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As per usual, Colt cannot sleep.
It’s been a thing his entire life, for so long that it’s not even really a thing at all anymore. He’s never slept well; he never expects to sleep well; he’s adapted around sleeping like shit. It barely registers anymore.
And it’s only gotten worse since Ryland disappeared.
When they’d been children, he’d fought his insomnia by creeping out of his own bed and across the room into his brother’s. Whether Ryland had been asleep or awake, he’d always just curled right up into him, and Colt had felt safe and sleepy enough there to get at least some rest.
As adults, he’s found that calling his brother offers a similar comfort. Even if they’re miles apart, and they’re silent on a video call, or just on a phone call while one— or both— of them rambles about nothing, Ryland’s always been able to help Colt sleep. Jody isn’t even bothered by it; she said she understands, that it’s a twin thing, and Colt’s just glad he doesn’t have to explain any further, the bond he has with the person he’s lived alongside for his actual entire life.
Only—
Right now, and lately, Ryland’s not answering Colt’s messages, or his calls— or anyone’s messages or calls. And if Colt wasn’t sleeping before, he damn sure isn’t now, now that he has no idea what’s going on with his brother. He’s not sure the last time he got an actual full night’s sleep. All he can think about are his last calls with Ryland, weeks ago, where his twin had talked about nothing in particular, prodding Colt to talk more about himself, instead, until he just said he had to go, and he loved him, and he’d talk to him soon. That had been it.
And Colt, his insomnia kicking into high gear, has barely slept since.
Like every other time he’s found himself laying in bed and staring at the wall in the darkness, knowing that he’s not going to fall asleep and yet still making a valiant attempt, he eventually just gives up. It’s not often that Colt gives up on things, but when it comes to this, he’s quick to tap out. He knows better. And without Ryland to call— It’s just easier this way.
With a sigh, Colt kicks his covers off. It’s more of a flailing, like he’s a frustrated toddler tossing everything aside.
For a moment, he just lays there, flat on his back, facing the ceiling.
Then, he groans as loudly as he can in the darkness, clapping his hands over his face.
“Mm,” Jody rumbles at his side, mostly fast asleep. Rude. She slaps wildly in his direction, ends up patting him on the chest, her eyes still closed. “Go shower. Or watch something.”
“Sorry,” Colt whispers back to her. “Go back to sleep.”
He doesn’t need to tell her that; she’s already gone again, splayed across their bed. In the darkness, his eyes adjusted well enough to see, Colt just watches her for a moment: limbs everywhere, hair in a loose braid, laying on her belly, face turned towards him as she sleeps. On impulse, he reaches out, cradles her jaw, sweeps a thumb under her eye.
“Go, Colt,” she mumbles blearily.
“What, I can’t appreciate my wife?” he asks softly.
“Go,” she repeats, and he acquiesces, bowing to kiss her cheek before he’s grabbing his phone off the charger and pushing his way out of bed.
The idea of a shower doesn’t sound particularly appealing right now, and so Colt pads down the hall to their living room. If nothing else, he can put on a movie and enjoy that. Maybe he’ll put on something Ryland recommended and it’ll knock him right out, as if his brother was on the phone with him, talking about random things in waves that wash over Colt until he falls asleep.
Just the thought of his twin brother has something disgruntled and unsettled tightening Colt’s chest again, churning up in his head. It’s been weeks since he’s heard from him— since anyone he knows has heard from him. And it’s not unlike Ryland to drop off the face of the earth for a few days, maybe, when he’s having a hard time or when he’s too focused on a project, but he’s been a lot better with consistency and showing up since he became a teacher. Their dads told Colt not to worry, that Ryland’s school told them he’s on some secret project, and they’re good at finding people, but it just doesn’t sit right with him. Colt doesn’t know if he even remembers the last time Ryland actually disappeared on him and stopped responding completely.
Why wouldn’t Ryland tell Colt if he was working on some top-secret project for— Colt’s not sure, the government? Some billionaire? They tell each other everything. And Ryland’s not the one who gets mixed up in shit, that’s just— that’s not him. He’s always so present.
