The room was pitch black, cold and empty. I stood idly looking through the window at the deep sky which mirrored the shadowy space. Heavy rain thumped loudly on the panes almost mockingly. Not even the moon wanted to shed its dusky brightness that night. I couldn’t blame it; I wasn’t deserving.

Tired of my sight being restricted by the darkness, I turned around and clicked on the antique lamp on the nightstand. With that, I could finally see the layout of the room; everything sitting neatly in place. The bed gingerly made. The bookshelf filled with titles and authors I couldn’t pronounce. The collection of old figurines tidy and without a speck of dirt or debris. If one hadn’t known the circumstances, they may have believed no one had been in this room for weeks.

But they would have been right. Andre disappeared without a trace 2 weeks ago.

I should’ve listened to him. He tried to tell us there was a strange presence he felt constantly, watching him from afar. In the school courtyard, at the park, whenever he went out with his friends, even when we were together as a family. But I called him paranoid. Laughed in his face. Made fun of him. I’m a horrible person.

Auntie and I went to the local authorities when he hadn’t come home for two days straight. I was worried the first night, because he never stayed out late without calling, but she squeezed my hand and said he was fine. “𝐻𝑒’𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝐴𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑎, 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑎 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡,“ she had remarked. “𝐼 𝑏𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑒’𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑢𝑝.“

She was crying the evening after.

When we arrived at the station, it was late into the night. Rain doused our coats and our clothes at record speed. And we quickly hurried inside when a large bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree. The round faced officer with the horrible combover at the front desk greeted us with unmasked displeasure. Hours we spent trying Andre’s phone and attempting to file a police report. But they kept insisting they never met an Andre before, even though the Chief had babysat him and myself almost every day here when we were children. They finally caved in and sent it out when Auntie burst into tears.

My thoughts were involuntarily interrupted when another bolt of lightning similar in intensity to the one at the police station struck our apple tree in the yard. Admittedly scared, I ran out of the room and into the kitchen nearby. Auntie was seated silently at the shabby kitchen table. I half-expected Andre to be sat next to her working on a school assignment. But she was all alone, gingerly sewing a hole in one of her sweaters.

Auntie turned around and greeted me, baring a genuine toothy smile.

“What are you still doing up, Amaya? It’s late. Isn’t your orientation tomorrow morning?”

I smiled back weakly and nodded my head, pushing my braids out of my face.

“Yeah, it is. I just wanted to see if you heard any updates on Andre.”

Auntie’s smile disappeared and was replaced with a look of confusion. The dim kitchen light flickered ominously and cast strange shadows on her wrinkled face.

“Amaya....who’s Andre?”

Her response knocked the breath out of me. I stammered nonsensically, trying to process her words.

“Auntie, what are you talking about!? My brother, your nephew Andre! We went to the police station and filed a report! You’ve cried every day over him since then!”

I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t comprehend how she forgot. Her memory was better than mine. Tears welled up in the corner of my eyes, threatening to spill onto my cheeks.

Auntie laid her holed sweater on the table next to her sewing machine and stared up at me blankly, eyes full of concern.

“I’m really sorry baby, but I have no idea who that is.”