moved to the door. He stood in his mother’s living room. The old RCA Victor was in the corner right next to the sewing machine.
“Hello?” he whispered.
That’s when the baby started crying.
Ambrose quickly went to the window and pushed his mother’s old curtains down the brass rod with a squeak. He craned his neck to see who was at the front door, but all he saw was the baby carriage. Ambrose’s heart stopped when he realized what was happening. He didn’t know where he was. But he knew when he was.
This was the night that David went missing.
“David?” Ambrose called upstairs. “David, are you up there?”
There was no answer except a…
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
As a baseball slowly rolled down the stairs.
Ambrose caught the ball. It smelled like David’s baseball glove. Ambrose began to run up the stairs as fast as his old legs would take him. He passed the family portraits and the wedding pictures. A hundred years of Olson family history decaying on the walls like faded Missing posters. There was no one left to remember. No one left but him. He reached the top of the stairs and moved to David’s bedroom. Ambrose opened the door and peered into the dark room.
“David? Are you in here?” he said.
He flipped the light. The room was empty. The walls were covered in scratches left from madness when their father locked David in this room with nothing but his fear to keep him company. Ambrose saw a lump underneath the covers on the bed. It looked to be the size of a child.
“David? Is that you?” he whispered.
Ambrose studied the lump in the bed. Was it moving? Was it breathing? He moved to the bed and ripped off the covers before fear could talk him out of it. There was no one there. Just two pillows left under the covers to trick a grown-up.
And David’s baby book.
Ambrose picked it up slowly. The leather cover had the scent of old baseball gloves. It still smelled like his brother. He opened the book and ran his fingers over the little beads from the hospital. D. Olson. He studied the little footprint and the pictures that every family seemed to take.
David laughing naked at the tub.
David floating in a pool looking cranky.
David opening his presents on Christmas morning.
Ambrose had looked at the photos so often, he didn’t need to look at them again. He knew the last photo in the book. David with his big brother’s baseball glove. Ambrose stared at the picture, then turned the page.
But this time, the album kept going. There were more pictures.
David climbing out of the window.
David running through the woods.
David screaming in his grave.
Ambrose turned to the window. He saw his brother’s fingerprints on the glass. The wind using an old tree branch to scratch the window. Ambrose threw the window open and looked down at the ivy scaling the walls. His little brother used it to climb down the night he went missing. This was that night.
I can still save my brother.
He climbed through the window and down the ivy walls. His feet found the mossy grass. Ambrose looked down and saw his little brother’s footprints in the lawn. He knew it could be a trick, but he had no other option. He followed the trail. He had to find his brother. He had to save him this time.
Someone buried my brother alive.
Ambrose quickened his pace. He could see nothing except his little brother’s footprints squished into the wet street. He thought he could hear David’s voice far off in the wind. David was crying. Ambrose raced after his brother’s footprints until he saw the cul-de-sac in the distance.
And the Mission Street Woods.
The old soldier braced himself and moved across the field. He could feel the woods come alive in front of him. The wind moving in and out through an invisible mouth. Making clouds.
Ambrose followed the footprints into the woods.
Immediately the path went dark. Ambrose would have been blind had it not been for the halos in his eyes. His heart was in his throat. This was where his brother was killed. This was where he was lured. David was in here somewhere.
I can still save my brother.
Ambrose searched for any sign of abduction. A hole in the ground. A trapdoor. But all he saw were his brother’s footprints. Leading into the old coal mine. Ambrose walked into the darkness, clutching to memories like a child to a night-light. He had heard stories about this mine. His