“Little brother! What a miracle,” Brenda exclaimed.
Shawn hugged her warmly and asked, “Where are my parents?”
Her smile tightened instantly. “They went away for a few days with Uncle Thomas.”
Shawn frowned at her words. “Uncle Thomas died four years ago.”
Brenda paled immediately. “I meant his son, Thomas Junior. You know I got confused.”
Shawn entered without arguing, but he began to observe everything around him.
In the yard was the old gray sweater that his father used every December, completely covered in dust.
On a table he found his father’s reading glasses with one bent temple.
There was only one used dish in the kitchen.
Moreover, his parents’ room was locked.
“Since I came back to town, I manage everything,” Brenda explained. “I handle the house, the accounts, and even the money you send because the old folks are not up to worrying about those things anymore.”
The phrase annoyed Shawn deeply.
His parents may have been older, but they had never been irresponsible.
That afternoon he went out to the patio and found Mr. George waiting for him by the wooden fence.
“Shawn, it has been months since anyone has seen your parents,” the old man whispered.
Shawn felt his hands go cold. “What do you mean, months?”
“They are not at church, not at the store, and not even with the doctor,” Mr. George said. “Your sister always says something different, and four months ago she ran away Nancy, the woman who helped them, who came out crying saying your parents were in trouble.”
Shawn returned home feigning calmness.
During dinner he asked to call his parents.
“There is no signal where they are right now,” Brenda replied quickly.
“And when are they coming back?” Shawn asked.
“Maybe after New Year’s Day,” Brenda said softly.
That night Shawn could not sleep.
Around two in the morning he heard a strange noise.
There was a blow, and then another one.
It was slow and weak, coming from right under the kitchen floor.
He walked barefoot there and placed one hand on the cold floor.
