The Mysterious Disappearance of Aidan S. (as told to his brother)

by David Levithan

  “Thinking.”

  “About what?”

  I was hovering over him, not sure where to go. He pointed to the space next to him on the floor, which was more of an invitation than I expected. I sat down.

  “About what to do,” he said.

  That was meant to be the answer. I didn’t sense he wanted me to ask another question. But I asked anyway.

  “What to do about what?”

  “I don’t know how to make it go away.”

  He wasn’t looking at me when he said this. He was both looking at the dresser and looking at the world beyond the dresser. Not Aveinieu. Our world. Our judging world.

  “It’s all my fault,” he said again sadly.

  He wasn’t sitting on the spot where I’d found him; I was. I remembered that moment. Remembered the frantic minutes after. It was such a rush. Now I slowed it down, thought about it.

  “Actually, it’s all my fault,” I said. Before Aidan could protest—I think he was going to protest—I pushed on. “You didn’t tell them anything. Or maybe you wouldn’t have. But I told them. I shouldn’t have told them. I should have kept my mouth shut. If I hadn’t told them, none of this would have happened.”

  Now Aidan looked at me hard. “True. But honestly? There wasn’t anything else for me to tell them. I don’t think I would’ve been able to make anything else up on the spot.”

  “Maybe not. But eventually. If we’d put it off, you might have come up with something else.”

  Aidan sighed and leaned on the old chest that once belonged to our great-great-grandparents.

  “Back there,” he said, “we kept telling each other, ‘Nobody back home would ever believe this.’ It was like this running joke, anytime something incredible happened. And even if I wasn’t saying it out loud, I was thinking it in my head. They have these fireflies that come out at night, but instead of being one color, they blink in all these different colors, talking to each other. The first time I saw them in the sky, all these blips and bursts, it was like a light show or a video game, and I thought, ‘Lucas would never believe this. I wish Lucas could see this.’ It wasn’t like my mind left here entirely. But I knew that unless you came into the world with me, there was no way to believe it. You always read a lot and have so much more of an imagination than I do—but even you would have had a hard time.”

  He looked at the dresser again. “I talked to Cordelia about it, and she said she still thought that way, even though she knew that most of her family and friends would be gone now, back in our world. ‘It keeps them alive,’ she said. ‘Thinking about them.’ And that scared me a little, thinking that even though I’d only been gone a short time, you were already a different Lucas than the one I’d left, and you’d continue to become a different Lucas, even if in my mind you’d always be the same as when I left. And then, when they told me I had to go back, that they were worried I’d brought a sickness with me, I had no idea what I’d find. Nobody had ever gone back and forth before—we didn’t know whether it was because they weren’t able to or didn’t want to. So I didn’t know if I was coming back two seconds after I left or two hundred years. Or if I’d come back at all. I asked Cordelia, ‘What do I tell them?’ And she said she had no idea. She’d never done what I was about to do.”

  He turned back to me. “You kind of know the rest. I came back. You found me. The moment I saw the attic, I knew not much had changed, but it wasn’t until you came in that I knew I hadn’t been gone that long. And while I was still really sad about being forced to leave, I was also grateful that at least you were still here.”

  “And I was grateful you were back!” I told him.

  That made him smile. “Thanks. It was cool that everyone was so happy. I wish we could have stayed there, you know?”

  “People are still happy you’re back. Mom and Dad especially.”

  “I know. But it’s gotten so messy. And I wish I could unmess it.”

  “But you’re telling the truth.”

  Aidan smiled, but this time it didn’t look as happy. He leaned into me and said, “Yeah, but the truth isn’t very helpful if people don’t believe it. Or at least that’s what it looks like now. I mean, it’s started to play with my mind too. There are times when I wonder if it was all this really intense dream, that I was lost somewhere, came back here, and my mind is trying really hard to forget where it was, so it’s made up this other experience out of dream material. What if everyone else is right? What if I’m making all of this up?”

  “But there was the leaf,” I pointed out.

  “Oh yeah. The leaf.” Aidan leaned back on the chest again. “The crumpled, brown leaf.”

  “It was blue. I saw it. It wasn’t from here.”

  “And is that why you believe me? Because of a single leaf?”

  I thought about my answer; I knew Aidan wanted me to. Then I shook my head and said, “No. I believe it because you believe it too.”

  “It’s weird how much that helps. To have one other person know the truth. To have that reflecting back at me. I don’t actually need the world to know. Just one or two people.”

  “Well, count me in.”

  “We just have to figure out something to tell everyone else,” Aidan said.

  I took it as a challenge.

  In my mind, I started to explore the options.

  38

  We tried normal again the next day, and did better at it.

  Mom and Dad kept their distance at breakfast and didn’t mention dinner. Mom reminded Aidan he had another therapist appointment after school, and he said he remembered. Then Mom told me I’d have to come along, because Dad couldn’t get out of work to pick me up. I could have tried to convince her I could walk home alone, but decided it wasn’t worth it. I said I was fine going along.

