“Where’s Michael?” Hale asked as Aunt Susan passed him the peas. He spooned some onto his plate dutifully, then returned his attention to his aunt, who seemed less than eager to bring that topic of conversation up. “He hasn’t been to the last three family dinners.”

“You know Michael,” Aunt Susan said with a sigh. “The boy is off somewhere, up to no good, I’m betting. He always shows up after a while like nothing happened.”

“He’s never been gone for three weeks before,” Hale argued. He was momentarily silenced as Aunt Susan passed him the plate of sliced roast. “Don’t you think something might be going on? He hasn’t been answering my calls.”

“He hasn’t been answering mine, either,” Uncle John said gruffly. “The boy’s been AWOL from work. We’ve been scrambling to fill in for him.”

“I know,” Hale said in a small voice. “I’ve been filling in for him. But seriously, you don’t think there’s something going on?”

“It’s not the first time he’s decided he’s too good for us out of the blue and disappeared without a trace. I’d give it another three to five days before he comes back home. He’s always talking about re-enlisting in the Navy, but never follows through. I’m assuming this time it’s more of the same.”

Hale wasn’t satisfied with that answer, but there was nothing he could do. His mother moved the conversation from Michael’s whereabouts to last night’s episode of ‘Dancing with the Stars’ and all hope that he’d be taken seriously was lost. Hale pushed a few potatoes onto his plate from the dish Aunt Susan had given him, then waited until everyone was served before he started to poke at his roast. His appetite was gone. Yeah, Michael was a little bit of a flake, but he’d never vanished for such a long time before. It didn’t make sense.

But maybe he was exaggerating. He seemed to be the only one to think Michael’s disappearance was suspicious.

“You know, it really would have been better if they had an option to get rid of commercials altogether,” Hale’s mother said. “Maybe tiered levels of service, you know? If you pay a premium, then you don’t have to sit through them. The suspense kills me.”

“That’s why we’ve moved to streaming,” Aunt Susan said. “Why watch commercials or limit what’s on? You can watch any show any time you want, as long as it’s available.”

“But don’t they take shows away all the time?”

“They do, but it’s not like they don’t do that on cable television, either.”

The conversation droned on. Hale ate a forkful of peas, glanced toward Uncle John, and assessed from the pinched look on his face that while he didn’t want to hear anything more about television, he also didn’t want to hear about his missing son. If Michael had been more reliable, then maybe it would have triggered alarm bells, but ever since he’d come back from the Navy, he’d been different. Not bad different, but changed. The cool older cousin who’d given Hale his shot at popularity and turned around his reputation in his freshman year was gone. The new Michael wasn’t dependable, and try as Hale might to bridge their distant relationship, Michael wasn’t overly interested in revisiting old times.

“You know, now that I’m thinking about it...” Uncle John trailed off thoughtfully. No one had been talking to him, and with Hale’s mother and Aunt Susan wrapped up in conversation, he didn’t think that he was talking to them. “If you’re worried about Michael, why don’t you go visit his apartment after dinner. You have a spare key, don’t you?”

“I do.” Michael had entrusted it to him, knowing that Hale was less likely to lose his spare than he was. “I don’t want to invade his privacy.”

“At this point, he’s had enough privacy. Maybe having someone show up at his place will snap him back to his senses and bring him back down to earth. He’s taken enough two and three- week vacations for a lifetime—it’s time you got a break, too. You’ve been putting in too much time at the store. It’s not healthy.”

“A vacation?” Hale sat up a little straighter. “Are you serious?”

“When’s the last time you had a weekend?” Uncle John asked.

Hale couldn’t remember. He frowned and was about to mention a nebulous time before Michael had gone missing, but Uncle John cut him off before he could get that far.

“If you can’t answer right away, it means you haven’t been treated right. Find Michael, send his slacker ass back to work, and let him cover for you for once. The new hire—Lily—she’s been asking for some extra hours, anyway. I’m sure she’ll be glad to cover for you while you’re away.”

The news was shocking. Hale grinned. Working at his aunt and uncle’s sports supply store was good, but he’d reached a point where he needed some time away. There were only so many hours he could spend dusting shelves, following up on custom orders, and half-heartedly flirting with the men who came in looking for gear. If he took some time off, maybe he could clear his head and find his center again... and even if he couldn’t do that, he could certainly find Michael. Hidden Creek was small. There weren’t all that many places to look.

“What’s that?” Aunt Susan asked. The conversation about streaming had ended, and both women snapped back to reality. “Did you just give Hale some time off, dear? Who’s going to look after the shop until Michael gets back?”

“Lily’s been asking for hours,” Uncle John repeated. “The boy deserves some time off. Can you remember the last time he took a break?”

“He was probably sixteen,” Hale’s mother chuckled. “What are you going to do with your time, Hale?”

“Well, first I’m going to find Michael.” Hale beamed. “And after that, I’m not sure I care as long as I can kick back and do absolutely nothing.”

