Their Mountain Captive by Kayla Wren
10
Angelo
Iscratch the craggy cave entrance with my thumbnail, pale blue paint peeling off in slivers. Next to the light stone, it was easy to miss. If the truck had been red or black, I’d have found them right away.
It’s no excuse.
“Dante,” I breathe, clicking my tongue. “Big brother. Where are you hiding?”
They’re not inside the cave. It’s clear from the echoing silence, the chatter of sleepy bats in the velvet gloom. I go in anyway, dirt crunching under my boots, the air damp and musky in my nostrils.
Dante will have hated this. These bad smells. This wet, dirty mountain. He used to lose his mind over a fleck of dust on his sleeve; the last two years must have been torture.
A good place to hide, though. If I hadn’t found his art trading activities, I’d never have looked here.
“Come out, come out,” I sing-song, even though it’s just me in the cave. A dress rehearsal, I suppose. I’ve been dreaming of this day, of finding my big brother again. Proving he’s alive.
No one believed me. Well, now they will see.
A knot tightens in my chest, even though he’s not here, even though this isn’t real yet. And that tangle of nerves, it sets my teeth on edge.
He had no right. No right to hide from us; to make me hunt him like this.
Their truck is a shape in the dark. A thicker patch of shadows. I pluck my phone from my back pocket and turn on the flashlight. It beams over the battered hood; the scratched paint; the shredded tires. The bullet holes.
I didn’t hit him. Not really. He was lined up perfectly, his broad chest in my view, and at the last second my hand twitched to the side. Out of my control. An impulse. A moment of weakness.
It won’t happen again.
I flip the phone over in my palm, checking the time. Not yet noon. The day has barely begun. They won’t have gone far, not yet, and even if they had—I’d find him. So I stroll back to the cave entrance, whistling quietly.
I could call home. Tell my father he was wrong—that Dante is alive. Like I’ve been saying, like I told them all a thousand times. But once it’s confirmed, the whole family will mobilize. The whole network. The hunt won’t be mine anymore.
No. I’ve earned this. Dante is mine. I’ll be the one to bring him in, to bring him home.
He never should have left us.
Children’s laughter echoes from the lakeside. I step out into the sunshine, blinking in the sudden brightness, and tug my jacket sleeves straight as I wander toward the crowds. An ice cream van pulls up, tinny theme song blaring.
I change direction, heading for the van.
There’s no rush. I’ve got time.