Unspoken

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I stare into my bowl of cheerios, swishing the milk around with my spoon. The house is eerily quiet, the only sound is my spoon clinking against the side of the bowl. My father must have had too many drinks last night and is still passed out on the couch, and my mother left early to go to some meeting. Most kids would be getting ready for school by now, but since I home school myself there is no need. I set my bowl in the dishwasher and get dressed anyway. I grab the schoolwork that I’m supposed to do today and decide to go up to the attic. Normally I would go out to the garden to do my work, but it is down pouring outside. I like sitting in the attic on days when it rains because I love to hear the sound of the rain drops pounding on the roof. It has a soothing effect on me.

As I ascend the stairs to the attic, I hear them creak and groan beneath my weight. The steps are nearly rotted through and I probably shouldn’t be walking on them. My mother has told me repeatedly to stay away from the attic, but I can’t help myself. Right after my brother died I would always escape up here where I knew nobody would look for me. To this day when I don’t want to be found, this is where I go. Even if somebody thought I might be up here, they would never be able to find me in the piles of junk stacked as tall as me that litter the attic floor like a maze.

I brought up a bunch of pillows and blankets with me and set them up in between stacks of junk to form my own little space. I get comfortable and then open my history book to today’s lesson. 

I spend an hour doing my work, but I get bored and shove the books away. I just sit still for a second and listen to the thunder rumbling overhead. An especially loud clap causes me to jump and I accidentally knock over a stack of books. I start to restack them and recognize one as my mother’s old photo album. I slowly flip through the pages until I come to a picture of my brother, Caleb, and me. My eyes rake over the picture, taking him in. His eyes, identical to my own, stare back at me, sparkling with delight. I remember when this photo was taken. We had been at our cabin out by a cute little lake, deep in the woods. In the picture Caleb and I are standing on the dock laughing. I feel a tear slide down my cheek as I stare at him. I can’t believe it has been six years since he died. We didn’t have the love-hate relationship of most siblings, we did everything together and I absolutely adored him. Guilt floods my body because it should have been me. I could have saved him, but instead I held him in my arms as he took his last breath.

I drop the album and shove it away from me. A folder slips out of the back of the photo album as it fell to the floor. I frown, confused, and reach down to see what it is. On the front, scrawled in sloppy hand-writing, it says Steve, This is all I could dig up on him. Let me know what you want me to do next. I bite my lip, who was my father trying to get information on? I hesitantly open it to find out, but inside everything is gone except for a photo. The photo was of a man in that seemed to be in his late twenties. I stared hard at the picture, a feeling of recognition nagging at the back of my mind. I was certain that I had seen this man before. The only problem is that I have no clue where. It probably isn’t a big deal, just something to do with my dad’s business. I tell myself this, but I just can’t shake the feeling that this is somehow important.

What if this was the man that murdered Caleb? His murderer was never caught and I was the only witness. I remember the cops grilling me on what had happened, but I never said a word. I wasn’t just being selfish and keeping it to myself, I can’t remember anything about that night except for holding Caleb in my arms. From what I heard, Caleb and I had been playing outside and someone had shot him. I tried to recall my lost memory, but it was a blank as far back as the night before. When I was twelve I researched it a bit more and learned that sometimes when a person witnesses a shocking event their memory blocks it out to help them deal with it. I guess watching your twin brother die would be shocking enough.