Me: But I was. Hayden and I had been kept away from her for our entire lives and she went along with it. I wanted to be kind. I wanted to think that all of that had been for our own good, but I wasn’t sure. The betrayal was so deep, and apparently, shared. And then she dropped the bomb. She said, “The last time I saw your mother—last Labor Day—she told me that she thought you’d have to move again soon. She thought he was closing in on her. I told her that she was paranoid, you know, more paranoid than cautious. I told her to stay put. I told her that his threats would never evolve into reality. I…” Aunt Ginger was shaking as she spoke. I didn’t want to confront her right then, but I thought, really? Really? Did she see our mother last Labor Day? Did this aunt who we never knew existed up until twenty-four hours ago stay in touch with our mother, and she never bothered to tell us?

I asked her if she knew where my mom was, where he could have taken her. But she shook her head. Didn’t know where he lived. And when I asked if she’d help us to find her, she said, “Let’s figure it out later.”

“There is no later,” I say in the most direct way that I can.

She bites down on her lower lip before speaking. “I mean, after you eat and rest.”

I don’t understand her peculiar reluctance. Her sister has been abducted by a serial killer. Why is she being so weird?

Hayden’s eyes landed on a cheese sandwich and a stack of Pringles potato chips that our aunt has set on two cornflower-blue plates that she’s placed on an enormous table in the kitchen. On the wall adjacent to the table are some photographs. Lots of them. My heart skips a beat and I feel a surge of bewilderment. My school photo is among a bunch of images of complete strangers. There’s an old picture of Hayden, too. We were part of a family. We just didn’t know it.

Aunt Ginger turns to me and mouths some words. She says, “After he’s in bed, we’ll talk then.”

I sit down across from my brother while our aunt pours milk from a glass bottle. I don’t even like milk, but I say nothing. I sit there thinking of how the forces have collided to make my life worse than it has ever been.

And how my mother has less than six days to stay alive if I don’t do something about it.

* * *

The air from the open window passes over me. I check my phone before I turn out the light.

Again, nothing.

Is that all I am to him?