My school is torturing children and my mother has gone missing

I'm a kid, I'm frightened, I'm in a lot of trouble, and I need advice.
In case you didn’t read my last post, I’ll bring you up to speed. My school is systematically torturing children for reasons unknown. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time to witness a girl having her stomach dissected without anesthetic. The teachers are involved. The firemen are involved. The police are involved. The kids they torture get bugged and made to lead their usual lives. They're on to me, so I had to fake a suicide attempt so I would appear mentally unstable and less threatening.
My next psychiatric evaluation would be in the nurses office and for legal reasons, one of my parents had to attend. Father was doing business on the other side of the world, so Mother attended. They asked me questions about my relationship with my parents, with my peers, with teachers, what I enjoyed in my spare time, and if I had any fears about anything at all. They were very interested in my fears and they recommended a couple of weeks away from school and repeating the term. The psychiatrist asked me some more questions about my nightmares and told Mother not to worry about my academic future: “there’s no shame in repeating a term. Kids do it all the time. Repeat the year if you have to.â€
School gave me the rest of the day off to consider my options, but I was feeling useless and powerless. If I was away from school, I would have no way of monitoring the sadistic actions carried out on my fellow students.
I didn't know what I should do next, so I confided in Mother. She is stoned in nearly all my memories of her. She isn’t neglectful, but she's pretty lazy and more often than not, she makes foolish decisions in light of really obvious options. However, her love for me has never been in doubt and in this desperate time, she was the only person I could talk to without fear death or torture.
“Darling, if there’s anything at all you want to tell me, I’m ready to listen,†said Mother as we were driving home from the evaluation.
I had no choice but to assume our house and car were bugged. Was I being rational or just paranoid?
“Mother, I know we haven’t had lunch, but I’d really like a milkshake,†I said, trying to sound mildly pathetic with a touch of ironic tragedy.
It worked and we went to a diner, where I told her the entire story of everything I'd seen and done: the sight of the girl attached to weird machines while sadistic teachers dissected her abdomen; how I'd twice pulled fire alarms, thinking it would save her; how the school had tried to lock me in and how I escaped by breaking a window with a fire extinguisher; how I'd overheard the firemen assisting the sadistic teachers on how to proceed with their operations; that the sadistic teachers may have recognized me; that I had a brief encounter with the tortured girl and she told me that the whole thing was the police's idea; that I had told her I had pulled the fire alarms before learning she was bugged.
Mother gawked at me and asked if I was high.
I told her I wasn’t.
She asked if I was lying.
I told her I wasn’t. Once she accepted I was serious, she became hysterical and I had to work really hard to calm her down so she wouldn't draw attention to us, while she sobbed about pulling me out of school and moving out the country
"We can't, Mother," I replied. "What about the kids getting tortured right now?"
"Darling," said Mother, "I know it's hard, but sometimes when you know people are suffering and there's nothing you can do, you have to move away and save yourself or you'll just become another casualty. The world is cruel and terrible."
"Maybe we could contact the police from a different city," I suggested.
"They'll ignore us, report us to our own police, and we'd be apprehended," said Mother.
"What about the secret service or foreign nations?" I asked.
"I'm a pothead pixie and you're a suicidal loony. They'll never believe us without proof," said Mother.
"Like a video or a photo?" I suggested.
Mother became outraged but thankfully kept her voice down: "why on Earth are you so concerned with saving a group of vile terrible children who are always horrible to you?! They forced you to drink toilet water! Have you wondered if this torture might be too good for them?!"
"If it was me, I'd want someone to save me," I replied.
Mother thought it through and said: "you're right."
So we came up with a plan - well, mostly Mother came up with a plan. The school all ready had it on record that "track practise was necessary for my mental health" so the teachers couldn't think strangely of me running laps even though I hadn't attended classes today. Mother would pretend to be the bored mother so she could wander the school and eavesdrop on what she could, hopefully capturing evidence on her mobile.
I showed up to practise wearing my running clothes and there were only five of us. Coach pulled me aside and said to me: "the principal told me what happened. If you need someone to talk to, you can always talk to me."
"I do have one question, Coach," I replied. "Where is everyone?"
"I don't know," said Coach. "I was told they were sick."