* * *

After dinner, Hale cut across Moore Wood park, narrowly dodging an encounter with the resident angry goose who’d taken up permanent residence in the pond. When he was out of harm’s way, Hale smoothed back his hair, took a deep breath, and glanced over his shoulder. The goose’s wings were still outstretched, and he glared at Hale from the invisible line the goose considered the edge of his territory.

Can geese even glare? I guess so. That’s one angry bird.

Michael’s apartment wasn’t all that far from the park. The complex was well-maintained and well-lit, which was a blessing, as the sun had dipped low on the horizon, and dreary shadows were starting to give way to the dark.

Hale ducked in through the front door and followed the hallway to the right of the lobby until he arrived at Michael’s door.

“Hey, Michael.” Hale knocked loudly three times. “It’s Hale. You have like, fifteen seconds to put the porn away and cover yourself before I come inside and embarrass you.”

No response.

Hale frowned, knocked again, and waited. Nothing. He didn’t even hear movement from inside.

“Well... I warned you.” He fitted the key in the lock, remarking on the wear and tear around the keyhole. Michael was twenty-five now, but he was still a partier. It looked like he’d come home drunk on more than one occasion and scratched the metal while trying to slot the key in the keyhole. Maybe he’d gone on a bender and was already passed out.

Hale opened the door and let himself inside. The apartment reeked. The television was running, which told Hale that Michael was somewhere in the house.

If he’s ignoring me on purpose, I’m not going to let him hear the end of it. What the hell is going on, Michael?

Hale closed the door and headed down the entrance hall to the living room. The bathroom door was open, the room dark. It wasn’t like Michael was in the shower and unable to answer the door.

“Your dad says that you’ve got to go back to work,” Hale declared as he made his way down the hall. “I’m working doubles to cover for you, and while the extra money has been nice for my savings, I’m ready to take some time off.”

He emerged in the living room to find it empty. The television played for no one. Hale frowned and squinted, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Something random was playing on Michael’s television—some teenage drama, by the looks of it. Whatever show it was, it definitely wasn’t to Michael’s taste.

“Michael?” Hale called, raising his voice. Now that he was inside the apartment, he knew Michael had to hear him. He found the television remote on the coffee table and turned the television off. “I’m not fourteen anymore, you know. Ignoring me isn’t cool. Where are you?”

Now that the apartment was quiet, it was eerie. The fine hair on the back of Hale’s neck stood on end. He’d been in haunted houses less creepy than this place. Any second now, he anticipated some zombie-Michael would come shambling out of one of the darkened rooms, eager to eat his brains.

“Michael?”

Something weird was going on. Hale knew that Michael wasn’t the most responsible person, but he wouldn’t have kept his television on if he’d left the apartment.

Hale took a second to glance around the room. Nothing seemed out of place—at least, not that he could tell. There was a small mess on the coffee table where he’d found the remote, largely bills and junk mail. Michael had a few of his pay stubs left on the table, but Hale didn’t bother to investigate them. They worked in the family business together—there were very few secrets to be had.

“I swear to god, if you’re a zombie or if there’s some alien creature waiting around the corner for me, I’m going to be pissed. This isn’t funny. And if you have a dashcam or something set up to record my reaction? I don’t care how buff you are from your military days—I’ll end you.”

At twenty-one, Hale was aware that he was still tiny. Built like a twig, he’d never outgrown his teenage body—which had its advantages when it came to agility, but which sucked when he found himself targeted by some bigot with a grudge.

“I’m going to ruin your footage,” Hale declared to the empty room. “Good luck putting this up for ad revenue on YouTube. Cock, balls, fuck, goddammit, bastard, shit...”

He continued to rattle off vulgar words as he left the living room and entered the kitchen, certain that Michael would be waiting there to ambush him. Only, Hale entered the kitchen to find nothing.

Not Michael, not some horror movie prop, not even a dashcam.

What he did find was more disturbing than any of that.

There was a fuzzy blue and white mass loosely wrapped in plastic in the sink, and it stank to high heaven. Hale cringed, reached for one of the steak knives left in the dish rack, and poked at the mass. It turned over with a wet plop to reveal a fleshy underbelly.

It was a chicken breast, he realized, so badly molded that it was unrecognizable from the top. Hale gagged, dropped the knife, and stepped back. It wasn’t like Michael had forgotten about the chicken breast for a day or two—mold like that took time to grow. Had he been out of his apartment for the full three weeks he’d been missing? There had to be an explanation.

A chill swept down Hale’s spine.

He can’t be dead, can he? He... he couldn’t be. He has way too much to live for...

The darkness of Michael’s quiet bedroom was more terrifying than any zombie. Bile rose up Hale’s throat, and he struggled to keep himself in check. He’d volunteered to come out here—it was his duty to make sure that Michael wasn’t in trouble.

He squared his shoulders and approached the bedroom door, mentally preparing himself for what he might see. He set on hand on the doorframe, then exhaled slowly and prepared to step into the room when a jarring noise made him jump.

Someone was knocking on the door.

Hale stepped away from the bedroom, heart racing, and went to see who it was.