Hell, even when Colt tried to vanish completely, back when he’d gotten hurt, Ryland wouldn’t let him. Colt stopped trying to keep him out when he successfully broke into both Colt’s hospital room and his heavily-alarmed house after his accident. When Colt didn’t have Jody, didn’t have his dads, didn’t have his older brother or sister, didn’t have his friends, didn’t have anyone— by his own choice, and his own hand, and his own enforcement— Ryland was still there. Spitting like a wet cat, pissed as hell at Colt, taking his abuse and then hurling some back, but still. There. The entire time, unwavering.
Ryland doesn’t do this. And especially not without telling him. It’s starting to stress Colt out—
Well, actually, it’s far past starting to stress Colt out. He’s just stressed out, now, with that permanent sense of bad feeling that he can’t describe or shake. Jody’s struggling to get funding for her new movie, the sun might possibly be dying, and Colt’s brother is missing. Who wouldn’t be stressed out, having bad feelings?
Colt checks his phone on impulse, but there’s still no message from Ryland, no missed call, no voicemail. There’s one from Holly, threatening him if he doesn’t show up to their scheduled dinner with Court tomorrow, and a calendar notification for said dinner, but that’s it. He could check his professional phone, too, sitting on its charger in the den, but he knows there’s no point. If Ryland’s reaching out to him, it would be on his personal cell.
He can’t sleep, and his brother occupies all his thoughts, and Colt tries to shove everything in his head out of it as he collapses on his living room sofa. It takes a bit of digging around to find the remote, but soon, the room is illuminated with the flickering of the screen as the television comes to life.
His intentions are to just flip through his options, maybe find a movie that’s already playing. If there’s nothing appealing, he’ll just start digging for an old recommendation from Ryland— maybe one of his documentary suggestions. That should send Colt right off.
The first frame that plays on the television, though, immediately catches his eye.
Without actually processing what he’s seeing on the screen, Colt’s already lurching upwards out of his lazy sprawl, bolting to sit upright on the edge of the couch cushion.
The news flickers across his face. They’ve sent off a ship to save the sun.
For a moment, Colt’s disoriented. He hadn’t even known anyone was working on a plan like this, let alone any that would be this far along. It strikes him how serious things have gotten, if they’re launching people into space to try and stop the sun from being destroyed, or eaten, or whatever the hell Ryland was explaining to him the last time he saw him. Colt’s been through enough in his life; he doesn’t need to be stressing out over something he can’t solve. It’s just easier to pretend he doesn’t think about the Astrophage crisis at all than to panic about it every waking second. It’ll happen either way.
“Oh, shit,” Colt whispers to himself, watching the footage on the screen, seeing a ship take off into the sky. It’s a strange shape; the footage is grainy and unprofessional; the banner at the bottom of the screen, scrolling information while clips are shown and journalists speak over them, declares the ship to be named the Hail Mary. It doesn’t make Colt feel any better about this. He almost feels like he’s watching body cam footage, not an actual launch.
Every thought and fear and cell in his body, though, freezes completely when the screen flashes to bring up the next slide of information. The astronauts, the— the crew.
For a dumb second, Colt thinks he’s looking at himself.
Then, he understands.
He almost falls off the couch in his rush to get closer to the television. His legs are jelly, his knees non-existent puffs of air; he has to cling to the frame of the television when he gets to it, reading the name over and over again, studying the picture over and over again, as if any of it will change, as if he’ll finally blink and it’ll be another picture, another name, another person who isn’t his fucking twin brother.
“Oh, my f—” he starts to say, then backs up, hands running furiously through his hair before he grips onto it hard. His scalp aches with a million sharp stabs. “Oh, f— Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck? What the fuck, what the— Wh— I— What?”
Already, Colt is breathless. His chest hurts more than he thinks it ever has, even when it was crushed. Maybe he did fall asleep, and he’s dreaming, and this is a nightmare; maybe— maybe he’ll wake up, because this can’t be real, why— why is his brother on the fucking television as a member of a crew on a ship that the— the television— the television screen is now labelling as, “so brave,” “so incredible,” “so selfless,” for sacrificing their lives on a suicide mission—
On a suicide mission—
Colt’s not even thinking when he grabs for his phone. He could go wake up Jody— he should go wake up Jody— but she isn’t his first thought. If that’s wrong, he can feel bad about that later; he can feel guilt that he doesn’t go to Jody, or think to call Holly first, or Court, but—
Right now, Colt’s chest is heaving, air sucking in through his tight throat, and he can’t take his eyes off the screen, and when something is wrong with his brother, Colt’s first instinct is always going to be to ask their dads for help.
