Brock slid his key into the lock calling out as he did "Hey Trent, you awake?" When he had knocked and tried to call a minute ago he could hear his best friend's cell ringing inside but his brother answered neither the phone nor the door. He looked to the couch and then around the living room that looked less lived in than he'd ever seen. He bypassed the kitchen only glancing briefly to the neat piles of paperwork and manilla envelope under Trent's phone on the table.
Opening Trent's bedroom door expecting to wake his napping brother his breath caught in his throat and he fumbled to get his phone from his pocket. Sweat beaded on his forehead while a chill ran down his spine. The phone rang at least three times before a groggy voice answered a mumbled 'hello.'
"Boss, I'm at Trent's. His phone is here, he's not. Boss, his dress uniform is laid out on his bed." Brock walked to the table, looked to the papers. "His life insurance and will are on his table."
"Fuck." Jason was moving now. Brock could hear the man shuffling hurriedly through the line. "Fuck. Call Sonny. I'll call Ray. Meet at Ray's."
"Jace, I think we should call Blackburn." Brock shut Trent's door behind him and noted that his truck was gone. "Maybe the cops."
"I'll call Eric. Head to Ray's." Jason ended the call as Brock's shaking hand put the car in drive.
His mind raced to the last few days as panic creep into him. He should have known. Should have somehow seen it. Trent had struggled losing Full Metal. It started with the letter Metal left. Dying in some Ninja way was supposed to make them laugh through the pain but Trent hadn't laughed. They all had struggled to some degree but Trent seemed to find the loss more insurmountable. He thought about the news of Clay's death and how silently Trent had taken it. Trent had hardly moved his expression stoic and almost practiced. Thought of sitting in a shithole and zooming Trent's phone to a close-up of Clay and Metal. The idea of burying Trent now seemed to be too much. He had really thought his brother was doing better. The last week or so Trent had smiled more and actually laughed a few times. He'd made a point of stopping by the Bulkhead and spending time with them and now Brock understood. Trent was saying goodbye. Brock's eyes stung with tears not shed and his phone rang.
"Reynolds."
"Brock, head back to Trent's. The police are meeting you there." Eric's voice was monotone which he thought might have been meant to be calming. "Brock, you hear me?"
Brock was nodded as he pulled an illegal u-turn on the narrow road. Tactical driving courses making it possible but he knew Trent's turn would have been smoother. There was a reason Trent usually drove. Blackburn's voice brought him back to now. "Brock?"
"Sorry. Yeah heading back there now." Brock exhaled slowly while ending the call. "Fuck Trent. Fuck. You would leave your phone at home." Brock gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened. "Are you already gone? You couldn't tell me, give me a chance to do something? A chance to change your mind. Damnit Trent. I don't know if I'll ever get used to you being gone so you can't be gone."
He realized he was talking aloud to himself or rather his missing brother as he pulled back up to Trent's place parking next to the sheriff's cruiser.
It seemed impossible that less than an hour ago he had driven here to see if Trent wanted to grab some lunch and now he was meeting with a Sheriff's Deputy and eating was long forgotten. Stepping out of his car he nodded to the deputy and took a step toward Trent's house. The keys clanked to the ground as his hand shook and he attempted to unlock the door. He bent to grab them and heard the deputy clear his throat. "Sorry." Brock suddenly felt small and hated it.
"You're good. Isn't an easy situation. Let's just talk for a minute before we go inside. I need to get a clearer picture of what we're dealing with." The deputy was younger than Brock probably even a couple years younger than Clay would be now. His hair was shorter than the Navy would require and his eyes were kind and understanding in a way Brock assumed he reserved for calls like this. Calls where the ending was a forgone conclusion of darkness. It made Brock shudder deep inside.
"Yeah, okay." His voice was quiet and his eyes downcast. "What do you need to know?"
"Let's start with Trent's last name." The man spoke softly matching Brock volume.
"It's Sawyer." He wished he wasn't alone in this moment. It felt like the moment just before a catastrophe. Like he was watching the ground rise up from within a falling helo, a truck at full speed about to collide during an interdiction, a rocket flying at him. His body was tensed as if impact was imminent. "Can I call my boss?"
"Uh yeah." The deputy nodded to the door for it to be opened, waited for it to be unlocked, and slowly entered all while Brock dialed Jason.
"Hey. You think you could all meet here instead of Ray's?" Brock hated the childlike way he asked Jason to come and wondered if his boss heard the fear in his words not sure if he cared.
The deputy was standing in Trent's kitchen looking at the papers once neatly stacked. He was radioing information about Trent's truck and none of this felt real to Brock. And more than anything in the world Brock wished it wasn't.
If he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply he could almost ignore the deputy and pretend it was Trent shuffling around his own space. Trent who would turn any second and ask if he wanted pizza or tacos for lunch. Trent who would clap him on the back and refuse to get the Chinese food he really wanted. But he would eventually have to open his eyes back up and Trent would be gone again. Gone like Metal. Gone like Clay. Gone like Nate and Swanny and so many brothers before them. Gone.