I don’t know what happened to my brother, but I wish I did. I wish I could tell you exactly where he was, and I wish I could tell you what happened, but I can’t. It’s hard to believe he’s just gone. No notes. No evidence. Not even a single sign of a struggle, or anything that would make this seem even … I don’t know, premeditated? It’s strange. I know it’d be worse if Ethan was violently murdered, and you could like see his blood and know that someone had actually been there; like something had actually happened to him, but nothing happened. He’s just gone.

I was at work when I got the first text from my parents. I work morning shifts at a figuring painting facility. It’s messy work sometimes, but mostly it’s just kind boring repetitive busy work. While on my lunch break, I saw my parents texted me:

“have you heard from Ethan recently?”

I remember being surprised at first. Not worried, just surprised that they texted me. I don’t talk to my family often, so usually when I do it’s through these random texts they send me.

I respond:

“no”

“Last I talked to him was maybe a month ago I think”

“Did something happen?”

I was getting nervous at this point. My brother would get into his fair share of trouble, especially since he was in between jobs at the time. Nothing illegal, at least not murder or drugs or anything like that. I know he and his friends liked to go into abandon properties on occasion; a remnant from his teenage years he still clung to.

After a while my phone buzzed again:

“We don’t know.”

“He’s not here.”

“We thought you might know something.”

I looked through old texts, opened other social media apps, even checked my email looking for any sign that he might’ve sent me a message I missed. Nothing. I tried texting him directly, even though my parents probably already did the same. I told my parents that he might just be out somewhere and his phone might be dead. Maybe he’d show up later that night, or maybe he’d use another phone to call them. I sent those messages and then went back to work. There was nothing I could do at my job to help this, and even if I was nervous I figured Ethan would be fine, wherever he was.

You don’t realize it until after something horrible happens, but we put a lot of faith in each other. My partner will leave the house to go to work, and I believe nothing bad will happen to them, even though there’s always a chance. Maybe someone rams into them on the road, smashing the life from their body through metallic shrapnel and blood. Maybe someone comes into their work with a firearm and shoots them for no reason, ending their life with an easy click of disgusting indifference. People can come and go like popping bubbles on bubble wrap, and sometimes just as easily. We don’t think about how truly dangerous and spontaneous life can be until it happens close enough to remind us, and by that point it’s usually too late to do anything about it.

Ethan didn’t come home that night. My parents tried to call me the next day but I was at work early again. I called them when I was at home hours later. We talked about what they might do, like calling police or putting out missing persons notices. I helped my parents make missing posters to put up around town. Seeing my brother’s face on those papers felt wrong, like we were going overboard, worrying about it too much and he was just going to show up somewhere acting like the whole thing was some kind of accidental mishap or something. Days turned into weeks. It’s been months now and I still don’t know where Ethan is. It’s finally setting in that he might be gone for good.

I wish I knew what happened. I wish there was someone I could point to and say “it’s their fault he’s gone.” I can’t say that. I can’t do anything. Ethan is gone and all I can do is make wishes that will never come true. I don’t leave the house very much anymore. I have to calm myself down every time my partner leaves for work. I can’t stop thinking that it’ll be the last time I ever see them.