  At school, there was more security at the doors. But once we walked in, it was like everyone had decided the joke wasn’t funny anymore, and had moved on. The stickers were gone from Aidan’s locker. We got some weird looks, but not too many. Aidan searched out Glenn and the rest of their friends, and they all volleyed words around like nothing had happened. Seeing this, I realized that Aidan was lucky—he’d never been a jerk to people, so people weren’t inclined to be jerks back to him when he was vulnerable. They liked him, and liking would forgive a lot.

  There was still some snark, but it was containable. When Kelli McGillis tried to call Aidan “Unicorn Boy” again, Glenn said, “Hey, how about we start calling you Vulture Girl?” Apparently, word spread, and by lunch, kids were walking over to Kelli and saying, “Is that seat next to you available, Vulture Girl?” By the fifth time, she was like, “Alright, I get it. Stop.”

  Another thing that helped Aidan: He hadn’t done anything to anyone else, only to himself.

  As far as my friends were concerned, Tate and Truman were happy to change the subject—only Busby kept asking me if I’d learned more about what had really happened.

  “He ran away, okay?” I said. “He wishes he hadn’t done it. Now he’s back, and if that’s all that matters to my family, then that should be all that matters to my friends, right?”

  “Okay,” Busby replied. “It’s just that Aidan disappearing was the most interesting thing that has ever happened here. Now we’re going to have to go back to talking about boring things.”

  “I’m okay with boring,” I told her.

  I welcomed boring.

  * * *

  —

  I didn’t hear anything Aidan said to the therapist—I guess therapists make sure to have walls and doors thick enough that the people in the waiting room can’t hear a word.

  Mom had her laptop with her and was doing work. I was supposed to be doing my homework. But I think both of us kept stopping to look at the door to the therapist’s office, wondering about what Aidan was saying inside.

 
“It’s going to be okay,” I told Mom when I caught her looking.

  She turned to me, surprised by what I’d said.

  “Why do you think so?” she asked. Not arguing, but curious.

  “Aidan’s not going anywhere,” I told her. “If that’s what you and Dad are worried about, you don’t have to worry about it.”

  “Oh, Lucas,” Mom said, putting her hand on my arm, “that is what we’re worried about. And I’m sure we’ll keep worrying about it. But it’s good to hear you say we don’t have to. We’ll get through this, I’m sure.”

  I’d been trying to make her feel better, but she made me feel better too.

  It felt like we were all on the same side again.

  * * *

  —

  At the same time, Aidan had given me an assignment, and I kept thinking about it: Where could he say he’d gone, besides Aveinieu?

  Aunt Brandi called me to check in, and I told her the day had gone well—the therapist had told Mom that Aidan seemed like he was in a good place, even with all the strange circumstances. I liked that phrase, strange circumstances, as if it was something that had been sprung on Aidan, not something he had sprung on us. Brandi said she liked that phrase too.

  “But how are you, Lucas? I don’t want you to think that we’re all so caught up in Aidan’s feelings that we don’t care about yours.”

  “I’m fine,” I told her. “Aidan’s actually talking to me more than he did before. I like that.”

  “That’s good,” Brandi said. She didn’t ask me what Aidan was saying, like Mom or Dad would have. I appreciated that.

  After I hung up, I thought about how Brandi had been away in Peru when Aidan had gone missing. What if he went to see her and she wasn’t there? I thought. I just needed a reason for Aidan to go there, because it wasn’t like he’d sneak out in the middle of the night to visit our aunt, no matter how cool she was. What if Aidan and I had gotten into a big fight and he’d stormed off? But that didn’t make sense. What could I have possibly said to Aidan to make him leave like that? Nobody would believe it, especially not Mom and Dad. No, I figured, Aidan had to be running away to something, not away from here.

  I thought about things Aidan liked, and the best I could do was gaming. So I went online and typed in gaming and the name of Brandi’s city and the day Aidan had disappeared. It didn’t take me long to find a gaming convention that was going on the weekend he was gone.

  I explored some more and made notes in my head.

  When I was done, I erased my trail.

  39

  I waited until we had gone to bed and Mom and Dad were safely in their room. I knew Officer Pinkus was coming to see Aidan the next day, Friday. And I figured that would be a good time for him to premiere the new story I’d made him.

  “Are you ready for it?” I asked.

  “Wait,” he said. Then he came and sat on the foot of my bed. “Okay, tell me.”

  So I told him about the gaming convention. He could say he’d wanted to go but knew Mom and Dad would never let him. (True.) So he snuck out of the house. He figured when he got to the city, he’d go to Aunt Brandi’s and she’d put him up. But when he got there, no one answered. (He’d just have to say he’d forgotten when she was leaving for Peru.) And he’d left behind his phone, so he couldn’t call her, and didn’t know her number by heart, so couldn’t call from someone else’s phone. (Also possible.)

