August 18, 1984

There was no question Luke had been murdered and brutally at that. The only question which remained in Reese’s mind in maddening obsession was who murdered Luke? In her thirteen year-old awareness, if she knew who had cut Luke’s life short, she might figure out why. But if she had asked why her brother, her friend, her twin had been murdered, she might have stumbled across who had done the deed.

The police had interrogated two different men on two different occasions. Both were transients, each one meandering the back roads of America on his way to another destination to meander. The police also wanted to know who killed Luke. Perhaps if they had focused on why Luke had been murdered, they might have stumbled across who had done the deed.

Who killed Luke were the words screaming in her brain as Reese ran and ran and ran away from Two Scoops with Gregory chasing after her. He begged her to come back, but the further she ran, the more his voice faded into the distance. She felt as if her grip on reality was slipping away, oozing like wet mud on the side of a hill. She ran until she couldn’t catch her breath. She ran until Luke’s voice was only a whisper floating away like a memory.

She couldn’t possibly have heard him talking to her. Right? He couldn’t have exclaimed “meet me at Rivercreek Crossing” as she darted out the front door of Two Scoops. Could he?

Two hours later she re-entered the town limits and gloomily waded through the oppressive afternoon mugginess and heat. She glanced at the parking lot next to Casey’s Pub, expecting to see her father’s car but it wasn’t in its usual haphazard spot. When she arrived home she silently begged that his car was in the garage. She didn’t feel like being alone, and with her mother lost in Valium loopy land, it was worse than being alone. It was being alone and being reminded that her mother didn’t care she was alone. On her tiptoes, she spied through the grungy little garage door window. No car. She slumped back onto her heels and heaved a sigh.

In the kitchen she skirted around the glistening smashed glass to the sink and dunked her head under the running faucet. The she cupped her hands and drank scoop after scoop of water. She made a lunch of peanut butter on Ritz crackers topped with cheese and a slice of pickle. Disgustingly good.

She ate and blocked out her dead brother’s voice. She swept clean the glass and pretended she never heard his words in her mind. She washed the dishes and didn’t think about the painting with the whole town depicted through Luke’s eyes.

When she had no more chores to whittle away the time, she thought about Luke’s words and his painting. She had no idea he was a painter. Her feeling of betrayal sliced like a newly sharpened steak knife through a tender slab of meat. But she could sense the secret in the oil swirls. Some hidden message meant for her eyes. But she had run before she could study his artwork.

Rivercreek Crossing. He had said to meet her there. Well, maybe he didn’t say it, but some subconscious spark was gnawing at her to go, before the day receded toward night any further. He had said for her to meet him there as if he would show up alive, in the flesh. Crazy. Yes, that was it. She was going crazy. But what else was there to do besides chase some radical hallucination?

She briskly ran upstairs to find the bedside glass of vodka and tonic emptied and her mother snoring ever so slightly. She watched her sleeping for a few seconds, mentally willing her to wake and comfort Reese. If only she could go to her mother’s arms, then she wouldn’t have to go to the crossing where the creek intersected the river.

“What the hell?” She said loud enough it should have aroused her mother. A brief interlude from snoring. Maybe … perhaps … no. Her mother grunted, rolled to her side away from Reese, and continued her heavy breathing.

Reese ran down the stairs, out the kitchen door, and automatically flew in the direction of Rivercreek Crossing. It was only a couple of miles from their house, away from the town, but Reese detoured the bridge and trudged through the woods long before it became necessary. The usual thirty minute hike turned into forty-five minutes. The air was still thick and made more murky from the approaching creek and sludge, but the canopy of trees shielded her from the blaring sun. Far away she could hear the rumble of thunder threatening.

She had not traversed the route since long before Luke died. It had been one of their favorite stomping grounds when they were younger, before they had ventured outside their relationship to discover companionship with other friends. They were twins, they were close, but they were becoming more and more different as they entered their preadolescent years. Luke was an athlete and a fine one at that, favoring his time with a baseball or football and other likeminded boys. Reese was a nothing. Nothing appealed to her interest on any great level. She liked music but not enough to bother learning an instrument. She liked boys but not enough to doll herself up and become more physically attractive. She liked books but could barely stay still long enough to complete a chapter. Sleep. Oh, she liked sleep. If she could turn sleeping into a professional hobby, she would have reigned champion.

