Sunny day in Houston, Texas. Kids laughed and chased each other outside while their parents lounged under sun umbrellas, sipping cold lemonade, letting the heat wash over them.
Jack opened the front door, stepping out into the blinding sun. He shielded his eyes with a hand and made his way toward his mother, who smiled at him from her seat.
"Goin' outside in this heat?" she asked.
"Yeah, Mom. I'll be back for dinner," Jack replied.
He leaned in, letting her kiss his cheek. Across the yard, his dad caught his eye and gave a subtle wink — the kind that said "I know where you're headed, son." Jack just grinned, not thinking too much about it, and unlocked his 2007 Civic — the car his dad had proudly bought him a few months back.
As he opened the door, his dad called out:
"Drive safe now, O'Conner!"
Jack chuckled under his breath. "Of course, Dad. Don't worry."
He started the engine, slid his sunglasses on, and headed toward Olivia's house. Halfway there, he swung through Starbucks for an iced coffee, texting her a quick "OMW" before getting back on the road. Twenty minutes later, he pulled up to her place, heart beating a little faster.
A new message flashed across his screen: "Alright babe, I'll take a bath. Door's open — just walk in. Nobody's home but me."
Grinning wider, Jack pocketed his phone and headed for the front door. He didn't knock — just walked in like she said.
The house was quiet except for the low hum of the AC. As he stepped into the living room, Eddie, Olivia's ginger cat, lifted his head lazily.
"Hey, Eddie. Mommy feed you today?" Jack asked, reaching down to scratch behind the cat's ears.
Eddie meowed once, rolled onto his side, and promptly dozed off again. Jack smiled and shook his head. "Wonder if he acts like that around Liv too," he thought.
He looked around, but Olivia was nowhere in sight. Cautiously, he made his way toward the bathroom, knocking lightly on the door.
No response.
A prickle of worry ran down his spine. He knocked again, louder. "Liv? You still in there?"
Still nothing.
Jack's mind, always a worst-case-scenario machine, kicked into overdrive. He shouted through the door, hand already reaching for the handle: "Hey Liv! I'm coming in, okay?"
Just as he turned it, a voice echoed from the hallway behind him.
"God, Jack, you're so paranoid," Olivia said, laughing as she walked toward him, towel-drying her hair.
She wore an oversized white T-shirt and black shorts, her wet blonde hair clinging to her shoulders, leaving damp marks on the fabric. Water dripped from the ends of her hair, making tiny splashes on the hardwood floor.
Jack exhaled sharply, his muscles unclenching.
"You could've slipped and hit your head," he muttered. "Would it kill you to just shout back and say you're fine?"
Olivia just smiled, bright and teasing.
"I mean, you didn't even give me a chance. I was walking toward the door," she said, tossing the towel onto a nearby chair.
Jack shook his head — he knew arguing with her was a losing battle.
"Alright, alright. Sorry," he said, then added with a smirk, "You look prettier, by the way. New face mask?"
Both smiled, and she walked toward him, kissing him on the cheek. Jack chuckled and said, "Yeah, right where my mom kissed me before I headed out."
Her face turned mock-angry as she wiped her lips, saying, "Fine, go back to your momma. She can kiss you more, then."
She stormed off to the kitchen, and Jack laughed, following after her. He hugged her from behind and said, "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Just a stupid joke. I'm stupid."
She nodded approvingly. "At least I don't have to tell you that."
She chuckled and asked, "Want something to cool you down? It's burning outside."
Jack shook his head. "I just had a cold coffee."
Olivia fixed herself another iced coffee as Jack leaned against the counter. "You heard what happened to Liam's little sister?" he asked.
Her smile faded instantly. "Yeah. Terrible. Three days now, right? Since they last saw her? I can't imagine being a kid and going through whatever she's been through. She must be terrified. And Liam... and his dad... they must be losing their minds searching for her."
Jack took a deep breath, the weight of it all pressing down on him.
"I can't even imagine," he muttered. "If Sophie or Luke went missing... I wouldn't know what to do. Where to even start looking. I can't imagine the scenarios rolling through his head. Hope they find her."
Olivia finished making her drink, dropping in the last ice cube. She turned toward Jack, forcing a lighter tone.
"God, you're a mood killer. Wanna watch a movie?"