Practise was uneventful. Against my personal safety, I showered at school, but the mean kids were sick, apparently, so nothing frightening happened to me this time. After I was all clean, I waited around for Mother. A half hour later, she still hadn't shown up to our meeting spot, and Coach refused to leave until I had left the school safely.
I told Coach that I would look around the school real quickly just to see where Mother had gone, but Coach wouldn't leave my side, so I had no opportunity to snoop. On the way to my locker, we crossed paths with one of the sadistic teachers who I had seen torturing the girl.
"I'm relieved to see you're well," the sadistic teacher said to me, "though I am surprised to see you at school."
"The psychiatrist said that track was essential to my mental health," I said.
"I thought track practise would long be over," said the sadistic teacher.
"The poor kid's mother got lost," laughed Coach. "We're going to find her, then I'm going to watch what's left of the match. What are you still doing here, anyway?"
"It's amazing how pupils think a teachers work hours are the same as theirs," replied the sadistic teacher, and Coach thought this was clever work humour.
Mother was nowhere in the school and when I checked the parking lot, I saw that her car was gone.
I freaked out on the inside. Had Mother been apprehended? What were they doing to her? Would they torture her to find out what I'd told her? Would they hook her up to weird machines and dissect her stomach like they did to the tortured girl?
Could she have ditched me? Absolutely not. Mother can be a waste case but she would never abandon me.
"Where's your mother's car?" asked Coach.
"It's gone," I answered.
Coach thought of the right words to use in a situation where a suicidal child's mother has ****ed off: "your mother... she knows, right?"
"Oh yeah," I said, and then I told a pathetic lie. "I told her I needed my space and that she was being a cow and she left. I forgot about that. My mind's been swimming, lately."
Coach did not seem convinced: "well if that's the case, I should just drive you home. It's no trouble at all."
I didn't know if I could trust Coach. For the moment, I had to assume that all teachers were not to be trusted.
"No thanks, Coach," I said. "I'd rather walk."
Coach, either genuine or acting, put on the presence of a responsible adult: "I can't let you do that. I'm sorry, but I just can't."
So I played along and said: "ok. I know you're just doing your job. Can I use the bathroom first?"
Coach said that was fine and went to start the car. I stalked the halls one more time, checking for Mother and any signs of tortured children, only there were none, and I left school via a rear exit and escaped into the woods.
I slowly and quietly made my way home, only to see three police cars in my driveway. What were three police cars doing there? Had Coach phoned the police following my disappearance? Did this have anything to do with Mother?
The police were walking in and out of my house as though they owned the place and Mother was still nowhere to be seen. They confiscated our home computer, all our telephones, and several electronics that I couldn't imagine would be necessary for police work, including Mother's electric toothbrush. The police also found Mother's stash of weed and excessive paraphernalia.
"Any sign of the kid?" one of the police asked.
"Not yet. We'll have to keep waiting," said another one of the police.
My house was no longer safe for me and I was worried sick about Mother, as well as scared for what would happen to me if the police found me. I snuck back to school, on the off chance that Mother might have actually returned.
There were still cars in the school parking lot, but not Mother's. Who could the teachers be torturing at this late hour? Surely the students parents would phone the police, not that it would make much difference, but the police would still have to act their part and safely deliver missing children, lest the parents go to the media. So who as at school so late? And where was Mother?
If I'd never told what I had seen, she wouldn't be missing right now. She wanted to keep me safe by going as far away as possible from the source of trouble and now, she had been made a liability.
I crept to the school doors but they were locked. The best I could do was to watch from a tree in the woods, watching to see who owned the cars. Unfortunately, I feel asleep and when I woke up, the cars had gone.
It was nearly daylight and I didn't want to be near the school once school began. I don't think anyone saw me. If they had, they would have dealt with me.
For the moment, I'm hiding in a public library keeping a low profile and typing this.
I'm too scared to return to school. The moment I step foot on school grounds, the police will apprehend me and ask me several questions they all ready know the answers to.
I want to get a hold of Father but I don't have his mobile memorized and what would I tell him? That Mother's maybe been abducted and that I'm too frightened to go home due to police surveillance and that he can't help because he's on the other side of the world? Not to mention, what if they've begun monitoring his phone? If I call him, they might be able to trace where I'm calling him from.
I'm scared out of my wits end, I don't anywhere to sleep safely, and I don't even know where my next meal is coming from. What should I do?


Source.