Aron was driving with glazed eyes, following the gentle cures of the paved country road with blissful indifference when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the Caller Identification running across the screen. It showed as the Casa de la Paz. It could be Becky, or it could not be. He took a chance and flipped the phone open.

"Hello?"

"Aron, this is Brasht."

"Oh, hey. I was concerned it might be Becky."

"She isn't allowed here."

"No?"

"No. Listen, do you have Dahn?"

"Do I have Dahn? You mean he's gone?"

"Then you don't have him." Brasht sounded miserable. "Listen, are you in town?"

"No. I'm just a few miles out of town, I can be there in fifteen minutes, okay?"

"That'd be good. See you there."

Aron threw his phone back into the passenger seat pushed the speed limit. He made it into town without incident, but once there, he heard the sirens of the police car and pulled to the side of the road, prepared to take his ticket and lecture without resistance. To his advantage, however, the vehicle's operator was on another mission for the time being and continued past him without slowing down. Breathing a sigh of relief, he pulled back onto the road and continued toward his brother's home at a legally acceptable speed.

"Brasht? What is going on here?"

"Dahn's not in his room. The cameras show that Rojsh entered his room and left alone. We don't know where he is."

Aron sighed, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline was gone and helplessness and emptiness consumed him.

"I know." Brasht said quietly.

"Do you? Do you really?" he said quietly.

There was a long pause, when Brasht lifted Aron's head in his hands. Finally he whispered, "Yes. I do."

Aron sighed, knowing he was right. "Alright, then. Let's go find him."'

"We've-we've looked everywhere we can think of in the building."

"Let's go back to his room. He's big, he can't just disappear."

They entered the room. A cot and a plastic laundry basket that served as a dresser were the only furniture. A small closet stood open, but Dahn always had the closet open.

"Let's check in here." That was the only possibility. Three empty shelves led up to an empty light socket, so it was hard to see well in the dark closet. In desperation, Aron tested the strength of the shelves and began to climb up.

"You don't think he actually climbed up there!"

"No. But I have to check."

"I understand."

"Can you get me a flashlight? I can't tell if he's up here or not."

"I'll be right back."

Aron hung on the shelves, wondering if his brother was in any one of them. His hands began to ache, but he didn't want to climb down. After what seemed to Aron to be an eternity, Brasht returned and jumped to put the flashlight on the shelf just below Aron's knee.

With difficulty, Aron hooked his hand through the loop on string on the small light and flipped it up, catching it with his fingers. He climbed to the topmost shelf and lay horizontally, thinking. The flashlight was low on batteries, so he almost didn't see the trap door in the ceiling.

"Why is there a trap door here? Do you have an attic?" he called down.

"It's boarded up." Brasht responded.

"The door's not boarded up."

"Isn't it." Brasht said. "Are you going to check there?"

"I have to." The latch on the door looked rusty. Aron reached out as far as he dared and jerked down hard on the latch. It opened easily, and Aron nearly threw himself over the edge of shelf onto the floor below. The flashlight dangled around his wrist, its dark yellow sparking on and off. Aron grabbed two hands on the frame of the trap door and pulled himself up, using the strength he had just recently gained from road work. He sat on the edge of the door, his feet dangling below him. "This flashlight isn't working. Don't you have another one?"

"I think Roger could get me one. Let me find him. I'll be right back." Brasht jogged out of the room.

Aron swept the attic with the sporadic light of the flashlight, not that it would do him any good. Sitting in the dark in a strange place made him edgy, and when he heard the creaking of wood, he trained the flashlight to the sound's source like a gunman of the old West. In the fading light, he saw his brother moving toward him as a cat might. The man held something in his left hand that made Aron nervous. Something that was familiar and utterly horrible. The flashlight grew blindingly bright for a second, and Aron could clearly see the knife in Dahn's hand, its metallic gleam leaving no doubts as to its authenticity or potential for harm. Then the flashlight went completely dead.

"Dahn, I'm your brother. I'm Aron. You know me. Aron. Please stop moving. STOP MOVING!!" The creaking of the floor told Aron that Dahn was drawing nearer. "This isn't a movie, Dahnyil. Please give me the knife. You're going to kill someone. You're going to take a life." Aron hoped it wasn't true, but he knew accidents happened. Paranoia started to take hold. Where was Brasht?

"Dahn, stop it! This is very bad. We just wanted to know where you were. We cared, okay? We care about you. Brasht will be right back, you can hear him talk, we'll be okay. Don't touch me with that knife, Dahn. NO, DAHN!" He felt his brother's sweaty hand take his arm with an unnatural force, and put the cold blade against it. Dahn didn't cut him, just held the blade against the skin.

"Dahn, why do you want to hurt me? WHY?"

The blade moved down his arm to the crook of his elbow.

"Shit." Aron said, and swung forward, feeling the knife slice his arm like butter, his head knock repeatedly on the shelves, and his whole body fall from the attic. The closet had a cement floor, and when Aron's head slammed into it, his vision darkened and all the newly acquired pain floated away.