Colt, Holly, Court, and Ryland— Ryland, Ryland, Ryland— insisted on both of their parents having cell phones of their own, not that they really use them. They tend to leave them in random places around their house; more often than not, Dad just lets his battery die and forgets the phone ever even existed. Papa at least tries, but he almost always ends up frustrated with the device and shoving it back into his pocket.
When Colt needs them immediately, needs them right now, he calls their landline. They always answer their landline.
Even though it’s nearly two in the morning, his Papa answers after only a few rings. His voice is groggy and gravelly when he asks, “Yeah, hello?”
“They f—” Colt starts to say, but his throat chokes, his words vanishing, and he can’t speak. Shaking his head hard, he collapses on his knees in the middle of his living floor, knuckles whitening around his phone. “Th— They— Oh, my fucking God—”
“Colt?” Jackson asks on the other end of the line, abruptly sounding far more alert and attentive. “Breathe, kid. What’s wrong? Nightmare?”
“They— It’s—” Colt swallows hard, manages to get out, “Ry— It’s Ryland— They fucking—” He wheezes, shakes his head, almost completely loses his grip when they play footage of Ryland on the television from an old conference, and he’s staring at his brother’s face while he speaks, except his brother’s not here anymore, because he’s not on the fucking planet anymore, wh—
Why would he do this? Why would he— Why would he go, why— Why wouldn’t he tell Colt first— Why—
“What about Ryland?” Jackson demands. “Is someone hurt, is one of you hurt?”
“What’s going on?” Colt hears his Dad mumble sleepily near the phone. “Ryland’s hurt? What happened?”
“Turn the TV on,” Colt forces out.
There’s a beat of silence before Jackson asks, “What?”
“Turn— Turn the TV on,” Colt repeats, staring at his near-reflection on his own television screen. They’ve got Ryland’s face sandwiched between two strangers. It’s his stupid— school photo, the one he took at the beginning of this past school year that Colt had mocked him mercilessly over, teasing him for still getting school pictures at all. The one where his glasses are crooked, but at least they’re still on his face, as their Dad had commented. The one where he’s wearing the tie Holly got him for his last birthday, with all the different cells printed all over it. The one where he’s beaming at the camera with that big dumb smile of his like it is still his kindergarten picture day.
“What’s he saying?” Holland asks in the distance.
“He said to turn the TV on,” Jackson tells him, voice a little further, holding the phone away from himself. He sounds close again when he asks Colt, “Why?”
“What channel?” Holland asks.
“What chan—” Jackson starts to relay, before he cuts himself off. “What? Holland, what—”
Colt’s Dad says something indistinguishable, too far away for him to hear. Moments of silence follow where Colt knows they’re watching the same thing he is, seeing his brother’s face— their son’s face— Ryland’s face framed on the television, just above the words Hail Mary, and save our sun, and suicide mission.
“Is this a joke?” is the first thing that Colt hears come through clearly on the phone, his Dad’s voice rising rapidly in pitch. “This isn’t a funny fucking joke—”
“Holl—” Jackson tries, but Holland’s voice comes through loud and clear next, after a shuffle of static that Colt can only imagine is him stealing the phone away.
“What the fuck is this?” Holland demands. “Did you know— What the fuck—”
“Of course, I didn’t know,” Colt exclaims back, then immediately hushes his voice again. It all feels so absurd, like trying to scoop a single raindrop out of a swimming pool. “When did— Did you know he was going to do this?”