  Aidan started with his questions.

  * * *

  —

  Why didn’t I have my phone? Wouldn’t I have known I’d need it?

  You were afraid they’d trace it.

  And how did I get to the city? Did I take the train? The bus?

  You took the train. But you waited until rush hour. That way, no one would see you on the security cameras. I’m pretty sure they checked the security cameras.

  So what did I do when I got to the city, after I found out Brandi wasn’t there?

  You went to the hotel where the convention was.

  In my pajamas?

  No. You brought clothes. Old clothes that we didn’t notice were missing. And a costume! Yeah, you had kept a costume. Which made it hard for you to be recognized.

  So where did I stay?

  The convention was in a hotel. So maybe you just slept on the couches there.

  Or maybe there was a park nearby.

  I guess. But Mom and Dad won’t like the thought that you slept in a park.

  Okay. So I found a space in the hotel.

  Yeah.

  And then what?

  I think you realized what kind of trouble you’d be in. After a few days.

  So why didn’t I call home?

  * * *

  —

  This was the tricky part.

  * * *

  —

  You did call home.

  What?

  I was the one who picked up. There were times when Mom was busy and Dad was out looking. So it’s possible I picked up the phone.

  Lucas, you can’t say that.

  Why not?

  You know why not. You’ll be in so much trouble.

  I know.

  You can’t.

  I have to. That’s the only way the story makes sense.

  * * *

  —

  Aidan looked at me for a second, and it didn’t seem like I’d convinced him. Still, he was willing to hear it out.

  * * *

  —

  So what did you say to me?

  I told you people were freaking out.

  Then why didn’t you tell everyone I was on the phone? You could have ended it right there!

  Because you begged me not to. You said you’d come home as long as I didn’t tell anyone. Since I wanted you to come home, I promised.

  And I trusted you.

  Well, you didn’t tell me where you were. But you said you’d get home.

  So I got on the next train….

  Not yet. Because you still had two days to go. Let’s say you were leaving your bag where you were sleeping, and while you were away and thought it was safe, it got stolen. Or maybe just your money was stolen, since your pajamas couldn’t have been stolen.

  You’re scarily good at this.

  Thanks. So you have your bag, but you don’t have a ticket or money to get a ticket. So it takes you a day or two to get enough money to come home.

  How do I get the money?

  Just by asking people. You stick to the hotel. Say your parents are gone for the day and you got locked out of your room.

  Why didn’t I ask for a new key?

  There was a misunderstanding. They checked out. And now you need cab fare to get to where they are.

  So I get the money, and get a train back.

  You call me from the train station. Maybe hang up a few times when Mom or Dad picks up. But when you get me, you tell me when the train gets in. I figure out how long it will take for you to walk from the station. Along the way, you come up with the story about going to another world—you know it makes no sense, but you figure no one will be able to prove it or disprove it. And you can’t think of anything else.

  That’s a stretch.

  Anything we come up with is a stretch.

  Okay. So I get home…

  Well, we come up with a signal—when the adults are all busy, I go into the backyard and signal you to come out of the woods. Then I sneak you up to the attic. You hide there until I come “find” you.

  They didn’t search the attic the day I was found?

  No. They’d already done it a few times. It would have never occurred to them that you’d sneak back in and hide there.

  Because I’d need an accomplice.

  I guess so. I was your accomplice.

 
* * *

  —

  My story ended there. Aidan was back home. He’d hoped to get away with not saying where he’d been, but then I slipped, and he had to tell them his cover story, about Aveinieu.

  I thought Aidan would congratulate me on coming up with an alternative to what everyone thought. But instead of congratulations, he said, “I have to think about this.” Then he went back to his own bed.

  I was a little disappointed. Then, out of the dark of our room, there came a “Thank you,” and the disappointment went away.

  40

  At breakfast the next morning, Mom and Dad announced they’d turned the ringers back on. But if the phone rang, we still weren’t supposed to pick it up unless we knew the name on the caller ID.

  “Hopefully the attention is dying down,” Dad told us.

  “We’ll see,” Mom said.

  * * *

  —

  I was nervous the whole day at school, thinking about the conversation with Officer Pinkus that was going to happen in the afternoon—if Aidan decided to go through with it. I’d told him I figured Officer Pinkus was the best person to start with. If she said our story made sense, then everyone else would think so, starting with our parents. I knew they’d be mad at us at first, but I figured eventually it would be okay. They’d much rather have a son who ran off to a gaming convention than a son who ran off to another world.

  * * *

  —

  I only had a few minutes with Aidan after school.

  “So what did you decide?” I asked.

  “I think it’s worth trying,” he said.

  “Should we practice?”

  Aidan shook his head. “Not enough time.”

  Once we were in Mom’s car, on the way home, there wasn’t any way to talk about it any further.

  * * *

  —