been sitting beside me on the couch all day and into the night, jumping up the same way I did every time the phone rang and shaking or tapping his feet just as I was. Mena Prescott had brought over some food for everyone that evening and had stayed only long enough to reassure me that everything was going to be all right, long enough to tell me that these things happen all the time. I’m not sure why, but I wouldn’t talk to anyone but the police for that entire day. Not to my parents. Not to Lucas. I couldn’t make myself speak. I wasn’t crying. I was just silent, sitting there with my eyes glued to the TV screen, listening to my parents being interviewed by two cops in the dining room. When Lucas crawled onto the floor and fell asleep, I simply letmy body fall over onto the now-empty couch and followed his lead, until I was woken up for my turn with the police.
When one has just been questioned by a policeman about the last time he saw his little brother, he walks quickly to the driveway, hops into his mother’s green Toyota Corolla, drives five miles to the banks of the White River, and jumps into the water after stripping down to his boxer shorts. Under the water, he screams “FUCK” over and over as water fills his mouth and his nose begins to burn.
Lying faceup on the riverbank with water flowing over my feet and between my toes, I began to imagine that the Lazarus had swooped down and landed beside me on the mud. It approached me very slowly but with the full intention of getting as close as possible. Its beady black eyes and long, white bill kept me from noticing that it stood a good two feet off the ground.
“What do you want?” I asked the bird.
“I want to help you, Cullen Witter,” the bird said back, in a voice that sounded quite similar to that of Woody Woodpecker.
“Help me do what?”
“I want to help you find your brother,” it said, expanding its huge wings and then tucking them back into its sides.
“You know where he is?” I asked the bird.
“I do. And now I’m going to be famous. I’m going to be the first bird to ever find a missing child. I’m going to be on TV!”
“Cullen!” I heard a shout from above me. It was Lucas.
“Down here!” I yelled back.
“What are you doing?” Lucas asked, looking down at my mostly naked body lying half in the mud and half in the river.
“I needed to cool off.”
“Feeling better now?” Lucas asked, maneuvering his way down the rocky little hill that led to the riverbank.
“Not really.”
“At least you’re talking,” he said, sitting down on a big rock that was half-buried in the mud.
“Any news?” I asked.
“Nope,” he answered.
“Lucas, he’s dead.
I know he’s dead.”
“Cullen, look at me,” Lucas said sternly.
I looked up and could barely see him for the sun in my eyes, but noticed the tear streaming all the way down the side of his face, down his neck, and stopping at his shirt collar.
“Your brother is not dead.”
“Yes, he is,” I said, sitting up.
“Screw you, Cullen,” Lucas yelled before punching me in the face and walking back up to his car.
Dr. Webb says that losing a child will oftentimes bring about the end of a marriage. In the two weeks following my brother’s vanishing off the face of the Earth, my parents seemed to be closer than ever. My dad had stayed at the house every night, refusing to go on any out-of-town runs or to stay away from my mother for more than a couple of hours at a time. They also became very protective of me around that time, not letting me stay out late or go out of town or even hang out at Lucas’s for very long.
I mentioned the punch to Lucas on one such occasion that I was allowed to hang out at his house, and the conversation went a little like this:
“Lucas, you punched me in the face. You maniac.”
“I was upset. Sorry.”
“It didn’t hurt anyway,” I said, laughing.
“Cullen, you still have a black eye.”
“That’s not from you. I
When one has just been questioned by a policeman about the last time he saw his little brother, he walks quickly to the driveway, hops into his mother’s green Toyota Corolla, drives five miles to the banks of the White River, and jumps into the water after stripping down to his boxer shorts. Under the water, he screams “FUCK” over and over as water fills his mouth and his nose begins to burn.
Lying faceup on the riverbank with water flowing over my feet and between my toes, I began to imagine that the Lazarus had swooped down and landed beside me on the mud. It approached me very slowly but with the full intention of getting as close as possible. Its beady black eyes and long, white bill kept me from noticing that it stood a good two feet off the ground.
“What do you want?” I asked the bird.
“I want to help you, Cullen Witter,” the bird said back, in a voice that sounded quite similar to that of Woody Woodpecker.
“Help me do what?”
“I want to help you find your brother,” it said, expanding its huge wings and then tucking them back into its sides.
“You know where he is?” I asked the bird.
“I do. And now I’m going to be famous. I’m going to be the first bird to ever find a missing child. I’m going to be on TV!”
“Cullen!” I heard a shout from above me. It was Lucas.
“Down here!” I yelled back.
“What are you doing?” Lucas asked, looking down at my mostly naked body lying half in the mud and half in the river.
“I needed to cool off.”
“Feeling better now?” Lucas asked, maneuvering his way down the rocky little hill that led to the riverbank.
“Not really.”
“At least you’re talking,” he said, sitting down on a big rock that was half-buried in the mud.
“Any news?” I asked.
“Nope,” he answered.
“Lucas, he’s dead.
I know he’s dead.”
“Cullen, look at me,” Lucas said sternly.
I looked up and could barely see him for the sun in my eyes, but noticed the tear streaming all the way down the side of his face, down his neck, and stopping at his shirt collar.
“Your brother is not dead.”
“Yes, he is,” I said, sitting up.
“Screw you, Cullen,” Lucas yelled before punching me in the face and walking back up to his car.
Dr. Webb says that losing a child will oftentimes bring about the end of a marriage. In the two weeks following my brother’s vanishing off the face of the Earth, my parents seemed to be closer than ever. My dad had stayed at the house every night, refusing to go on any out-of-town runs or to stay away from my mother for more than a couple of hours at a time. They also became very protective of me around that time, not letting me stay out late or go out of town or even hang out at Lucas’s for very long.
I mentioned the punch to Lucas on one such occasion that I was allowed to hang out at his house, and the conversation went a little like this:
“Lucas, you punched me in the face. You maniac.”
“I was upset. Sorry.”
“It didn’t hurt anyway,” I said, laughing.
“Cullen, you still have a black eye.”
“That’s not from you. I
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