“We haven’t heard from him in a couple of weeks,” Jackson replies. “I told you. When I called the school, they said he was on sabbatical by special request. Wouldn’t tell me from who. I tried to—”
“How are you so fucking calm right now?” Holland demands from him. “Our son is in fucking— space—”
“I’m not calm,” Jackson bites out in a rough voice. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on—”
“Our son is in fucking space!” Holland all but screams, so loud and high that Colt has to pull the phone away from his head before his eardrum bursts. “Oh, my— Oh, my God, he’s going to die. He’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s going to die—”
Hearing those words burst out of his father finally fully drives the point home for Colt, makes this more than a nightmare, makes it reality, and a sob bursts out of him before he can manage to choke it back.
“Hey, Colt, honey, you’ve gotta breathe,” Jackson says directly into the phone. “We’ll— Look, alright, we’ll figure it out. I know a couple people whose kids are with NASA now, I’ll start making calls, they’ve got to be involved somehow, if—”
Colt can’t help it, can’t catch his breath like his Papa is telling him to. Sobs are pulsing upwards, and his chest hurts, so badly that he presses a hand against it in a desperate bid to keep himself together, but it’s not working.
He knows his parents are feeling the same, barely an hour away from him, connected only through the phone line right now. He hears when his Dad makes a sound he doesn’t think he’s ever heard out of him. Maybe out of anyone. It makes his already-breaking chest finally crack apart.
The sound of Jody asking, “Colt? What happened?” behind him, into the television-lit darkness barely filters through to him. He can’t manage an answer; folded over on the floor, his phone pressed hard and fire-hot against his cheek, all he can do is cry like he’s three years old again—
Except, when he was three years old, and he would get hurt doing something stupid, and he would cry like this, Ryland was always right there with him. Every time Colt cried, no matter what, Ryland would be there wrapping him up in a hug without even thinking about it. Just wanting to make him feel better. Patting his back in that way he always would, telling him, “Don’t worry,” telling him, “I’m right here, Colt,” telling him, “It’s all over now, you’re okay.”
And now, there’s no Ryland, because he’s gone. It won’t be okay, because he’s not right here. If this is real, he’ll never be right here again. And this, all of this— it’ll never be over, this will never be over, and, right now, struggling to process the reality of it, the immensity of this, of his loss, it feels like it stretches on forever, into infinity, that this will always be how Colt will feel, this unreal, torn-apart, utterly destroyed feeling.
It was always them. From the literal beginning of them, it was always them. The two of them, together. No matter what. No matter what. And— And now—
Colt feels like he’s been ripped in half.
He knows Jody’s saying something to him, trying to calm him down. Her voice is all soft, reassuring sounds that he can’t make out at all. Before he knows it, she’s prying the phone out of his hand, and her voice is tighter, and he vaguely understands that he’s laid out on the floor, now, unable to keep himself upright, while she holds him hard from behind.
“It’s not real,” is the first thing Colt manages to heave out. “It’s not real, it’s not real—” A hysterical laugh escapes from him before he repeats, firmer, “It’s not real—”
“Colt, you have to breathe,” Jody’s voice filters in, watery and distant. “Colt, breathe—”
His father, even further away, says— says something; Colt only recognizes his voice, but he can’t make out the individual words. Whatever it is that he says, though, Jody seems to be able to understand. She’s rubbing his chest a heartbeat later in slow circles, pushing against him, forcing him to feel the pressure.
“He can’t be gone,” Colt begs. “No, no, he can’t be gone—”
“We’re going to figure it out,” Jody tells him, like it’s a promise, like it’s not impossible. It’s the same nonsensical thing Papa said, as if there’s anything to figure out. “We’ll—”
“Why would he go?” Colt cuts her off. “Why wouldn’t he— Why didn’t— Why would—”
It doesn’t make sense, the shape of it, the way it doesn’t fit together in his head. Ryland, who used to have to turn back if he’d forgotten to say goodbye to one of his stuffed animals before leaving the house. Ryland, who refused to leave Colt’s side while he recovered, through every insult he hurled at him, every time he screamed, every cruel thing he could think of to get him to go, none of which ever worked. Ryland, who wouldn’t have so much as travelled over the state border without a family call breaking down his itinerary.
Colt knows his brother. He knows his brother. If he knows anyone on this planet— better than his older brother, his older sister, his parents, his wife, himself— he knows Ryland.
