Detective Morrison stepped forward slightly. His expression carried the careful sympathy of someone whose job required delivering devastating news to strangers. “Mrs. Patterson,” he said gently, “I’m sorry to come by so late, but we’ve received some information about your brother that you need to hear.”
My brother Danny.
Just hearing his name sent a cold chill through me that had nothing to do with the winter air outside. Danny had been missing for three weeks. For twenty-one days our family had lived inside a cloud of fear and uncertainty. Every phone call made our hearts race. Every unfamiliar number brought the hope that someone had finally seen him.
Police had suggested that maybe he’d chosen to leave town and start a new life somewhere else. But that explanation never made sense to us. Danny wasn’t the kind of person who would vanish without telling the people he loved.
“Is he alive?” I asked quickly, the words escaping before I could stop them.
Detective Morrison paused for a moment — and in that silence I already knew the answer.
