Nowhere to be found

“Timothy, sit down and shut up. Don’t make me tell you again.”

“But Dad, I want to see how far I can jump.”

“Sit. Down.”

“But daaad—”

“Not here. Not now. Don’t do this to me, Tim.”

The father exhales sharply, pressing two fingers to his temple. Three hours. That’s all he’s asking for. Three quiet, uneventful hours from Perth to Adelaide. No screaming kids, no feet kicking his chair, no running up and down the aisles. More specifically, could the one causing havoc please not be his own?

Timothy crosses his arms, sulking. Flying is boring. Why couldn’t they go somewhere fun, like Hollywood or Africa? Why did it always have to be Adelaide? Grandma would pinch his cheeks, and Dad would sit around drinking port with Grandpa. Their house smelled funny. And now he couldn’t even test how far he could jump on an airplane.

He shifts in his seat, eyes scanning the rows of passengers ahead. The seatbelt light is off.

Maybe if he’s quick—

The father sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Timothy, I swear to God—”

He turns to his son’s seat.

It’s empty.

A second passes.

Another.

The father blinks. The air feels suddenly thick. He turns his head slightly, expecting to see Timothy crouching in the aisle, giggling.

Nothing.

His gaze darts to the seats ahead, searching for the flash of a child’s movement. His pulse quickens.

“Tim?”

No response.

The father unbuckles his seatbelt, scanning the cabin. Timothy isn’t anywhere in sight. He grips the armrest, forcing a breath through clenched teeth.

It’s fine. It’s a game.

He stands up. “Timothy?”

A few heads turn. A flight attendant, passing by, pauses. “Sir?”

“My son,” he says quickly. “He’s not in his seat.”

She glances at the empty spot beside him. “Perhaps he went to the restroom?”

No. He wouldn’t. Not without saying something. Not without whining about having to go. The father moves toward the nearest lavatory, knocking hard. “Timothy?”

No answer.

He presses the button. The door pops open.

Empty.

A cold knot forms in his stomach. He checks the other lavatory. Then the one at the front. Then the one at the back.

Nothing.

His pace quickens. His breath turns shallow. He pulls open the overhead lockers, searching for—what? A hiding child? He doesn’t know. He just knows Timothy isn’t in his seat. Timothy isn’t anywhere.

He weaves through the rows, scanning every face, stopping at every child. No. No. No.

The flight attendant approaches again, concern in her eyes. “Sir—”

“My son,” he says, more forcefully now. “He’s missing.”

A ripple of murmurs spreads through the cabin. Another attendant joins the first. One of them touches his arm lightly. “We’ll help you look.”

Passengers glance up, some confused, others disinterested. A man two rows back frowns and mutters, “I didn’t see a kid sitting there.”

The father’s head jerks toward him. “What?”

The man shrugs. “I mean—I just don’t remember seeing a kid. Thought you were alone.”

The father stares. His vision narrows. His heartbeat pounds against his skull. “What the fuck are you trying to do? Did you have something to do with this?”

The man drops his head, regretting getting himself involved. 

“Sir,” one of the attendants says, “please stay calm. let’s retrace everything. Your son was in his seat after takeoff?”

“Yes.”

“And when did you last see him?”

“Just now. Seconds ago.” His voice is shaking. He doesn’t care. “I was talking to him. I turned away for one second, and he—” He swallows. “He’s gone.”

More passengers are watching now. Some look concerned. Some exchange glances.

The father scans every face, searching for suspicion, guilt, anything. His breathing grows uneven.

This isn’t happening.

Someone took him.

Someone on this plane has his son.

The attendants begin a quiet, methodical search. One asks passengers if they’ve seen a small boy. Most shake their heads. Some barely look up from their screens.

The father doesn’t wait. He moves faster, yanking back curtains, peering into crew areas, shoving open every unlocked door. The attendants murmur into radios.

The plane feels smaller now. Tighter.

He searches again. And again. Every seat, every row, every corner.

Nothing.

His hands shake. His face is burning. He moves up the aisle, scanning the faces again. Who took him?

A woman reaches out gently. “Sir, please—”

“Timothy!” The father shouts, voice cracking. Heads snap toward him. “Timothy, answer me!”

Nothing.

His pulse pounds in his ears. He stumbles down the aisle, knocking against armrests. “Tim!” His voice is raw now. Desperate. “Timothy, where are you?”

He reaches the cockpit door. Slams his fist against it. “My son is missing! Someone has my son!”

The attendants pull him back, whispering reassurances that mean nothing.

He shoves past them, back down the aisle. He checks the bathrooms again. He knows he already did. He does it anyway. He pulls down tray tables. Looks under seats.

Passengers murmur. Some watch with unease. Others look away.

The man who said Timothy wasn’t there stares at him blankly.

The father stares back, fists clenching.

He opens his mouth—but what does he say? That the man is lying? That his son was here, right here, and now he isn’t? That his world is collapsing, and no one understands?

“Sir,” an attendant says softly. “Please, sit down.”

The father sways on his feet. His head is pounding.

Then, a shift. A sensation. The slight pressure in his gut.

They are descending.

No.

The plane is landing.

His breaths turn shallow.

He turns toward the window. The ground grows closer.

No. No. No.

He grips the seat in front of him. His knuckles go white.

Timothy is still missing.

The wheels touch the runway.

The plane slows.

The overhead chime dings.

Timothy is still missing.

The seatbelts click open. People stand.

Timothy is still missing.

The doors open. Light floods in.

Timothy is still missing.

The other passengers are standing now. The overhead lockers are popping open.

Timothy is still missing. 

They have their bags and pushing past him. Exiting the plane. 

Timothy is still missing. 

He is the last one now. 

“Sir, we need you to please exit the aircraft. The authorities have been alerted and are waiting to assist you in the terminal.”

Timothy is still missing. 

Where is my son?