He wouldn’t have done this without telling Colt. He wouldn’t have. He knows this. He knows.
Even if he doesn’t know why, or how— and even if he doesn’t understand how this could be true, how Ryland could be— be gone like this— he knows he wouldn’t have done it like this without telling him. Without a doubt. Without a doubt.
“You said he was just on a project,” Colt mumbles into the phone, gripping his hair again. “Why— You said—”
“That’s what everything was pointing—”
“But you said,” Colt chokes out. “Papa, you said. Why— Why would— You said—”
“Colt, calm down,” Jody tries, but Colt just shakes his head, feels the madness bubbling up inside him again.
“How am I supposed to calm down?” Colt demands. “They said he’d be back, and he’s not coming back, Jody. He’s— He’s just gone, I could’ve— I could’ve been doing something, we— We could have helped him, and he’s just gone—”
“Breathe, Colt,” Jody insists. “Darling, listen to me, you have to breathe.”
“I’m sorry,” Jackson says on the other line, strangled. “We should have—”
“Someone is calling my cell phone,” Holland exclaims, cuts him off, and Colt shudders, curling up closer into Jody, every breath a heaving struggle. “Jack— Jack, what phone number is this? What is this?”
There’s a moment of silence. Then, Jackson tells him, “Talk to your son.” Colt doesn’t miss the wounded sound that his Dad makes in response. “I’ll take it, give me that.” Only a beat later, he’s demanding, “Hello?” and moving further away.
“Dad,” Colt whispers into the phone. Jody helps him hold it, cradles it over his ear.
“Colt, baby, I love you so much,” Holland’s already telling him. His throat sounds shredded. “Has— Have you— Did you talk to your sister yet? Or Court?”
“No, I just—” Colt has to swallow a couple of times just to clear his throat, to try to catch his breath. His heart is hammering inside him, his veins pounding with chilled blood. “I just— I saw— On the TV, so I called you, and that’s— That’s it.”
“I’ve tried calling Ryland’s phone, it’s not working,” Jody tells him, and it’s like this single additional punch to the gut he didn’t even think of. Calling him. And of course, he didn’t answer. He’s on a ship being shot into space to die. “Do you want me to call Holly or Courtland?”
“Holland,” Jackson says, from so far away, and Colt can hear Holland’s shuddering breath in response. “We have to— Some woman’s been arrested for— for this bullshit, for the Hail Mary. They need us to— We need to go—”
“What?” Colt demands down the phone. “What do you mean, arrested?”
“Arrested?” Jody echoes.
“Put Jody on the phone,” Jackson interrupts them both, suddenly clarified as he takes the landline from Holland.
“Papa—”
“Put her on the phone,” Jackson says, more firmly this time. Colt passes the phone backwards wordlessly, lets Jody take the phone from his grasp. She sits up and away from him, leaving Colt there on the floor, the light from the television flickering over his face.
Her voice washes over him. When Colt’s eyes flicker upwards, they fix on the screen. All he can see is Ryland, Ryland, Ryland.
Down the hall, in their bedroom, Jody’s phone has started to ring, too. Colt rolls back onto his knees, glances towards his wife, but she’s scribbling furiously in a notepad, his cell cradled between her shoulder and her ear.
Without her, he forces himself to his feet and slips back into the shadows, all but running down the hallway.
It’s stupid. It won’t be Ryland on the phone. Why would he call Jody? At this hour, for no reason? When he’s on a rocket heading into space? When he’s— When he’s dead?
For a second, seeing Jody’s phone screen, he’s breathless— but then, no, it’s not him, it’s Court, and Colt almost trips over himself in the dark in his haste to snatch her phone up, to answer the call.
“Hello?” Colt asks, sitting down heavily on the edge of his bed in the pitch-black.
“Colt?” Court asks on the other end. “This isn’t real, is it? What did he tell you?”
Colt can’t breathe for a second. When he can, he tells his brother, “Nothing. He didn’t tell me anything. I haven’t heard from him in— in a couple of weeks. Nothing.”
Court is silent. Colt is silent. Neither of them speak, the shape of their missing brother a gaping hole between them.
Before Colt can say anything more, Court says, “I’m looping Holly in. Have you called Dads?”