Jack shook off the heavy thoughts.
"Yeah. The one we talked about, right? The one where that crazy German dude stitches people together?"
Olivia snapped back immediately, marching toward the living room couch.
"FUCK NO, JACK CARTER! I told you yesterday and I'm telling you again — no way! I don't even know what you find interesting about that fucked-up idea."
Jack grinned and followed her, plopping onto the couch.
"I mean, it's infamous, right? There must be some deeper joke or message inside?"
Olivia grabbed the remote, stroking Eddie the cat as he hopped into her lap.
"Even if it's the funniest movie in the world, or has the deepest message... I'm not watching a movie about people getting their faces stitched to other people's asses."
She scrolled quickly through the options.
"I already know what we're watching: Meet Joe Black."
Jack sighed — another lost argument.
"Alright then. Roll it."
They settled in. Olivia leaned her head against Jack's shoulder, and Jack propped his legs up on the ottoman.
An hour passed.
Olivia paused the movie and said, "Bathroom break."
Jack nodded. "Good call. Me too."
She walked off. Jack picked up his phone from the coffee table, where he'd left it on silent.
28 missed calls from Mom. 43 from Dad.
His blood turned to ice.
"What the hell...?"
He unlocked his phone. Message after message flooded the screen, but one line punched through:
"We can't find your brother. When did you last see him?"
He called his mom immediately. She picked up on the first ring, her voice shaking.
"Mom, what do you mean you can't find Luke?" Jack demanded.
"Where the hell are you?!" she screamed back. "We've been calling you for an hour! We can't find him anywhere. We're at the police station. Check your car — maybe he hid inside?"
Jack swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his forehead.
"The last time I saw him... he was playing in front of you, Mom. Okay, okay, I'm coming. I'm coming right now."
The bathroom door creaked open behind him. Olivia stepped out, towel in hand.
The couch was empty.
Jack's already running.
He started the car, slammed it into gear, handbrake down — no time to waste. One hand on the wheel, the other whipping out his phone, voice trembling as he barked, "Where's the police station?"
The phone lit up directions, balancing on the holder as he roared into the main road. Downshift into a corner — tires screaming — somehow kept the Civic stable. Main road: packed with cars. But there were gaps. Openings.
Pedal down. No thinking. Just move.
Getting there wouldn't make Luke appear out of thin air, but Jack didn't care. He needed to reach point B. He needed to finish.
As he weaved dangerously between traffic, his mind flashed back — Olivia. Liam. His sister missing.
His chest tightened. "God, please... not that. Please help him. Help us."
He passed another car, close enough to scrape mirrors. No time. No choice.
Traffic lights ahead. Red.
Jack's gut screamed at him to stop — but his hands crushed the wheel tighter.
"I can't stop. Not right now. Please, God, let me pass."
He floored it, shifting gears hard enough to rattle the car, the horn blaring nonstop. One hundred meters. Cars closing in from the right. Too fast. No way to brake. No way to turn safely.
And then — the world changed.
Colors faded. Everything washed in cold blue. Time slowed to a crawl.
Jack blinked — and saw it: not just the road in front of him — the whole street from above.
Like chess pieces frozen mid-move, every car, every path laid out.
"This is insane... it's just like before."
Flashback — Backyard, Years Ago
Jack was eight years old, swinging a kid-sized bat in the front yard. His father tossed baseballs toward him, patient, smiling.
First ball — miss. Second — miss. Third — wild swing.
Frustrated, Jack had thrown the bat down.
His father walked up, kneeling so their eyes met.
"Son," he said, grinning, "you're missing because you're looking at the ball. Stop. Look at me. Focus before I throw. And if that doesn't work — close your eyes and look everywhere at once."
Jack had nodded, confused but willing. His father raised his arm to throw again.
And just before the ball left his hand — the world slowed down.
Blue-tinted. Air thick like syrup. Leaves hung frozen mid-air.
Jack had seen the ball's path clearly. It crawled toward him so slowly, he almost yawned.
He realized — "I don't have to swing fast. I can just line the bat into the ball's path."
He shifted the bat calmly, barely moving — and when normal time returned, crack — the ball bounced neatly to his father's feet.
His father had whooped with pride.
Jack never forgot.
