The only response to his outburst is a yelp from Martin, which startles John badly enough that he almost loses his hold on the stupid, oversized clothes he's wearing. But nothing else happens — unless you count the cat staring at him. For a moment, he almost considers storming over to the closet doors and yanking them open one by one, but the thought makes his stomach twist, and he pushes it aside. He doesn't think whoever took them is hiding in one of the closets on purpose, not really.

But he still feels like someone's watching them.

John huffs out a breath, then nods. "There should be a phone somewhere," he agrees, starting to poke around with a little less hesitation. He didn't see one in the hall, but there's usually one near the kitchen. John shuffles towards it, his eyes searching the walls until they land on a familiar, square jack.

There's a spot where a phone should be. But there's no phone attached to it.

John swallows, then nods up at it. "Look. It's like they just... took it away."