The Death of My Brother

The First Clue

"Who the fuck is I. Fakier?" I asked myself. I still held the book in my hands. Who was I. Fakier? And why was their stupid old poetry book in Wilbur's vents?

Something about this felt extremely off. I flipped through the book's thin pages. Unlike the title suggested, this wasn't just The Raven. It was a collection of different works by Edgar Allen Poe.

I checked the time. It was almost 7:30. I knew that Phil would be swinging by my apartment to check on me. I grabbed the book and walked out the front door, making sure to lock it behind me.

I pulled my hoodie up over my head and left the building. I knew it would look weird seeing a kid walk out of an apartment with his hood up and a book in his hand, but the last thing I needed was to be recognized by someone right now.

I walked down through the streets, the sun now peaking out from behind the clouds. The sky was gray, but a hint of pink tinted it. It was actually a surprisingly beautiful morning. I wish he was here to enjoy it with me.

After a long walk, I entered my apartment and collapsed onto my sofa. I could feel the lack of sleep and food taking a toll on my body, especially after walking for almost an hour in the freezing cold. I sunk into the sofa and felt exhaustion slowly begin to overtake me. My eyelids felt ten times heavier now that I was home. I reluctantly let sleep overcome me.

...

"Tommy?"

I looked around. No one was there.

But I could hear someone.

I could hear him.

"Tommy."

It's so dark here.

Where?

Where am I?

"Tommy."

I'm so cold

...

"Wilbur?"

.

.

.

"Dig."

...

I woke up and gasped. My eyes searched the room. No one was there.

I pressed a hand against my chest and tried to steady myself. I felt sick to my stomach.

His voice was still buzzing in my head. One word repeated over and over in my mind.

Dig.

Dig? What the fuck did that mean?

I looked at the book still laying on the table. What was going on?

I jumped at a knock on my door.

"Tommy?"

I got off of the couch and walked to the door. I knew who it was, I had been expecting him, but I felt uneasy. Maybe it was because of my dream. I just decided I wouldn't tell him about what I had done or where I had gone. I would try to act normal.

I opened the door and let Phil in. In his hands he held a pizza.

"Hi Tommy," he said. I just nodded at him. I wasn't in the mood to talk.

"Have you slept at all?" he asked. It was funny to me that he could still act like this, so caring and kind, when he had lost Wilbur too. He must have been just as broken as I was, but still he thought of others first.

I nodded again. I tried to ignore the voice still replaying in my mind.

Phil offered me a weak smile. "That's good, Tom." I noticed that he had bags under his eyes, like he also hadn't slept much since Wilbur died.

"I wasn't sure what you would want to eat, so I bought a pizza. I hope that's alright."

"Thanks Phil," I responded. He smiled. "Of course mate."

We both sat on the sofa. I took a bite out of my pizza slice. That one bite reminded me of how hungry I was, and I suddenly felt like I'd been starved. I ate four more slices.

Phil nodded towards the book. "The Raven," he said. He smiled sadly. "That was one of Will's favorites."

"I know," I said, "I wanted to pick it up after..." I trailed off. I didn't want to finish the sentence.

Phil picked up the book. "This is a pretty old copy. Most of the letters must be faded by now. Where did you get it?"

"Oh, uh, an antique shop," I responded, hoping he wouldn't question me further. Phil nodded and didn't press me about it anymore.

He stayed for another hour. He mostly made sure I had food for later and that I would be alright for the day.

"Are you going to be okay here, Tommy? Are you sure you don't want to stay at my house? Me and Kristin really wouldn't mind."

I shook my head. I still had a lot of things I needed to look at, and I knew I couldn't with Phil constantly over my shoulder.

"Thanks Phil, but I'll be alright."

Phil gave me a worried look. "If you're sure. But just know my door is always open, Tom."

"Thanks Phil."

He gave me a hug before leaving.

I turned my attention back to the book on my desk. I wondered just how faded the words were.

I flipped to the first page. Sure enough, Phil was right. The words were faded, some barely visible. Except-

Some of the letters weren't faded.

They popped out at me. The letters were a bold black, as opposed to the faded grays on the rest of the page.

I wonder...

I read the first line of the poem. I focused on the first half:

'Once upon a midnight dreary'

The second i in midnight was bold, whereas the rest of it was faded.

I read the next half of the line:

'While I pondered, weak and weary'

Again, a letter stood out. The d in pondered.

I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down the two letters. My eyes searched over the page, scanning it, looking for any more bolded letters.

My heart pounded as I began to find more.

The i in quaint.
The d in nodded.
The s in some

Letter after letter, word after word, I began to piece something together. My hands shook as I wrote the letters down. My heart pounded as I looked at the paper.

The letters spelled something out.

"I did something embarrassing"