Falling by Amber Jaeger

wallets would have been too, right?”
    “Your school IDs were in your backpacks, in the trunk. The fire started in the front of the car.”
    Lincoln nodded and turned from me. I could see his drawn face reflected in the window but didn’t know how to comfort him.
    Our dad stormed back in the room. “Well Linc, brush your damn hair, I guess you’re going to be on the news.”
    Linc paled even more than he already was. “Why?”
    My heart ached seeing my normally strong brother so skittish and scared.
    “The cops want to be the ones to break the news, I guess, and whoever runs this place agrees. Said he can explain better why you can’t explain what happened.”
    “Great,” Lincoln said bitterly. “So why do I have to be there?”
    “Don’t smart ass me, boy,” my dad snapped.
    I rolled my eyes behind his back.
    The nurse came back in and shooed us out so she could get Lincoln ready. “We’re doing this now?” I asked my dad nervously.
    “I guess,” he said, taking his hat off and rubbing it over his face.
    “You think it’s going to be bad?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “I don’t know. Not bad, just ... not good. People make a big hairy deal about stuff like this. We don’t need your brother all over the news or the Internet or whatever.”
    I nodded then excused myself to fix my ponytail. Grandma followed me into the bathroom and watched me try to smooth out the mess.
    “You have pretty hair,” she said. “You should brush it.”
    My hair was long like hers, but instead of a gorgeous soft black, the Irish from dad’s side had come out and I was left with a not-brown, not-red, not-auburn color. Nobody but Grandma ever said I had pretty hair, they always said, “Well, I guess it’s not really red, is it?”
    A bunch of men and women in suits led my family down to a conference room that had been set up. There was a table with glasses of water and tape recorders all lined up. Bright lights washed everything in a harsh glow. My brother looked even weaker and smaller once wheeled up there.
    Dad took a seat next to him and Grandma and I stood off to the side. One of the suits harrumphed into the microphone, silencing the dozen or so reporters that had started buzzing when Linc was wheeled in.
    The man introduced the lead detective who read a short, terse statement from note cards. “Lincoln Gray, assumed to have died in an accident two weeks ago, was taken to St. Worth’s hospital from a local men’s homeless shelter yesterday. He is unable to remember the events of the last two weeks, the accident he was supposed to have been in or who might have actually been in the car. We’re asking anyone that may have seen Lincoln that day or since to come forward.”
    The reporters erupted with questions, most of them shouted at Lincoln. Linc’s doctor stoodup and took the microphone from the detective. He held his hands help out in a silent plea.
    “Please folks, let me get through this part and you can ask your questions.”
    He consulted his own note cards then continued. “Detective Clemet has explained the facts, or I guess lack thereof. I’m just going to explain our young patient’s condition. I’m sure you’re all thinking we should just ask him what happened—” He paused to glare at a reporter that dared shout out his agreement. “But unfortunately, we are dealing with a closed head injury that has somewhat impaired his memory. Hours before and days after are just wiped clean, gone. I can tell you that his injuries are consistent with a car accident, although there is no evidence of burns, which I understand the other passenger, uh, passengers in the car suffered from.” He glanced back at the detective. “Anything to add?”
    Detective Clemet leaned over his shoulder to speak into the microphone. “Any tips can be called in to the Michigan State Police.”
    Dr. Herpa cleared his throat. “Any questions?”
    The reporters jumped to their feet and started yelling over each other. I watched