He used it sometimes: cheating on tests. Sinking impossible basketball shots. Fights in alleyways.
A trick for survival.
Back to Present
Jack's mind snapped back into the blue-filtered street. Bird's-eye view. Frozen cars. Golden paths.
"Best route. Find the best route."
He analyzed — speeds, angles, trajectories. Spotted the only gap wide enough to thread through.
"The SUV on the left was slower than it looked — he had time to slice past it before the next sedan blocked the gap."
"Yes. You. Golden path."
Normal colors rushed back.
Jack cranked the wheel right — slashed between two speeding SUVs — downshifted fast enough to make the engine whine — caught a brief slide into a near-drift — corrected before the rear spun out.
Alive.
Still moving.
Still fighting.
He was alive.
He was out of danger. A couple more turns, a few more sways around cars — and he was there.
Jack slowed down, drifted hard in front of the police station, yanked the handbrake up. Jumped out, left the car door swinging open behind him. Sprinted inside.
The whole station was already on alert — screeching tires had that effect. He didn't care. He locked eyes with a young female officer standing near the front desk and shouted:
"Where are the Carters?!"
The officer froze, still clutching her coffee mug, staring wide-eyed at the wild young man. She could see the urgency, the pure panic in his eyes.
Jack grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her, voice cracking:
"CARTERS?!"
She flinched, reaching down for her shock pistol —
Then a familiar voice called out across the station:
"Jack? Over here, baby. C'mere now!"
Jack spun around toward the sound. Left the officer behind, who sagged with relief as he rushed away.
He reached his parents — Victor and Lydia Carter. No sign of Sophie.
He asked, voice shaking:
"Where's Sophie?"
Lydia got up from her seat, wrapped Jack in a tight, desperate hug, and said:
"We left her with the Hanleys, baby. Ain't no place for little ones here."
Jack exhaled hard, hugging his mom back.
"Okay... okay. Where is he? What happened, Mom?"
Victor stood up — 6'3", a cowboy hat perched on his head, a thick mustache gone mostly white. Built like an ox. Not born Texan, but after seventeen years in Houston — he became one. Fashion, mannerisms, even his drawl — it all settled in.
He pointed to the chair with a nod.
"Sit."
Victor wasn't a man of many words. Old-school. Quiet respect, hard lines, never much for punishment — that job usually fell to Lydia.
Jack sat. Victor rested a heavy hand on his shoulder — solid, grounding — as Jack turned toward the officer across the table.
The man leaned in — a seasoned veteran, mid-50s, worn like old leather. Detective Hank Mercer.
He linked eyes with Jack and spoke low and steady:
"Son, before I ask ya anything, you need to calm yourself, alright? Ain't nothin' definite yet — so don't be thinkin' the worst."
Jack nodded stiffly. Swallowed hard like a kid in trouble.
Hank continued:
"Your little brother — Luke. When's the last time you saw him?"
Lydia clenched her fists. Her voice broke as she half-yelled:
"Hank, this is nonsense! We already told y'all everythin' we know!"
She stood up, words pouring out, fast and ragged:
"Luke was outside playin' with the neighbor kids — we were right there! I was sittin' drinkin' lemonade, Victor was out back fixin' the fence. Jack left 'bout an hour before it happened. Maybe five, six minutes after he drove off, I went inside to do the laundry, Victor went to the garage for some tools. Couple more minutes, I came out to call the kids for lemonade — and Luke was just... gone. We searched everywhere, Hank — the whole damn neighborhood! House to house! Even the woods. He ain't there. We drove straight here soon as we realized."
Her voice cracked fully at the end. Victor reached over, squeezed her hand silently.
Jack sat frozen. Mind screaming. Body locked. Chest pounding.
Jack spoke after ten seconds of silence, his mother silently weeping:
"Sir, what are you doin' to find my brother? And what can I do?"
Hank leaned back, puffed his chest a little — almost proudly — and said:
"Don't you worry, son. I done alerted every cop in Houston. We moved fast — every uniform in the city's got your brother's picture. Now, after a time — God forbid — if he don't show up in a couple, three hours, I'm settin' up a search party to look for him in George Bush Park. But hopefully, we won't need that. Kids this age wander off while playin', forget the way back home. He's six years old. Keep your mind easy — we'll find 'im."
