Two weeks was all it took for people to stop searching for my brother or caring to call. They’ve all moved on.

They may not care, but my family doesn’t have that luxury. My brother is still everywhere- pictures, memories of watching cartoons on the couch, his untouched room, and the kitchen where he would hum as he cooked.

Moving on is easy when constant reminders aren’t around every corner. It’s even easier to move on when people believe my brother was a drug addict.

He isn’t, though. The most he has ever taken is an allergy pill. Trevor works in a science lab at the university he attends. He was working on some special project with his professor. One night, he came home bragging about some success. He had said their findings would “change the medical world as we know it”.

Soon after, he stopped going to work, seeing friends, or even coming to see us. He rarely called, and when he did, it was short and impersonal. He never told us anything was wrong until a random day when I got back from school. I stood in the doorway not wanting to be heard.

“Mom, you don’t understand. I can’t come here anymore. They will hurt you.” Trevor sounded frantic and was rustling around papers.

“Baby, are you sleeping well? Have you been eating enough? I’m worried about you.”

“Mom, I am in danger, and you might be, too.”

I accidentally moved the front door, and it made a creaking sound. They had heard me and stopped.

The talk around town was that my brother walked around asking people for help or money, so he could hide. They all talk about my brother like he was crazy.

I was walking home from school a few days before he disappeared, and I saw him sitting on a bus stop bench. He was covered head to toe to disguise himself. I sat at the other end of the bench.

“I miss you,” I said quietly.

“You shouldn’t be talking to me.” I was silent. “I miss you,” he finally said.

“Come home.” He shook his head and laughed.

“I can’t. It’s too dangerous.” He reached over and squeezed my hand. I had no idea what to say. “Take care of mom. I know this is hard on her. I love you.” He got up and walked away forever. I haven’t seen him since.

I went into my room to watch television and do homework. I couldn’t find my remote, so I went to look under the bed. I felt… a book? I wasn’t sure, so I pulled it out. It was a brown notebook. I had seen this a few times when my brother came home from work.

The first part of the journal was notes from his science lab, but there were pages missing. I wondered if that was his secret project. Then, the science jargon turned into daily journal entries about being followed. Some were in great detail while others were just a time and place. Why did he leave this here under my bed? He wanted me to find it.

I sat in my bed reading through the pages. I made a map of every place in town he mentioned. I’m no trained detective, but I was beginning to see a pattern. I almost had my finger on it when my mom knocked on the door. I quickly hid the journal.

“Trinity, give me the notebook.”

How does she know?

“Trinity, don’t make me do this again.” I stared at her confused. She sighed and left the room without the notebook. I heard her call to my dad, “We have to admit her. She’s only getting worse. We’ve tried everything.” I stood by the door listening to my dad’s silence.

“Daniel, Trevor has been gone three years now. I’m losing hope in her.”

Three years? He disappeared two weeks ago. I was just talking to my brother on the bench.

Then, it all came back to me.

I was on that bench alone. I put that notebook under my bed. I wrote those entries. I made up the story about Trevor being followed.

I remember the day I came home and found him in his room. I called 9-1-1. I had to tell my mom.

“Daniel!” My mom screamed over my convulsions. I was screaming, “No!” over and over again. It couldn’t be true.

“I’ll make the call in the morning,” my dad finally spoke.