Before I can fixate on those words, though, I snap to my senses, remembering where I’m standing. I stuff the loose page back into the album and jam it back on the shelf. Below, all is quiet. The voices from the kitchen have ceased, and I don’t hear the television coming from the living room. It’s now or never.
Heart hammering, I descend the staircase and make a mad dash for the front door.
HenryLast December
“There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.”
—Frankensteinby Mary Shelley
Henry was in the shed, working on his invention when he got the text from Bram.
It’s happening again. Where are you?
Henry growled and tucked the parts and tools back in the box. Lately, with no school and no football, the invention had become more than a hobby—it had become Henry’s passion, consuming his thoughts. He truly believed it would change everything.
But these episodes with Adam were becoming a common occurrence. At this rate, he’d never finish it. Tucking the box away beneath a folded blue tarp, he took off for the house.
As Henry made his way up the path to the front porch, he expected to hear shouting and screaming; instead, everything was eerily quiet. His pulse quickened. “Bram?” he called out, swinging the door open.
At first, there was no answer. The boys’ parents weren’t home. As usual, their mother was at some spa in a far-off place where noone knew of her family’s scandal. Their father was off doing damage control, now that no one wanted anything to do with the auto shop chain concept.
Still, the dead quiet wasn’t right.
Bram appeared at the top of the landing then. “Hurry,” he said before vanishing down the hall.
Henry ascended the stairs, palms sweating now. He started to fear the worst. Adam had never vocalized self-destructive feelings, but he’d been so withdrawn since the accident. So depressed. What if—but before he could finish the thought, he found Bram slumped outside of Adam’s room, back to the door.
“He’s locked himself inside,” Bram said, tossing up a hand.
“Well, is he okay?” Henry’s thoughts began to spiral again.
“How the hell shouldIknow? He hasn’t said anything. He won’t open the door. I think I heard him move, though.”
Henry let out a breath, relieved. “Maybe we should call 911,” he said loudly, only half-serious.
“I already tried all that psychological bullshit,” Bram said. “Even threatened to make Mom come back from her retreat. He won’t open it.” Bram spun around so that his mouth was practically against the door when he yelled, “I really don’t want to break down this door, damn it! But I will.” He sounded just like their father.
“Before you do that,” Henry said, pulling out his phone, “let’s try something.”
Twenty minutes later, the front doorbell rang, startling both Henry and Bram. It was the first time in over two months thatanyone other than the triplets’ lawyer had rung that bell.
“Who the hell is that?” came Adam’s booming voice.
Bram’s face contorted in rage, and he turned to the bedroom door. “You stupid piece of—”
But Henry shoved him toward the stairs. “At least we know he’s alive.”
“Yeah, but you dragged her all the way up here for nothing.”
“It’s not for nothing,” Henry assured him. “She’s going to get him out of there.”
“Guess we’ll see about that.”
When the boys opened the door, Hayden greeted them with a big smile and three brightly colored red-and-gold bags. “Merry Christmas,” she said shyly.
“Damn,” Bram muttered. “Did he force you over here on Christmas?”
Hayden laughed and pushed past him. “It’s notChristmasChristmas, dummy. It’s the twenty-third. Don’t you know what day it is?”
