slipped and fell on a rock right after you left. It was the damnedest thing!”
“Dork,” Lucas said, drawing back his fist and pretending to swing at me again.
Those two weeks were mostly uneventful save for the massive forty-man search party that the police department somehow coaxed into hiking through the woods all around Lily and canoeing down the river. After searching for four days in a row, they had found nothing. In those two weeks, Lucas and I had nearly searched all of the surrounding area ourselves, had kayaked down the river twice, getting out to search random sandbanks and things like that. We found nothing. On the Thursday following Gabriel’s disappearance, my family and Lucas all drove to Little Rock, stopping in every small town on the way to post photocopied MISSING posters with my brother’s school picture on light poles, park benches, and pay phones, and in the windows of stores. We did the same in Little Rock.
Here’s the problem with a fifteen-year-old boy going missing: No one thinks he has been taken. Especially Gabriel, who looked to be my age. Everyone in town, though they didn’t say it, was thinking the same thing: Gabriel Witter has finally runaway from his family. That, or he went hiking through the woods and either got lost or got eaten by a bear. Here’s what I knew: My brother was taken from me. He did not run away, because he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He would never. And he’d never gotten lost in his life.
Two weeks to the day after waking up on my brother’s bedroom floor, I knocked quickly and nervously on Alma Ember’s front door. Her mother opened it, and her eyes were wide and surprised to see me standing at her door at nine in the morning.
“Cullen Witter!”
“Hi, how are you?” I said to her, my hands in my pockets.
“No. How are
you
?”
“Oh. I’m fine.”
“Have they found anything yet, baby?” she asked with a hand lightly touching my shoulder.
“No, ma’am. Still nothing.”
“Well, I know something’s got to turn up sooner or later.”
“Yeah.”
This is what my life had become in just two short weeks. It now consisted of about a hundred of these same exact conversations a day with everyone I happened to see around town. The monotony of it made me want to disappear too. After a few seconds of silence, Alma’s mother finally stepped aside and invited me in. She asked if I was there to see Alma. I said I was. She turned her head slowly, put a hand up beside her mouth, and yelled, “ALMA! CULLEN WITTER IS HERE FOR YOU!” like she was sitting in the stands of a football game.Alma entered the room, and I suddenly remembered why I had thought to turn down her street and walk up to her door.
“Cullen! Hey!” She hugged my neck. I was getting a lot of hugs around that time.
“Hey. I thought you might wanna do something. I was bored.”
“Uhh. Sure. Let me put on some shoes.”
When we got into her car (I no longer trusted myself to drive), I looked over at her and she looked very nervous and very quiet.
I said, “Alma, if it’s okay with you, can we try not to talk about my brother today? At all?”
“Okay, Cullen.”
“Okay?” I asked.
“I understand,” she said, and then kissed me on the cheek.
For lack of anything else to talk about, it took only half an hour before Alma Ember and I were lying half in and half out of the White River in the very place that I had talked to an overly confident woodpecker, made out with Laura Fish, and been knocked out cold by my best friend. When I rolled over onto a sharp rock and yelled in pain, Alma Ember mistakenly thought that I was in the vocal throes of passion and continued to flail about on top of me, only pressing my back deeper and deeper into the jagged rock that was nearly at my spine. Finally I had to do the only thing I could think of and powerfully lifted Alma Ember up and back so that she went flying into the water. I stood up, felt my back, and brought forward a hand filled
“Dork,” Lucas said, drawing back his fist and pretending to swing at me again.
Those two weeks were mostly uneventful save for the massive forty-man search party that the police department somehow coaxed into hiking through the woods all around Lily and canoeing down the river. After searching for four days in a row, they had found nothing. In those two weeks, Lucas and I had nearly searched all of the surrounding area ourselves, had kayaked down the river twice, getting out to search random sandbanks and things like that. We found nothing. On the Thursday following Gabriel’s disappearance, my family and Lucas all drove to Little Rock, stopping in every small town on the way to post photocopied MISSING posters with my brother’s school picture on light poles, park benches, and pay phones, and in the windows of stores. We did the same in Little Rock.
Here’s the problem with a fifteen-year-old boy going missing: No one thinks he has been taken. Especially Gabriel, who looked to be my age. Everyone in town, though they didn’t say it, was thinking the same thing: Gabriel Witter has finally runaway from his family. That, or he went hiking through the woods and either got lost or got eaten by a bear. Here’s what I knew: My brother was taken from me. He did not run away, because he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He would never. And he’d never gotten lost in his life.
Two weeks to the day after waking up on my brother’s bedroom floor, I knocked quickly and nervously on Alma Ember’s front door. Her mother opened it, and her eyes were wide and surprised to see me standing at her door at nine in the morning.
“Cullen Witter!”
“Hi, how are you?” I said to her, my hands in my pockets.
“No. How are
you
?”
“Oh. I’m fine.”
“Have they found anything yet, baby?” she asked with a hand lightly touching my shoulder.
“No, ma’am. Still nothing.”
“Well, I know something’s got to turn up sooner or later.”
“Yeah.”
This is what my life had become in just two short weeks. It now consisted of about a hundred of these same exact conversations a day with everyone I happened to see around town. The monotony of it made me want to disappear too. After a few seconds of silence, Alma’s mother finally stepped aside and invited me in. She asked if I was there to see Alma. I said I was. She turned her head slowly, put a hand up beside her mouth, and yelled, “ALMA! CULLEN WITTER IS HERE FOR YOU!” like she was sitting in the stands of a football game.Alma entered the room, and I suddenly remembered why I had thought to turn down her street and walk up to her door.
“Cullen! Hey!” She hugged my neck. I was getting a lot of hugs around that time.
“Hey. I thought you might wanna do something. I was bored.”
“Uhh. Sure. Let me put on some shoes.”
When we got into her car (I no longer trusted myself to drive), I looked over at her and she looked very nervous and very quiet.
I said, “Alma, if it’s okay with you, can we try not to talk about my brother today? At all?”
“Okay, Cullen.”
“Okay?” I asked.
“I understand,” she said, and then kissed me on the cheek.
For lack of anything else to talk about, it took only half an hour before Alma Ember and I were lying half in and half out of the White River in the very place that I had talked to an overly confident woodpecker, made out with Laura Fish, and been knocked out cold by my best friend. When I rolled over onto a sharp rock and yelled in pain, Alma Ember mistakenly thought that I was in the vocal throes of passion and continued to flail about on top of me, only pressing my back deeper and deeper into the jagged rock that was nearly at my spine. Finally I had to do the only thing I could think of and powerfully lifted Alma Ember up and back so that she went flying into the water. I stood up, felt my back, and brought forward a hand filled
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