J. Rusolo Ward

“Any person in your situation would lose his mind.  I don’t know how you stand it.”  Lisa handed him a snifter of brandy, then sat down next to him.

Trevor’s hand shook as he took a sip of brandy.  The last year was a nightmare.  It was the first anniversary of the day his brother went missing.

One night, he received a call.  The voice on the other end asked if he knew Damon Childs.  When he confirmed he was his brother, the man said. “He’s under my care now,” and hung up.

In a panic, Trevor called his brother’s cell.  After getting voicemail twice, he called their mother, who said he had gone to work that morning, but had not yet returned.  He called the police, but they weren’t interested in a grown man who might have made plans without anyone’s knowledge.  It took two days and as many calls before they took him seriously and opened an investigation.  Not that it helped.  They tried tracing the calls, but the man used burner cells and called from different locations, every time.

Demon was still missing and the phone would ring every night at exactly nine.

“Why does he continue to taunt me?”  He looked at Lisa for an answer.

She shook her head.

“I don’t have any enemies.”

“What about your brother?”

He shrugged.  “Everyone he knew was interviewed.”

“Why not change your number?”

“I did.  I got an unlisted number.  Twice.  I even moved.  I’m not from Dallas, you know.”  He looked at the clock.  It was almost time.  He gulped the remaining brandy for courage.

His phone rang.  He didn’t recognize the number, but then he wouldn’t.  “Hello?”

“Is Damon there?”

“You know he’s not.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Trevor threw the phone.

The doorbell rang.