“Yeah, I—” Colt shakes his head. Everything is blurry. “Jody’s on the phone with Pops now. They said someone’s been arrested, I don’t know.” The nightmare won’t stop, won’t stop, won’t stop. “Court, he’s— He’s not—” His throat closes. “Right?”
There’s a long silence on the other end.
“I don’t—” Court starts, then stops. His voice, like their Dad’s, is unlike itself, something Colt’s never heard before from him.
Ryland was born five minutes after Colt. He’s the youngest of the four of them.
“I’m scared,” Colt admits, rubbing his hand over his jaw. Tears start to spill again. He’s not sure the last time he ever said those words out loud. “This is a joke. This— This can’t be real, right? How does— Who—” A strangled laugh escapes him again, and he speaks through it, asks, “Nobody just— just disappears and dies on a fucking rocket, right? Ryland doesn’t— He wouldn’t—”
“Alright, hey, hey,” Court cuts him off. “I know. I know, okay? We—”
“We should have gone to his place,” Colt says, every word feeling like he’s begging. “We should have looked for him, why— why didn’t we look for him—”
“It’s Ryland,” Court says. “There was never any reason for—”
“He’s gone,” Colt cuts him off. “It’s Ryland, and he’s gone—”
“Hello?” Holly’s voice interrupts as she answers the phone. “It’s two in the morning. Someone better be dying, I swear to God, Court.”
It’s so absurd to hear that Colt has to stifle another laugh. He feels absolutely insane. And, of course, the laughter triggers tears, and then he’s crying all over again.
“Wait, is that Colt?” Holly asks. “Court? What the hell’s going on?”
Neither of them knows what to say. Colt sniffles, trying to catch his breath.
“Did something happen to Dad?” Holly demands. “Papa? What happened? I’m calling Ryland, too. What was it? Which hospital am I going to?”
“Don’t call Ryland,” Court tells her, a little too rushed.
Holly pauses for barely half a second before she’s asking, “Why not? What’s wrong?”
Colt hears Jody’s phone ping, feels it vibrate with a received message, before Court is telling her, “I just sent you a— I just sent you a video.”
In the silence that follows, Colt can vaguely hear the tinny voices on Holly’s line as she plays the video Court sent. It must’ve been a link to the same news segment Colt had been watching; the sounds are vaguely familiar.
“No,” Holly says, her voice flat.
“Maybe we can still get him back,” Court suggests, as if that’s an actual real option, like their brother isn’t in fucking space. “He’s not dead yet, he’s just—”
“—On a rocket?” Holly interrupts. “How the fuck do you think we’d get him back?”
“I don’t know!” Court explodes, voice pitching high. “He’s not dead yet, we just need to— We just— We— We have to do something!”
“He can’t be dead,” Colt mumbles into his hand. “He can’t be, he can’t— Why would—” His insides are tearing themselves to pieces smaller than confetti, everything a raw-meat mess. It’s like he’s the one who’s dying.
For a second, he’s terrified by the thought. Maybe he can feel Ryland. They’re twins, they’re— Maybe he can feel Ryland dying—
And he doesn’t even have a body to—
On the phone, Holly starts crying, and Colt can’t hold it together anymore, he’s sobbing right along with her. Court tries and fails to quiet them for a moment before he just starts repeating, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” over and over, sounding like he believes it less every time. Colt can’t blame him, since it’s not true.
He’s not sure how long it’s been before Court, sounding completely drained, finally says, “Pop’s calling me.”
“Can you link him into our call?” Holly asks. “I don’t know if he’s on his cell or not.”
There’s a few beats, a chirp down the line, and then Jackson asks, “Court? Hey, son. Sorry to wake you up.”
“I was already awake,” Court replies. “I’ve got— I mean, Holly and Colt are here, too.”
“Hey, Papa,” Holly says softly.
“Oh.” Jackson clearly takes a second, course-corrects. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m—” He doesn’t know what to say, and they all sit in silence for a long moment before he just tells them, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, kids—”
“So, it’s real?” Holly tries to demand, but her voice breaks halfway through. “He’s just— He’s just gone? Our brother’s just gone, that’s— that’s it?”
