CALEB  | CHAPTER ONE

It had been two days since Cole was announced missing. I rolled out of bed that Saturday morning and things were different. I didn't follow my regular routine. I threw on some clothes and choked down a slice of raisin bread slathered with warm butter, with a tall glass of water to wash it all down. After that, I took a seat on the couch across from Kennedy, who sat on a green bean bag, reading a book.

"Where's Mom?" I asked.

Kennedy shrugged. "Out."

"Out where?"

She let out a huff. "I don't know, Caleb. Picking up groceries? Your guess is as good as mine."

"Hm. What about Dad?"

"Out also."

"You're not very helpful, you know."

"Oh well," she muttered.

"What are you reading?"

"A book."

"I can see that, dummy."

"Mhm, so leave me in peace. It's homework. I have to get through chapter four by the end of the weekend and write about it."

With that, she leafed back a couple pages and exhaled deeply. She was annoyed (as always) and being the annoying brother I've always been, I decided to poke fun at her and egg her on.

"What's it about?" I questioned.

"A girl trying to solve the murder of her best friend."

"Okay, what else?"

She glanced at me, glanced back at her book, and then glanced at me again. "Well," she said, "in the chapter I just read there was a flashback where the main character was hanging out in the woods with her friends. The book takes place here, in Canada. Kind of reminds of that time we explored the woods near the stream when we were younger, and we found that dead deer--"

"I don't remember that."

She furrowed her brows. "You don't?"

"Well, I remember exploring the woods. Not the dead animal," I told her.

"Oh." Pause. Silence. "Did I imagine that?"

"Maybe. Probably."

"Oh." She sunk a little in her seat and flipped a page in her book. "I guess that makes sense."

Pause. Silence.

To cheer her up a little, I took a seat next to her on the floor and said, "You could've dreamt it."

"Huh?"

"You could've dreamt it. The animal thing. It happens to me a lot. I think things happened and then I tell the stories, but no one really knows what I'm talking about, so I figure I dreamt it--"

"I'm schizophrenic, Caleb," she snapped, "I don't just dream things. They're realer than that."

I didn't really know how to reply to her. I just kind of sat quietly for a minute, feeling a little stupid for trying to convince her that her mental illness wasn't as bad as she thought it was. It was something I did a lot. Then the phone started to ring.

"Can you get it?" I asked.

Kennedy ignored me for a few seconds, her eyes focused on her brick like novel. The noise of the ringing was starting to irritate me a little, it was high-pitched and loud, screaming into my ears, and suddenly I worried that it was something important. The problem with me though, was that I could never just simply pick up the phone. I had to rehearse what I was going to say, take a few deep breaths before speaking because or else anxiety might swell up inside of my chest and seep into my words. I watched the phone, listening to the ringing and saying the word 'hello' in my head over and over and over and over. Then, I picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey,"

"Who is this?"

On the other side of the line, I heard breathing, shallow and shaky. My blood froze, a sudden spark of hope igniting inside of me. "Cole?" I whispered.

No answer. The phone went dead, the sound of static filling my ears.

"Are you okay?" Kennedy asked me.

I glanced at her, my heart pounding a little faster than usual. The voice sounded like Cole's, although I could've been wrong. Over the past few days I'd been obsessing over his disappearance. I needed a while to clear my head. "Yeah," I said. "I'm fine."

╳

When Kennedy was younger, she had this imaginary friend named Duke. According to her, Duke was a brown bear with fluffy fur and friendly eyes. She enjoyed drawing pictures of him and pressing her artwork to the walls of her bedroom with sticky tack for everyone to see. My parents never really thought anything of it. In fact, they were too busy dealing with young Charlie and figured Kennedy's imaginary friends were completely normal.

That was until Duke started telling her to do bad things.

He'd tell her to break things and hurt herself, and my parents began to realize that Duke was more than just an imaginary friend. To Kennedy, he was as real as ever. He was a grizzly bear, big and mighty and strong and beastly, with sharp claws and pointy teeth. Duke had the power to hurt her if she didn't do what he said.

My parents started taking Kennedy to hospitals and psychologists, getting tests and evaluations done, only to be told that Kennedy showed early signs of mental illness. This was rare. Typically, schizophrenia only developed later on in life, but Kennedy was special. At least that was what my parents used to say. I was young and oblivious to everything surrounding me. I didn't understand who Duke was or what hallucinations were or why my older sister was being asked all these questions.

Eventually, like all living things, Duke grew old and tired. His visits were far less frequent, especially with Kennedy growing up and realizing that talking bears were impossible. Kennedy made two new friends: Teddy and Joy. They were more like auditory hallucinations -- Teddy had the voice of a young man, and Joy had the voice of a young woman. The ironic thing about Joy was that she wasn't joyful at all, if anything, she spent most of the time pointing out Kennedy's flaws and telling her what she needed to improve. Teddy was a bit nicer.

This all only became evident to me when I reached the age of twelve. My parents had always explained it to me briefly, but I was never fully aware of how much it affected my sister. It was during a Christmas break early in the morning when I first witnessed how much it really affected her. My parents were out shopping for presents while I was feeding my pet goldfish, when Kennedy started to scream and cry. I ran into her room thinking she'd hurt herself, but instead I found her curled up in the corner, pressed up against the wall, her cheeks wet with tears. She was yelling, "Stop it! Stop it!"

"Kennedy?" I'd said, feeling a little panicked. I took a step towards her, unsure of what else to say. I was quiet for a while before I asked, "What's wrong?"

She just kept screaming like I wasn't there, stretching her arms out in front of her and squeezing her eyes shut as if she was shielding herself of something. "Get away! Stop it!"

I didn't know what to do.

It took ten minutes of me trying to help her and calm her down before Mom and Dad pulled up in the driveway. I ran down to the front and swung the door open, feeling the cold breeze dance along my skin. I called for them, waving them over. They looked at me with worried eyes, got out of the car and pushed past me without even asking me what was wrong.

The rest is a blur, but I remember seeing Mom cry and small Charlie hugging her, telling her he loved her and that it was going to be okay.

I never found out what Kennedy saw that day. We never spoke about the incident again.

Thinking about this made me think about Cole. I always got the vibe that Cole was never interested in my stories, he'd just kind of shrug when I'd tell him something and say, "That's nice," or, "That sucks," depending on the situation.

He did pay attention once, though, and that was when I spoke about Kennedy.