Jack exhaled — but wasn't relieved. Not until he saw his brother again.
Hank continued:
"Son, best thing you can do right now is take care o' your mama and your little sister — let your daddy focus on findin' your brother. You understand?"
Jack nodded:
"Yes, sir."
His father tightened his grip on Jack's shoulder — getting his attention. Jack turned his head toward him.
Victor said in his usual rough, quiet tone:
"Son... take your mama, head on back to the house. Get your little sister from the Hanleys. Eat somethin'. Wait."
Jack nodded again — no other words needed. Orders were orders.
He turned back to Hank and asked, trying to keep his voice steady:
"Sir, my friend Liam Collins from school — he lost his sister three days ago..."
But right as he tried to finish his sentence, Victor's grip tightened hard. Hank's face soured.
Hank flicked his eyes toward Lydia — Jack understood immediately. This wasn't the time to bring up nightmares in front of his already broken mother. Strong woman — but a mother all the same.
No need to flood her mind with more fear.
Jack stood up, gently took his mother's hand, and led her toward the car. She was so lost in sadness she didn't even notice that Jack had left the Civic running — driver's door wide open, parked sideways across the station lot.
The drive home was heavy. Silent.
When they arrived, his mother quietly crossed the street to the Hanleys' and brought Sophie back home.
Jack went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and handed it to his mother.
"You need anything, Mom?" he asked gently.
She drank half the glass, then whispered:
"No, baby... I just need to lay down. Can you keep an eye on your sister? Don't tell her about... all this."
Jack nodded:
"Of course, Mom. Go to sleep — I'll wake you up if Dad calls."
She nodded and shuffled off toward the bedroom.
Jack made his way to Sophie's room. Found her lying on the floor, playing games on her tablet.
He smiled, laid down beside her, and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
Sophie grumbled, wiping her forehead like she'd been personally offended.
Jack chuckled and asked:
"Sophie, why're you on the floor? Why don't you lay down on your bed? You'll catch a cold."
"I don't wanna," she muttered.
"Hmm. Okay, then. What're you playin'?"
Sophie huffed — the classic eight-year-old little sister tone — and yelled:
"Jack, leaaaaveeeee!"
Jack raised his hands in surrender:
"Okay, okay, Miss Grumpy."
He smiled to himself as he stood, letting her sink back into her little world, oblivious to the storm brewing outside.
It was brewing inside Jack too. He made it to the living room, but his whole body was restless, burning with helplessness. He loved his little brother. Loved him fiercely. And he was here — useless — while Luke was God knows where.
He needed something — anything — to drown out the storm inside him.
Jack checked his still-silent phone. Eight missed calls. Olivia.
A jolt of guilt stabbed through him. He had left in such a rush, not even a word thrown over his shoulder.
He called her. Third ring — she picked up.
"Jack? Jesus — what happened? You ran out like a damn storm. If you wanted to leave, you could've just said so."
Her voice was rough — half joking, half cracked at the edges.
Jack swallowed the lump in his throat.
"It's Luke," he said. "He's missing."
Silence. Then her tone shifted instantly — all the anger draining out of it.
"Jack... oh my God. I'm sorry. I didn't know. I'm such a dumbass."
"No. I should've told you."
"You need anything? Anything at all?"
Jack was about to say no. The word was halfway to his lips — but something sparked behind his eyes.
"Yeah. Liv — I need you to come over. Watch Sophie. I can't leave Mom alone, not like this — but I can't sit here and rot either. I have to move. I have to do something."
She didn't hesitate.
"I'll call an Uber. I'm on my way."
"Thank you."
He ended the call, staring at the dead screen. His chest heaved once — a breath too shallow to fill his lungs.
"Dad's gonna kill me for this," he thought bitterly. "But I can't just sit here and wait for a call that might never come."
He leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees, forehead heavy against his palms.
The other hand ran automatically through his black hair — a nervous tick since he was a kid. Back then, it meant he was worried about failing a test. Now, it meant life or death.
"If I was Luke... if I wasn't taken... if I was just a scared little kid... where would I go?"
Jack shut his eyes. Hard.
Dove into memory.