“I know,” Jackson says. Colt can hear a weight on his father’s voice that’s never been there before, not once, not even after all he’s been through. “We’re— We have to take a flight in a few hours. Your father and I.”
“Like hell you are,” Court spits.
“Listen, it’s alright,” Jackson says. “They’ve arrested the woman who coordinated this mission, okay? They said she wants to talk to us. We’ll fly out, get some answers. We’ll make sure to keep in touch with you the whole way. I’ll—”
“But he’ll still be gone,” Colt interrupts him, unable to stop himself.
“Why would he do this?” Holly asks, barreling right through. “He didn’t tell any of you anything about this? That doesn’t sound like him.”
“We can ask that tomorrow,” Jackson replies. “Then, we should be able to—”
“Why aren’t you angrier?” Court asks their father. “That’s— Ryland. We should be doing something—”
“No, you shouldn’t be doing anything,” Jackson insists, his voice harder. Colt’s head rises, Jody’s phone clenched hard in his hand. He only now realizes Jody has come to sit beside him, curled up on top of the covers, watching him. For her sake, he puts the phone on speaker, lets it rest on the bed between them. “You three need to stay where you are.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Holly snaps, in the same second that Court laughs, cold and humorless, and says, “Oh, there is no way.” Colt just stares at the phone, watches the little bars move with the sounds and volumes of their voices.
“We have no idea what’s going on here,” Jackson reminds them. “Until your father and I have gotten to talk to these people, I don’t want you anywhere near them. They’re not hurting you, too, okay? I’m not going to let them.”
“Oh, but you can just run off to them without us knowing anything,” Court argues, Holly’s protest of, “But they already took Ryland,” threaded right through his words.
On Jackson’s line, Holland chimes in, close to the phone, says in a scraping voice, “Look, we need to— to find out what’s going on. I have to know—”
“So do we,” Holly shouts over him.
“But he’ll still be gone!” Colt screams over all of them, feeling it like razors in his throat. His chest is heaving; the phone is silent. “He’s not— We can’t get him back, how the fuck could we get him back? He’s gone, God, Ryland’s gone, he’s gone, he’s—”
His words disappear into his tears again, unable to escape him. Jody shifts closer, pulling him into her arms as he sobs.
The other lines connected to his phone go quiet. Colt distantly wonders if everyone else has hung up on him, but he can’t pull himself together well enough to see if that’s the case. All he can do is cling to Jody, and sob, and struggle to get in enough air that he won’t lose consciousness. His mind is blanked, whited out; all he can think about is Ryland, who isn’t here anymore, whom he’ll never see again, who is half of him and now will die without him. It’s tearing him apart.
It takes him a long time to realize the silence isn’t because they’re gone, but because they’re still there. They aren’t speaking— can’t speak. They’re just lost like he is. After a while, he can hear that they’re crying, too. His whole family, crying at once. Fucking horrible. He’s not sure if there’s ever been a time when—
Well. No, not his whole family. Almost his whole family, because his family will never be whole again, because Ryland—
Ryland—
Colt has no idea how long it’s been before Holland is the first one of them to speak again. It’s nearly impossible to understand him with how torn apart he sounds, but Colt still understands when he says, “Hey, umm— Maybe— You— The three of you, would— Do you want to come out here to the house? We can— We can talk. Before we go anywhere. Okay?”
“And I want to see you,” Jackson adds on. He doesn’t sound any better.
“Yeah.” Holland’s voice breaks when he says, “And I love you. And we’re— We’re going to—”
Whatever it is Holland thinks they’re going to disappears when he can’t speak anymore. Jody strokes Colt’s hair back from his tear-soaked face, tilts him back so she can look at him. When he nods, everything draining from him, Jody leans forwards towards the phone.
“Colt will be there,” Jody tells them all. “I’ll drive him myself. We’ll leave right now.”
“I’m on my way, too,” Court says. “Don’t go anywhere or do anything until I get there, alright?”
“Alright,” Jackson replies.
There’s a beat before Holly manages, “Okay. I— Okay. I’m coming.”
