August 18, 1984

Another day. Another vodka and tonic for her mother. If Reese didn’t make the cocktails herself, they would just be vodka and vodka. The ice clinked against the low ball glass as she placed it on the nightstand closest to her mother’s reach, pushing the empty one to the side. Cartoon characters zipped and zoomed across the small TV in front of the bed. It was Saturday, so no soap operas to keep Mrs. Caldwell company. No matter. She slept more and more, day and night blurring into one endless nightmare. For Reese, the days were slow and painful. Her sense of abandonment ached to a dull constant roar with the occasional rage igniting between two angry parents, each blaming and hating one another.

She looked at her sleeping mother, tiny rivers of crusty drool leached into the small wrinkles around her lips and chin. She wasn’t old but she was aging fast, plunging blindly into a constant drunken abyss. Somewhere inside of Reese, she was afraid her mother would never crawl back out of the darkness. She gently pulled strands of embedded hair from the streams of crust. Her mother didn’t stir.

Reese snatched the empty glass and quietly pulled the bedroom door shut behind her. She wanted to cry, to feel her mother put her arms around her, to tuck Reese’s head under her chin and tell her everything would be okay. But all of those things eluded her. And with each day they became more and more of a memory.

Reese spruced up the house a bit. She was the only one who cared anymore. Cared? It wasn’t the right word. She just happened to be the only one without her head in a bottle, who could function, even if it was in slow motion. Her father wasn’t home. Maybe he actually made it to work. Saturdays were busy days at Roman’s Appliance Store & Repairs. Her dad was the best salesman up until Luke disappeared. Mr. Roman was sympathetic but Reese knew it was only a matter of time before he had to let her dad go. It was a small store and Mr. Roman couldn’t afford to lose an employee without eventually replacing him.

And then what? What the hell would her family do then? Maybe she should run away. Or find the asshole, the fucking son of a bitch asshole, who killed her brother. Have him kill her too. Carve her up like he did to Luke.  

“Luke,” she said raking his name across her shaky voice. She couldn’t hear about the details of his death. She didn’t want to know how horrible it had been. How painful. How many days he was alive, knowing he was going to die, while his murderer enjoyed every horrid moment of torture.

It felt as if some foreign force seized her muscles as she grasped the glass drying on a towel and whipped it against the fridge. It exploded into jagged shards giving her only a second of satisfaction. She glared at the sparkling spray on the floor and was reminded of the sunkissed twinkles bouncing on the lazy creek beneath her and Heather’s feet as they dangled over the bridge. She would never, ever return to that vile bridge. The bridge where four year old Brittany found Luke’s body entangled in debris damming the flowing current to a near halt. It was presumed by the police that the body was likely dumped in the river and veered into the creek where the two water supplies intersected about a mile from the bridge. But Reese wasn’t too sure she believed that theory. She thought it more likely the killer wanted the body found and dumped Luke into the creek.

Reese left the mess on the floor. She knew it would remain for her to clean later, ignored if even noticed. She bolted through the back door, letting the screen slam for the first time in nearly three months. The sound made her laugh.

She headed for Two Scoops. It had been a long time since she felt determined about anything. She passed Casey’s Pub but didn’t bother to crane her neck in hopes of her father noticing her. She saw his car in the lot but didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let herself care anymore, except for one thing. She was going to find Luke’s killer. With every cell in her body morphing to a single-minded goal, she proceeded to Two Scoops.

It was early enough in the day not to be crowded. Her attention was immediately drawn to the right wall of the dining area where a large painter’s cloth was tacked to the wall obscuring whatever was underneath. The second she noticed it she remembered seeing it the day Luke disappeared, but had given it no attention. Why would she? She was in the presence of Wayne who was doting not only on Heather but her. She had been in sheer heaven, all thoughts of never seeing her twin again banished from her mind. God, how she wished she could replay that day differently. She shook the regret from her head and focused.

“Can I help you?” The girl behind the counter asked.

Reese looked away from the covered wall. “What’s behind here?” She pointed at it.

“Oh,” the girl’s tone took on a secretive tone. “You know that boy who was murdered? He was painting a mural before he died. It never got finished. Gregory doesn’t know what to do about it.”

Reese slowly approached the wall.

“Ummm …Gregory doesn’t want anyone touching it,” the girl warned.

Reese ignored her and stuck a finger behind the cloth. It was tacked on fairly tight at intervals of every foot or so. She tugged at it and one tacked area popped. She started to pull, a few more tacks popped.

“Please don’t do that,” the girl cried out. “I’ll get into a lot of trouble.”

“It’s okay, Vanessa,” Gregory said.

Reese turned and saw the red freckled man standing at the kitchen door. He leaned against the door jam and nodded to Reese. She neither smiled nor frowned. For some reason, she knew there was a clue to Luke’s death behind that cover. She returned and stared at the cloth and then used both hands to grasp it tightly and pulled. She kept pulling, going up on tiptoes to reach the higher areas. She yanked and pulled and when she couldn’t loosen anymore tacks, she opened the cloth like a curtain at a window.

She stood back in awe. The colors brilliantly exploded from the wall. Although the hand which painted it was still learning the craft of artistic ability, it was beautifully done. There was a square border made of mosaics of different local landmarks with townsfolk milling about and in the center was a larger painting of Two Scoops in the background and a girl with a cone of strawberry ice cream in her hand and a smile on her face in the foreground.

“Oh my God, that’s you,” the girl said to Reese.

Reese stared at her portrait. Just a regular girl-next-door enjoying an ice cream. It felt as if her heart stopped and raced at the same time. She felt a huge sob bubbling up from her chest but a familiar voice stopped her.

“Do you like it?” The voice said.

Reese turned to look at the counter girl and Gregory. The both had sad looks on their faces. She turned to look at the few patrons sitting around a couple of the parlor tables. She didn’t think any of them had asked the question. Maybe she was just hearing things.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” said the voice again. Damn if it didn’t sound like Luke. She whipped her attention to her right where the voice had come from. “I was going to show it to you on your birthday, our birthday.”

She gasped. Was she losing her mind?

“Are you okay, Reese?” Gregory asked. He approached her and placed a hand on one of her shoulders.

She jumped, startled by his touch.

She nodded but continued to look around for her brother, her dead brother who was now talking in her head.