Chapter Text
MISSING!
Jacob Portman
Age: 16
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 140-150 lbs
Race: White
Hair: Black
Eyes: Blue
Last Seen: Carinholm, Wales, UK
Missing From: Englewood, Florida
Jacob was last seen on August 2nd, 2011. He was traveling with his father, Franklin Portman, to a remote island reportedly off the coast of Wales. He may be seen either along the coasts of Wales or along the coasts of Florida. Jacob was last seen in a blue parka, white t-shirt, dark blue jeans, and black Converse shoes. He has stud black earrings in each ear.
Anyone with information should contact the Englewood Police Department at ############.
...~
The poster continuously whipped against the harsh winds of the Florida air as it was half hazardly plastered onto an old telephone poll by a thumb tack and, so far, a few small pieces of tape. A pair of bandaged hands bedazzled with large rings held it in place as more tape was layered on top. The last poster had blown away all too easily. The one before that had been ripped apart. Only some real douchebags would tear up a missing persons poster.
Or, so Ricky Pickering thought.
He may not have been the nicest individual out there, but he thought to himself that the act of seeing someone he knew on a poster with screaming letters “MISSING” and ripping it up was simply, fucked up. It made his blood boil. He would have loved to see the fool or group of clowns that did such a thing. He’d been told that his appearance isn’t the kindest, especially around “these parts” of Englewood, even though the “these” and “those” parts are all bullshit to him. Just the sight of him would probably be enough to teach whoever a lesson. It made him smile a little bit. Just a little.
He stared at the poster in front of him a moment before continuing to rip tape from the roll.
Though he then thought he could be biased. After all, he was the one that had hung the poster in the first place. He had been plastering these posters around Englewood. It’s gotten him in trouble a few times; he wasn’t supposed to be putting up anymore signs. “Police orders”. Yeah right. It had only been two months since Jacob…left. Since Jacob left. How was two months enough time to stop the search? To stop spreading the word? To give up? A lazy way out. That’s all it was. Pathetic, lazy frauds. All of them. Hell, how do you return from a trip without your son for crying out loud?! When HE invited you to go with him! He wasn’t well! When he needed you most?! He needed you! He needed-
Ricky wasn’t sure when he started to speak aloud, but now realizing he was, it made him a little self conscious. In a stupid way. He sighed and figured that the tape practically enclosing the poster to the pole was enough to keep it sturdy. He shoved the almost empty roll of tape into the pocket of his jacket, accidently pricking himself on one of the extra tacks he had brought. It was late, almost dark. The bitter October air started to hit him like a truck. He should have been home by now; his mom is too smart of a lady to know it doesn’t take almost a whole day to rent a movie from Family Video, even when she’s tipsy. Besides, she had been in his room. He knows she’s seen the posters scattered along the floor. If that wasn’t obvious enough, she most definitely had seen the wall covered in photos, print outs, brochures, letters, you name it. Not like it would make any sense to her, fuck, it wasn’t adding up to Ricky either.
Where could Jacob have…
His fists clenched up in anger. He didn’t blame Jacob. But a small, disgusting piece of him did. Or maybe, that small, disgusting piece of him was blaming himself. He’d known Jacob was struggling. The loss of his grandpa. It did a number on him. He’s always been a bit awkward, a bit secluded, but the distance only grew. For a while, he would only talk to Ricky about these…people in photographs. Some stories that ol’ Abe would tell him about. But Ricky was too stupid to pay much mind. Not like he had much of a mind when him and Jacob would hang out. He scoffed at himself. He stared at the photo on the poster. He was staring right back at him. Mockingly.
Without realizing what he was doing, he raised his clenched fist and punched the telephone pole. A sting of pain from already scrapped knuckles shocked him back to reality. What an idiot. He didn’t know if that thought was referring to Jacob, or to himself. His brain was racing with thoughts, his body with emotions. Shit. He just needed to go home. To forget, for a moment. Or, at least pretend that he forgot. He couldn’t anymore. He’s tried the most he could.
He looked at the slight blood smear that now stained the poster, remembering the black sharpie he had in his jean pocket. He supposed a little good came out of…whatever had just come over him. He took the sharpie and scribbled out the police station’s phone number, writing his own above it. They weren’t doing anything, why should anyone call them? He’d put the Portman’s house number down before; that was a mistake. He shoved the sharpie back into his pocket, before finally turning away from the poster, walking down the now quiet, dark sidewalk only vaguely illuminated by the streetlamps.
Everyone else had given up on Jacob Portman. Everyone, but Ricky Pickering.
~...