The rain had been relentless for days, washing the summer dust from the roads and turning the forest paths into muddy trails. It had been a week since anyone had seen Jake. The police had given up after the initial search, chalking it up to a runaway case. But Jason knew better. Jake wasn’t the type to run away; he loved their mom too much for that.

Jason trudged through the woods, flashlight in hand, its beam cutting through the evening gloom. He followed the creek downstream, hoping to find some trace of his younger brother. He hadn’t slept well since Jake disappeared, the nightmares and guilt gnawing at him every night.

The first clue had been Jake’s favorite blue hoodie, snagged on a branch near the old mill. Then, the torn page from one of Jake’s comic books, crumpled and wet, found by the creek’s edge. Each clue was a lifeline, keeping Jason’s hope alive.

Days turned into a blur of sleepless nights and frantic searching. Every time Jason closed his eyes, he saw Jake’s smiling face, heard his laughter echoing in the halls of their quiet house. The guilt was suffocating, each moment of silence a reminder of his failure to protect his brother.

Then, one rainy evening, Jake reappeared.

Jason found him at the edge of the woods, shivering and silent. His eyes were hollow, his body frail and bruised, with burns marring his skin. He looked like a ghost, the boy he used to be now just a fragile shadow.

“Jake!” Jason cried, rushing to him. He enveloped his brother in a hug, but Jake didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch. He stood there, staring blankly, as if he was no longer present in his own body.

“Who did this to you?” Jason demanded, searching Jake’s face for answers. But Jake remained mute, his eyes glazed over with a distant terror.

Jason brought Jake home, and their mother’s tears were endless. She fussed over Jake, tending to his wounds, trying to coax words from his lips. But Jake remained silent, a haunting presence in their once warm home.

Jason continued searching for clues, unable to shake the feeling that he was missing something vital. His mind raced, piecing together fragments of memories and whispers. He retraced his steps, went back to the mill, the creek, the woods, searching for anything that could lead him to the truth.

One night, he found a hidden journal in Jake’s room. It was filled with scribbled drawings and fragmented thoughts. One entry stood out, written in Jake’s shaky handwriting: “He wants to hurt me so they’ll love him more.”

Jason’s heart sank as the realization dawned. The pieces fell into place, the scattered clues forming a horrific picture. The memories he had buried deep resurfaced with brutal clarity. The nights he had spent in a rage, the jealousy and anger that had festered inside him, the need for attention that had driven him to madness.

He had done this. He had hurt Jake, trying to make their mother see him, to make her love him more.

Jason’s breaths came in ragged gasps as he stumbled into the kitchen. His vision blurred with tears. He looked at the knife on the counter, its blade glinting under the dim light. His hands shook as he picked it up, the weight of his actions crushing him.

He found Jake in his room, staring blankly at the wall. Jason’s heart ached as he looked at his brother, broken and battered by his own hand. Tears streamed down his face as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Jake. I didn’t mean to—”

But Jake didn’t respond. He remained silent, trapped in his own world of pain.

Jason’s mind was a whirlwind of guilt and anger, a storm of emotions he couldn’t control. He raised the knife, his hand trembling. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, “I’m so sorry.”

The blade plunged into Jake’s chest, and for the first time, Jake’s eyes seemed to focus, a brief flicker of recognition passing through them. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

Jason watched the life drain from his brother’s eyes, his heart shattering with every second. He pulled the knife free, blood dripping onto the floor, staining the wood.

Their mother burst into the room, her scream piercing the night. She fell to her knees, cradling Jake’s lifeless body, her sobs shaking her frame.

Jason stood there, the knife heavy in his hand, his mind a numb void. He looked at his mother, her face a mask of anguish and disbelief.

“Wherever there is light, the flowers will find it,” Jason said, his voice hollow. He looked at the bloodied knife, the symbol of his own darkness. “And wherever there is evil, the weeds will thrive.”