WDENESDAY MORNING

                I woke up in the Ford, clutching the laptop to my chest. The noise of people was not there. No sound was coming from the house. I got up, still holding the laptop closely, and went into the kitchen. The sun wasn’t up yet, much to my surprise. No people were visible, so I set the laptop on the table noiselessly. I walked into the living room, not caring how much noise I made; no one would hear me anyway.

                The room was a mess. There were maps, flashlights, two-way radios, trail markers, and other various search-and-rescue items scattered around the room. Several maps had areas circled in red. I assumed that those were either the areas they had searched last night, or areas they intended to search today. I picked one of them up and folded it. I wandered back into the kitchen and ate a small breakfast, so as to not show a dent in the food Mom and Dad bought. I went up to the upstairs hallway after I had eaten and rummaged in the closet for Dad’s old duffel bag. I threw it in my room and got some clothes, then went into the bathroom and took the quickest shower I could. After that, I went back into my room. I packed some clothes and a stuffed animal in the duffel bag. I grabbed a small Bible and notebook with pencils to go along. I went into the bathroom and got my stuff, including my towel. Towels were handy; I don’t care what you say. I went back and grabbed a couple of my favorite books as well. My bag was only a fourth full. I went back downstairs and took the map and one of each item on the floor, adding them to my bag. I went and got several batteries for the things that required them. After that I packed a couple water bottles, making the pack halfway full. I tested it on my back to see the weight, and I decided I could handle a little more. I got the emergency cell phone and charger that we kept in the laundry room, adding that to my little ‘survival pack’. I packed protein bars and a box of my favorite cereal that you could eat dry in. I tested the bag again. It was still good so I added a bottle of vitamins for good measure. I found the letter and put that in the secret pocket inside.

I then looked around my house one more time and only took one more item: My favorite photo of Mom, Dad, Amy and I before Mom left. Not wanting to think about it at that moment, I put in the bag without a second thought. I tested the bag one more time, finding it just on the edge of uncomfortably heavy. I could stand it for a few hours. I stashed my bag in the secret compartment under the grates in the garage and went back into the kitchen, sitting down at the table and opening the laptop. I checked the email.

                “It is possible for us to come and help you without breaking anything. Would you like us to come?”

                “Yes. Are you close to figuring it out?”

                “In a way. We have a friend helping.”

                “Okay. When are you coming?”

                “Whenever you want.”

                “As soon as possible. But what about Mom and Dad?”

                “We have a plan.” After that their little, “online” light turned red, and I shut it off. I put it in the duffel bag and went up to my room. I found Amy, awake, lying in my bed and hugging the covers to her face. Her arm was wrapped around the stuffed rabbit I gave her for her fourth birthday and she was crying silently. I wanted so badly to reach out and comfort her, to tell her I was there, that I had never left. But I couldn’t. I had been stupid, selfish, curious; too curious for my own good. And now because of my want I was putting my family through this pointless ‘trial’ just so that I could have some stupid ability. I kicked my bedpost gently, to not disturb her if it was impossible in any way. I was a ghost, and until I wasn’t, I had to act like I was. I softly stroked Amy’s hair one last time before I left my room, closing the door softly. I stood outside for a moment, thinking of the first time I saw Amy. I brought up key memories of her growing up when it was just her, Dad and I. I smiled, beginning to cry again. I didn’t know if she would ever see me again. I didn’t know if she would remember me. I didn’t know anything that would happen in the future. I had no idea. I sighed and wiped away the tear: There was no point in crying now. No one could comfort me. I shook away that thought and began walking down the hall, looking at the pictures hung up. Various pictures of Dad, Amy and I, but only a few of Mom. I stopped longer at those ones, occasionally touching them sadly. I ended up in front of Mom and Dad’s room. I just stood in front of their door, staring at it and remembering my memories with them. Even the memories that weren’t my own; the ones Dad had told me. As I did I just stared at the white door, oblivious to everything else. It was as if I could see the memories playing around me, as if on screens. They became more and more visible the more I remembered, and the colors more vivid. The images became clearer, the noise sharper. I smiled at some, and I laughed at others. I was happy, purely happy in that moment. They slowly faded away again, like my smile, as I wound down. The hallway came back and everything else was gone. Then I cried. I didn’t cry because I wanted attention, I didn’t cry because I was hurt or afraid. I was crying silently, and I cried because I couldn’t stop.