth care enough to do anything.

After a bit I started to feel better, really started trying to figure out a plan for how to get out of here, how to get back to my mother’s to get Joshie, but it seems whoever has kidnapped me has the goddamn strangest methods I’ve ever heard of for a kidnapper. There are, first off, like, twenty of them, and they also let me have access to the internet. I’ve contacted the local police and I’m sure they’ll be along shortly, but in the meantime, I just wanted to reach out to some real people. Social media petitions are a thing, right? Like hashtag free alicia or something? If someone could organize that it would be amazing, I have no idea what the hell is going on but I really just want to cuddle with my son and read him Goodnight Moon and let him fall asleep on my chest and if the people who have kidnapped me have hurt him in any way, or make me miss the first time he rolls over or his first steps or if he gets sick because I’m not there to breastfeed him anymore, I’m not going to bother suing the bastards. I’m just going to kill them.

Wow, sorry, had to take a break there for a second. I just got a massive headache, I’m sorry guys. Shit, I don’t even remember what I was writing about. I honestly don’t, okay. Well, whatever this is I’m sure I’ll catch up tomorrow or something, I really gotta go, my son (Josh, he’s 3 months old) is crying in the other room I gotta go feed him. I’m sure it’s been a pleasure talking to y’all! Goodnight. 🙂

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