Where Darkness Dwells by Glen Krisch

the county, yet he was still missing. But the worst part was finding George Banyon dead. Such a sweet boy. The boys had been best friends for so long. In some ways, Jane had wanted George to rub off some on Jimmy, calm him down a little. Get him to focus his attentions. Maybe she should have alerted the townsfolk right away about Jimmy's disappearance. At the time, it had crossed her mind, but seeking help would've reinforced the town's belief that she couldn't raise her boys on her own. Most people thought she needed a man in her life to keep her safe, to provide for her family. They had always looked at her differently than other mothers. If she weren't so goddamned foolish. And stubborn. She could only hope that whatever had gotten to George… that her Jimmy…
    She felt so helpless.
    She fell to her side, tears spilling across her cheek. She saw her wedding photo on the nightstand. She missed Dwight terribly. Ever since he passed, the feeling of missing him would come unbidden and unexpected. It wasn't the emotion itself that would surprise her, but the sudden strength of the emotion. She could be setting the dinner table, her mind on some mundane task, but then the empty chair would be a cruel reminder. For some reason the first snowfall brought on the worst possible heartache. The pure whiteness, gently falling, touching the autumn brown grass, melting against its diminished warmth.
    Dwight returned from the war emaciated and sick, irreparably damaged from exposure to mustard gas. His mind had been left even weaker than his frail body. His blue eyes had once glimmered like jewels, but during his time crawling through those God awful trenches, ducking mortal volleys and machine gun fire, they had steeled to the somber blue of a cold winter's day. Jacob was born ten months after his return, and then Dwight was gone not long after, just that quickly. Too soon. She was too young to have two children and no husband. It would always be too soon.
     
     
    11.
    Jacob wanted to sleep, craved it like a starving man fantasizing a banquet spread, but his mind raced. He considered his empty bedroom, but to feel closer to his brother, he went to Jimmy's room instead. He picked up his baseball glove and slipped it on. Jimmy didn't like baseball anymore--his passion for it left him years ago, replaced by his interest in girls--but he still took time to play catch with him. He would do anything to play catch with Jimmy again. One more time, just so he could let the big oaf tease him, pretend his palm hurt from him throwing too hard, and when they finished, having him ruffle his hair as they walked back to the house.
    He took off the glove, tossed it on the bed. There wasn't much to the room. Dirty, holey socks littered the floor. The heavy coat he wore on chilly mornings in the fields hung on a bedpost. Jimmy's only indulgence was a short pile of new comics, flashy Tarzans, grim Dick Tracys, all neatly stacked on the dresser. It felt like Jimmy would never return home to wear his work coat, or finish reading those silly comic books.
    Jimmy could be dead right now, his body thrown away like a sack of trash. Just like George Banyon.
    Tears formed in his eyes. His mom had no one to keep her strong, no one to look out for her with Jimmy missing and possibly dead. He'd always been her rock, always there for her whenever the world was too rough and unkind to a young widow. Jacob didn't know if he could do the same. He wasn't as strong as Jimmy. He fell on the bed and buried his face in the pillow.
    His mind drifted and sleep swept in. He slept dreamlessly until he woke with an aching back from the unfamiliar mattress, his eyes crusted with dried tears.
    He rubbed his eyes awake as he stood. Judging the sun, he hadn't slept more than a couple hours. He felt guilty for his tears. He couldn't act this way, couldn't let his mom see him crying like a little kid.
    Besides, Jimmy might not be dead. There was no sense in crying, not when he could