I was fifteen the year my brother vanished.
It happened suddenly, without warning. People expect an older teenager to run away and hide out with his friends. Parents laugh when their child makes it to the end of the driveway with his backpack of cookies stolen from the pantry, only to run back home and hide under the dining room table, too afraid to actually leave. Those scenarios are expected. A ten-year-old leaving home with very little explanation gets the story in the newspaper.
We know Hunter wasn’t abducted. He left a note behind the afternoon of his disappearance, one day before he turned ten. Don’t look for me, it read, I don’t want to be found, he said. There was a lot more, but I can’t remember much of it. The police took his note away as evidence when Mom reported the incident.
He left around 3:00 in the afternoon, the police prompt us. What were we doing at 3:00 in the afternoon on the seventh of May?
I run their questions through my head all the time. I wonder why Hunter ran away and why no one stopped him. Surely someone saw him go. Maybe he seemed typical, like a kid heading over to his best friend’s house. Maybe no one questioned it when they saw my brother disappear.
Today is Hunter’s twelfth birthday, which marks one day past the two years that he’s been missing. Honestly, I don’t think he wants to be found. I know he said that in his letter, but at this point I’ve begun to believe it. After the initial shock of realizing her only son was gone, Mom talked to me about this. She said he was “going through a phase” and that “he’ll be back in a day or two.”
Nice one, Mom. You nailed that prediction.
Instead, we waited around for two years. Mom, Ava, who’s eight, and me. Dad left us when Ava was one year old. But his place was searched long ago, in case Hunter had decided to go find him.
I don’t want to assume the worst. I don’t want to think he met with a terrible accident or dangerous person, but sometimes, I wonder if that’s the case. I wonder if Hunter won’t be coming home… at all.
I have to force those thoughts out of my mind. Our family hasn’t been the same since that awful day. Ava made me pinky promise her I wouldn’t leave too, but now I have no choice. I’m seventeen and going to college a couple states away when summer ends. I want my baby brother home safely before I leave, and this might be my only chance to ensure that. Often, I feel like I’m the only one who remembers he’s out there, alone. Don’t get me wrong- Mom was and still is worried sick about her only son. But at the same time, she still has to deal with us. She doesn’t have time to cry over him or search for him by herself. That’s why I have to go. Me.
As nighttime quietly approaches, I sling a knapsack over my shoulder and do one last check to make sure I have all the essentials. Money, food, toothbrush, a photo of Hunter, my cell phone, a water bottle. It’s all there.
Suddenly, I hear a sharp tapping sound. I stop moving as my heart sprints to cross a finish line I wasn’t aware of. My eyes widen, turning to look out my old window.
More than anything, I wish I could say it was Hunter. But it’s not. It’s… my father.
Slowly, I push my window open, leaving only a narrow crevice for his voice to be heard. “What do you want?” I hiss at him.
He pauses, as if taken aback by my harsh tone. “I want to know how Hunter is,” he replies, pulling himself together.
I want to slap him. “We haven’t found him. Get out.”
“In that case,” he glances sideways, as if checking to see who else is outside at this hour, “I want to come with you.”
A short bark of laughter erupts from inside me. “And I want you and Mom to get back together,” I say sarcastically, turning to close the knapsack.
“I’m serious, Skye,” he presses his face against the windowpane now, striving for my attention. I want nothing to do with him.
“You left us,” I fire at him. “I was ten. Hunter was four. Ava wasn’t even born yet. Do you know what that was like? Mom had to raise all of us on her own, without even support money from you. She had to get a job that pays for three kids to live in this house.”
“I know.” My pathetic excuse for a father closes his eyes and takes in the cool night air. Finally, he rejoins the living and hastily shoves a crumpled newspaper into my room.
I frown at the old thing. “Why would I want anything from you?”
“All I’m asking is for you to read it,” he explains warily. “With any luck, you’ll understand why I want to help you find Hunter.”
My heart seizes as I allow the idea of placing even the most minimal amount of trust into this man. He left you, my brain tells me. He left you.
“Whatever,” I say, taking the newspaper. “I’ll read it. But that doesn’t mean anything.”
He smiles slightly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an old phone. “Give me your number, so I can call you later.”
I had just gotten a new phone for my own birthday, about six months ago. This one is fancier than any phone I’ve had in the past and I know there are tracking devices on it. I don’t want to give him a way to contact me, much less be able to follow me. But then I remember he knows where I live, so I figure this can’t hurt.
“If you harass me, I can press charges,” I warn him.
“I won’t,” he promises, then leaves as promptly as he came.
Sighing, I reach over and unfold the newspaper. It’s dated back years ago, way before I was born. My eyes dart over the head story as my mouth drops open.
My father also went missing the day before he turned ten.
What does this mean?