the side mirror, I watched the shrinking cabin. The sun, just moments below the horizon, still bled mauve light upon the western edge of sky. The desert floor held a Martian red hue in the wake of the passing sun, and I watched the land turn black and lifeless again. Heading east, I looked straight ahead. Night engulfed the Wind River Range.
We sped along a primitive dirt road, a ribbon of dust trailing behind us like the contrail of a jet. Orson hadn’t spoken since we’d left the cabin. I rolled my window down, and the evening air cooled my sun-scorched face.
Orson jammed his foot into the brake pedal, and the car slid to a stop. There was an empty highway several hundred feet ahead, the same I’d seen from the bluffs. He reached down to the floorboard at his feet, grabbed a pair of handcuffs, and dropped them in my lap.
“Put one cuff on your right wrist and attach the other cuff to the door.”
I put the handcuffs on as instructed. “What are we doing here?” I asked.
He leaned over and tested the security of the handcuffs, and turned off the engine. It became instantly silent, for the wind had died at dusk. I watched Orson as he stared ahead. He wore another blue mechanic’s suit and those snakeskin boots. I wore a brown one, identical to his. One of the four closets in the hallway that connected the bedrooms and the living room was filled with them.
Orson’s beard had begun to fill in, painting a shadow across his face in the same pattern it spread across mine. Such subtleties create the strongest bond between twins, and as I watched Orson, I felt a glimmer of intimacy in a vessel that had long since died to that sort of love. But this was not the man I had known. You are a monster. Losing my brother had been like losing an appendage, but as I looked at him now, I felt like an amputee having a nightmare that the limb had grown back—demonic, independent of my will.
“You see Mom much?” Orson asked, his eyes fixed on the highway.
“I drive up to Winston twice a month. We go to lunch and visit Dad’s grave.”
“What does she wear?” he asked, still watching the road, his eyes never diverting to mine.
“I don’t under—”
“Her clothes. What clothes does she wear?”
“Dresses, mostly. Like she used to.”
“She ever wear that blue one with the sunflowers on it?”
“I don’t know.”
“When I dream about her, that’s what she wears. I went to see her once,” he said. “Drove up and down Race Street, watching the house, seeing if I could catch a glimpse of her in the front yard or through the windows. Never saw her, though.”
“Why didn’t you go through with it?”
“What would I say to her?” He paused, swallowing. “She ever ask about me?”
I considered lying but could find no reason to spare his feelings. “No.”
“You ever talk to her about me?”
“If I do, it’s just about when we were kids. But I don’t think she even likes those stories anymore.” Down the highway, northbound headlights appeared, so far off, I couldn’t distinguish the separate bulbs.
“That car won’t pass this spot for ten minutes,” he said. “It’s still miles away. These roads are so long and straight, the distance is deceiving.”
My right hand throbbed in the grip of the metal cuff. Blood wasn’t reaching my fingers, but I didn’t complain. I massaged them until the tingling went away.
“What do you really want with me?” I asked, but Orson just eyed those approaching headlights like I hadn’t said a word. “Orson,” I said. “What do you—”
“I told you the first day. I’m giving you an education.”
“You think reading boring fucking books all day constitutes an education?”
He looked me dead in the eyes. “The books have nothing to do with it. Surely you realized that by now.”
He cranked the engine and we rolled toward the highway. Dark now, the sky completely drained of light, we crossed the pavement and pulled onto the shoulder. I watched the headlights through the windshield, and for the first time, they seemed closer. Confused, I looked at Orson.
“Sit tight,” he said. Turning off the car, he opened his door and stepped out. He withdrew a white handkerchief from his pocket and tied it to the antenna. Then he shut the door and stuck his head through the open window. “Andy,” he warned, “not a word.”
He sat with his arms crossed on the