Jake tossed the concrete brick. It clunked against the asphalt and rolled into the brush. Jake blinked, wiggled his aching fingers and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He was in his own world, detached from reality as he stared at Henri.

“You killed him,” Arnold sobbed, shaking Henri. “Man…we’re so dead, Jake.”

Jake kicked the block in aggravation. “He’s not dead. I barely hit him.”

Arnold shook his head incredulously. “You hit him over the head with a concrete brick!”

“Just let me think. Shut your mouth, Arnold.” Jake pulled at his hair, his hands trembling with the awareness of what he had done. His drunken stupor was wearing off. He looked over his shoulder paranoid. “Help me lift him.”

Arnold scoffed. “For what?”

“Do you want to go to prison, Arnold?” He slipped his arms under Henri’s armpits. Arnold reluctantly took Henri by the ankles. They hurried across the asphalt of the yogurt hut, carrying Henri into the brush. Jake dropped him like a piece of garbage. Arnold carefully sat the rest of him down, he was still a person.

“He’s still breathing,” Jake mumbled. He pushed into Henri’s unresponsive body with his foot sending him down the hill. Henri’s body rolled three times before it ended up wedged between some stones and an old log covered in moss.

Arnold scratched his head, nervously watching his old friend treat Henri Levitt as if he wasn’t important enough to require help. Jake elbowed him. “Help me clean up the beer cans so we can get out of here.”

Arnold’s jaw dropped. “What about Henri, Jake? You just going to leave him here? What if he dies?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “We’ll phone it in to the fire station or something. Now move it.” Jake gathered the cans and the cooler, his feet crunching over the shards of glass as the two of them quickly cleaned up.

Arnold remained unmoving.

“Arnold! Pull it together. I won’t be the only one in deep shit if they catch us here. Now come on!” Jake burst into a sprint leaving Arnold saddled with the cooler filled with garbage, Arnold quickly followed.

***

Flynn clutched the steering wheel of his truck backing out of the driveway with his mother and his uncle. As soon as the neighbor called them about the broken windows at the yogurt hut his mother demanded they go right then and there. There was still no word from Henri, his phone was only going to voicemail now.

And Flynn couldn’t shake the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He looked at his mom, pinned between him and his uncle Doug. She chewed her thumbnail, nervously watching the road. The car was silent. The only sound was the low rumble of the road beneath them. Flynn didn’t know what to say.

As soon as Flynn pulled into the parking lot of the yogurt hut his mother’s breath hitched sending the hairs on the back of his neck on end and his stomach into a horrible wave of sickness. He forced himself to look at the sheriff’s vehicle. He told himself it was just a couple of vandals nothing more.

“Move it!” His mother exclaimed, shoving into Doug until she all but climbed over his body to get out of the truck.

The sheriff was old. Probably should have retired years before, but in Portwood there was no need for actual protection—nobody ever did anything.

“Good evening, Mrs. Hunt,” Sheriff Cole said. He hitched his pants up, gesturing toward the windows. “Seems to be nothing more than vandals to me.”

Flynn examined the windows. He looked back at his mother and the Sherriff. Doug standing next to his truck smoking a cigarette rather than caring about the shape of their business—or his son for that matter, Flynn’s anger started to grow, he took a deep breath wanting to scream at Doug, but it wasn’t the time. “What did you say busted these windows, Sherriff Cole?”

Sherriff Cole scratched his head. He glanced at the ground and then shuffled forward. “You know, I hadn’t even thought about it. I figured some of them loose bricks or something.”

Flynn leaned over, peering into the window. “Momma hand me your keys.”

“Flynn what is it now?” She huffed, highly agitated and emotional. She just wanted to know what was happening with Henri.

Flynn opened the door, hitting the lights. There in all its glory sat Henri’s phone in two pieces and a can of beer. “I’ll be damned.”

“What?” His mother asked. “What, Flynn?” She forced herself into the small confines of the yogurt hut. Flynn looked at his mother, his expression grim. She clutched her chest, all the color draining from her face.

Flynn stood up, the phone in his grip.

Janet shook her head in disbelief. She slapped Flynn across the face, shaking the sting away. “He wasn’t supposed to leave the house.” She started to cry.

***

Several attempts at calling Henri and probably twenty texts offered her no answers. He wasn’t answering. After breaking down in front of her entire family Maven fell asleep on the couch in the den. Her mother had covered her with a blanket, and her father had even checked on her several times. She had cried herself to sleep and there wasn’t anything he could do to make her feel better.

Maven’s sleep was restless until she finally lost touch with reality and was swept into a dream. There he was. Henri. Staring at her, she sat up, tilting her head and taking him in. He was smiling at her.

“You’re dreaming of me,” he said.

“You scared us.” She told him. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

He grinned. “Here I am.”

“I know.” She reached out to touch him, but no matter how far she reached, she never was able to. She stared, confused, but he wasn’t. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Close your eyes,” Henri said. But Maven shook her head, refusing to do such a thing. He stepped forward. “Close your eyes, Maven.”

Suddenly her eyes closed.

“Bye.” His words were sharp, almost too much to handle.

Maven jumped, waking up. The room was filled with darkness. She sat up, pushing her hair from her eyes. She sighed. “It was a dream.”  It was a dream, but a really odd one. It didn’t feel like any normal dream she ever had.

She dialed Henri’s phone again, but was greeted with his voicemail.  She left the same message. “Henri, I have to know you’re okay. Please, please call me.” She wiped her eyes, burying her head into the couch pillow.

***

Flynn paced across the asphalt of the yogurt hut. His entire family now all there with him trying to make sense of what it meant to have Henri’s phone, but no Henri. Flynn paced back and forth methodically, trying to come up with anything.

His dad patted his back. “Mrs. Wilder says Maven and him weren’t fighting. So, we’re still trying to figure out why the busted windows.” He stared off. “I don’t know what else to do. We called damn near everyone we know. The Sherriff says no phone calls have come in. Where could he be?”

Flynn looked around at the flock of onlookers—families, friends, business owners, all offering nothing more than their noses in their business, as well as their apologies for the busted windows. Flynn shook his head, looking at the asphalt. He dropped down staring closer at the black tar. Unless he was seeing things he swore there was blood on a few shards of glass. His body tensed up, he followed the small specks across the ground on his hands and knees. Not caring if he cut himself to hell.

“Flynn?” His father called from behind him, he followed Flynn’s descent toward the brush. Suddenly Flynn jumped up. He let out a shocked scream.

“I found him!” That was enough to get everyone moving. “Why hadn’t the Sherriff thought to look there,” Flynn asked himself as he rushed down the hill.

“Don’t move him.” His father warned. He carefully made it down the hill, the rest of their family at the top gasping and crying for Henri to be okay.