“Take a cab, sweetheart,” Holland interjects. “Or— Court, pick your sister up, you’ll pass her on—”
“I can drive myself,” Holly protests.
“I can get her,” Court says anyway. “I can get you, Holly. It’s no big deal.”
There’s another beat.
“I love you guys,” Holly tells them all. Colt can’t hold back the choked sound that comes out of him; the phone crinkles with static noise as his father makes a similar sound at the same time. “I don’t want this to be real.”
“I want to wake up,” Colt mumbles, his voice a wet mess. “This is a— a bad, stupid nightmare. It’s not real.”
Nobody has anything to say to that. What is there, to say to that? Colt can’t think of a goddamn thing himself. Ryland might have known— but, then again, it’s even more likely that he would’ve made some weird joke or offered advice that nobody asked for. God, Colt wants to hear him be awkward again, to say the first strange thing in his head, to see him grin like a fool. He wants his brother back; how can he never hear him again, never see him again? That’s his brother.
“Holly,” Court says quietly. “I’m going to leave now, okay?”
“Okay,” Holly agrees. “I’ll— I guess I’ll see you all soon.” She pauses, then adds, “I love you.”
“I love you,” Holland echoes without hesitation. “I love you all so much. You all— You all know that, don’t you? I love you.”
After a strange moment of silence, Colt realizes they all left empty the space where Ryland would be the one to say, “We know.” It would’ve been him; they all just agreed to this, unspoken, only he’s not here to actually say it. There’s just the echo, the ghost of it.
“We know, Dad,” Colt ends up forcing out, filling in for his twin. “We love you guys, too. I love— I love you guys.”
“Drive safe, all of you, alright?” Jackson says through his and Holland’s shared line. “I love you. Stay safe.”
There’s another gap where Ryland should be and isn’t. Colt wants to scream. He still might.
Nobody wants to hang up the phone. Even as Jody is prodding Colt into standing, pushing him into his jacket and his shoes, he lingers on the line, not wanting to disconnect from anyone in his family. He never should have let Ryland out of his sight, and how could he fuck up again, not when—
“Look, we’ll get the beds ready for you,” Jackson tells them. “You need to be safe getting here. Don’t— Just, please, drive slow, alright? Headlights on.”
It pains Colt, physically pains him, when he hears his siblings’ mumbled agreements. Court is the first to hang up, Holly right after him; when it’s just Colt and his parents, while Jody manhandles him into the passenger seat of their truck, he still can’t find it in himself to hang up the phone.
“Colt?” Jackson asks. “Deep breaths. You’ll be here soon.”
Even though his fathers can’t see him, Colt shakes his head. “I don’t think— I— I can’t do this.”
“All you gotta do is get here,” Jackson tells him. “Let Jody drive. Just focus on getting here, honey. Okay?”
It’s impossible, but Colt still chokes out, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
In the end, Colt forces himself to hang up the phone, even though his hands are shaking the whole time. The moment it’s done, Jody’s reaching over the center console to tangle their fingers together, her other hand firm on the wheel as she takes to the road.
“We’ll get through this,” Jody tells him, squeezing his hand. Colt’s partially glad that she doesn’t say, “It’s going to be alright,” or, “It’s all okay,” or anything like that, because it isn’t. It’s not going to be alright. It isn’t going to be okay. It really, really isn’t. “I love you, Colt. I’m— I’m so, so sorry.”
Colt can’t respond to that, not yet. He just nods, keeps their hands tangled together, and curls up in the passenger seat. With his head against the window, bumping along, his eyes staring through the glass, he stares up at the light-polluted sky, the few visible stars beyond, and— and, somewhere even further out, his brother, forever.
“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out in echo. Jody seems to know he’s not talking to her; she holds onto him tight, lets him sob with his face pressed to the window, fogging up the glass. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t— I’m sorry—”
The streetlights flick by, one after another, and Ryland is gone. Cars pass them on the highway, and Ryland is gone. One star streaks overhead, a barely-visible comet, and Ryland is gone. The sun is going to disappear, and Ryland is gone. There’s a ship up there, hurtling as far away from Earth as it can, as fast as it can, and Ryland is on it, and Ryland, Ryland—
Ryland is gone.