Spencer Hernández is missing. In fact, it's been two whole years since Elliot has laid eyes on his twin brother. When Police come knocking on Elliot's front door one rainy evening, he dares to hope for the best.
Unfortunately, his optimism is in va...
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Chapter Four: "why would i"
The seemingly incessant rain that attacked Crystal Lake an hour ago has finally eased up when I step onto the porch. The odd yet somehow comforting smell that comes with this sort of weather tickles my nose as I cut across the front of the house.
Before anything else, it's probably best to check under that tire swing.
The sky is bleak, rid of all the angry clouds that once shrouded the moon from sight. Its light guides me as I circle the house and open the latch to the gate that leads to the backyard.
The metal groans lowly when I move it to slip inside. Despite the stillness of the night, my heart dances in my chest, my senses alert and watching. Every muscle is tensed as though I'm in danger.
Maybe I am.
Who's to say that the danger that's following Spencer won't come to loom over my head? I'm probably digging my own grave by delving deeper despite his blatant warning.
The tire swing rocks back and forth, even though I don't feel any wind. Even in the darkness I can see the fraying rope is dangerously close to snapping.
The smell of wet soil is more prominent as I bend closer to the ground. The overturned dirt is clear as day in the moonlight.
My breath hitches. Someone has been digging here, and very recently. But then, I already knew that. Spencer's note is in my pocket right now.
Seeing the proof is a different story, though. It makes the reality of the situation more difficult to ignore.
If I found the note here, under the tire swing, that would've been one thing. But to find it in my takeout box from Coco's?
I'd have to be crazy to not look into it.
My fingers touch the dirt, curling into the earth. It feels cool, slippery as I shovel it out of the way. It cakes under my nails as I dig deeper and deeper.
My calf muscles start to burn from my squatted position, and I make the mistake of reaching up to wipe the sweat on my brow, thus adding soil to my forehead. Frustration is quick to work its way into my spirit as the minutes tick by.
I should have reached it by now.
But my fingers only caress more soil. It gets sturdier, more difficult to break through as I dig far below where our box should have been waiting. Come on.
My dirt-caked hands come up empty and I grind my teeth together, jaw locking. Who in this town has the nerve to meddle with a lost boy's final wishes?
Spencer and I have both been stolen from. Guilt nibbles my conscience as I realize that yet another injustice has been thrown upon my brother. Not only was I oblivious to and uncaring about his problems, but I couldn't even hold on to what I have left of him.