What a waste, she thought. Why didn’t the son of a bitch kill me? Luke had so much more to offer the world.

As it often did, her mind wondered to who killed Luke. It made no sense. Whoever killed him was deranged.

“Excising demons,” a voice echoed in her head, through the low lying tree limbs, skimming across the bubbling creek which was now directly in front of her. It was Luke’s voice.

Reese shook her head like a dog deflecting raindrops from his coat. Maybe going crazy would be okay. It would relieve her of living in a world which had gone crazy.

"Reese!” Luke’s voice boomed so loudly she waited for the birds to fly helter-skelter from their trees. No rush of wings or scurrying of small animals. It was in her head and it was getting louder.

“Please, Reese, I know you can hear me.” Luke sounded sad, desperate.

“Luke?” She whispered, just in case it wasn't it her head.

“You can hear me!” He sang out.

“Luke, where are you?” Suddenly she was afraid. Going crazy didn’t seem so great after all.

“I’m here, Reese.”

“Where’s here?” She looked down at the rambling creek and scaled the small slope to stand on a small boulder.

“I don’t know. Here. I can see you. Can you see me?”

Reese craned her neck to look further down the creek. She turned and glanced around slowly. She almost missed it but something rippled in the sliver of sunshine beaming through the trees. It was like a rainbow in motion.

“Luke?” She whispered again and inched away from the creek’s edge. She took cautious steps toward the bouncing lights.

“You see me?” He asked cautiously.

“I don’t know. Is that you?” She raised an arm and her fingers rippled through the shimmer.

“Yes. I’m here.” Reese heard the relief in his voice. “I’ve been trying to find you forever.”

“Luke,” she said in disbelief.

“Reese, I think I’m dead.”

“Oh, Luke. You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Luke, you were murdered.”

“Murdered? Who would kill me?”

“I don’t know. Nobody knows.”

“That’s horrible.” He said it like he was talking about someone he didn’t know.

“Luke, you’ve been dead for almost three months.”

“Three months? That’s impossible.”
“Three months. You don’t remember?”

“No. I remember seeing you with Heather and Wayne heading to Two Scoops and then nothing. I feel like I’ve been trying to wake from a bad dream for a long time. I kept calling your name but you never answered me.”

“Oh, Luke, I’m so sorry,” Reese burst into a flooding of tears and sobs and fell to her knees. She cupped her face with her hands and cried so hard for so long she began to hiccup. Luke asked her to stop. He told her everything would be okay. But the only thing that made Reese stop howling was the crunch, snap, crunch of stomping feet.

Reese lowered her hands and through blurry eyes saw a man approaching her. She couldn’t make out who it was, but saw something sinister tucked into his belt. She scrambled to her feet, eyes never wavering from the … the … what was it? The muddled image looked like a gun.

“Oh my god,” She whispered.

“Reese, what are you doing here?”

“Dad?” She unhooked her stare from the gun and looked at the man’s face. He had several day’s growth of beard and tufts of coarse gray hair that must have sprouted in the last few days. But it was her dad. She ran to him and his arms opened to receive her. She went limp into them, feeling all her worries slip into his embrace.

“Reese, honey. I’m so sorry.” He raked the top of her head with his hand, stroking her hair. He kissed her crown and mumbled, “I’m so sorry.” Over and over again. He squeezed her tighter and she felt the hardness of the gun push into her gut.

“What are you doing with a gun?” She said but her words where muffled by his shoulder pressing against her mouth.

“I’m so sorry, Reese.”

She dismissed the gun for the moment, completely allowing herself to feel wanted, loved, cherished.

He pushed her away from the hug and stared at her face. She waited to hear him admit he had been a bad father for abandoning her. She waited to hear him say everything would be okay.

What she heard was, “Reese, I’m so sorry. I think I got your brother killed.”