He built the scene around him again — the yard, the heat, the kids shrieking and spraying water everywhere. His mother, lemonade glass sweating in the sun. His father, hammering the fence, sweat soaking the back of his shirt.
Jack whispered to himself:
"How do you disappear in broad daylight?"
He twisted deeper into the memory.
Mom — gone inside. Dad — in the garage.
Only the kids left — wild, scattered, too young to watch each other.
Jack gritted his teeth.
"A distraction," he muttered. "That's the only way."
Something big enough — loud enough — exciting enough — to break their focus. Create a gap. Create a moment.
Jack dug deeper, mind spinning through possibilities like a desperate man turning over rocks in the desert, hunting for water.
He pictured it:
Himself — sinking down, down — into an endless blue ocean. The kids were still there, little blurry shapes above him, laughing, unaware. He was almost out of reach.
"What pulled their eyes away?" "What gave Luke the time?"
He searched every fragment of memory — every tiny forgotten second —
chasing the answer through the dark.
He opened his eyes and muttered, "Need to see it myself."
Some time later, Olivia arrived. She kissed him and hugged him tightly. Jack said:
"Thank you for coming. Sophie loves hangin' out with you more than me. Mom's sleepin' inside."
"Okay, baby. You headin' out now?"
"Yeah. Wasted enough time sittin' down. I can't just stay put."
"Okay. Call me if you find anything... or need anything."
Jack nodded, kissed her, and left the house. He walked down the road, past neighbors' cars, past the silent yards — headed toward the spot where the kids had been playing.
He slowed his steps. Focused.
There had to be something. A distraction. Anything.
He started moving in wide, slow circles across the grass, eyes scanning every inch. Then — RED.
A flash in the corner of his vision, like a candle flickering in a dark room.
On the ground. Blood. Dried, but still clearly visible against the grass.
Jack's heart punched harder against his ribs. He walked over, crouching low.
"Please not Luke... Please not Luke..."
The blood formed a thick lump in one spot — and then a faint trail, drops leading away.
"Stopped here..." he muttered under his breath. "Kinda close to where the kids were."
He thought harder.
"If it was a person bleeding that much... Kids would've screamed. Ran. At least kept their distance."
Jack squinted closer at the scene, piecing it together.
"Not enough blood for a big injury. Not human, then. A bird? No... too much for a bird. Has to be... a dog. Or a cat."
He stood, spinning slowly, surveying the surrounding yards.
"But where's the body?"
Then it clicked.
"The kids took it. That was the distraction."
Eyes wide, Jack moved back to the main spot — where the water guns had been abandoned earlier that afternoon.
He shut his eyes.
Imagined the scene: Kids laughing, spraying each other — then the sharp whimper of a wounded dog breaking through the noise.
Heads snapping around. Water guns dropped. Small legs running toward the sound without a second thought.
"They rushed in. They all rushed in."
Except Luke.
Jack's gut twisted.
"Luke didn't. He had other plans."
While the others crowded around the injured animal — Luke slipped away. Small feet. Small shadows.
Heading toward the trees.
Toward the woods.
Jack opened his eyes, following the direction Luke would have gone. Not toward the houses. Away from the crowd.
He walked.
Past the edge of the yard. Past the fences with crooked gaps wide enough for a small boy to squeeze through. Into the start of the wooded trails.
His boots crunched against dry leaves.
Jack tightened his jaw.
"Where would you go, Luke? Where are you?"
So he went deeper — just like he imagined Luke had.
As he walked deeper, the sounds grew louder. Wind. Birds. Trees. Leaves. Every step took him farther away from home.
Maybe Luke had gotten scared after a while, walking in circles around the forest — reached the park somehow — and gotten even more lost. That thought was the only thing keeping Jack pushing forward, even as the sun sank lower in the sky.
He wasn't fearless. But he knew one thing: He'd rather hang himself from one of these trees than turn back without a clue.
Something. Anything to present to his family. To Hank. To anyone.
He walked longer. The forest grew darker. Phone out. Flashlight on.
He stepped into the blackness, imagination running wild — visions of Luke walking just ahead of him, crying, calling for his big brother.
Jack clenched his jaw. Stomped harder into the dirt with every step.
Paranoia crept in, slow as a spring cold. You don't notice you have it — until it's too late.
After a while, he grew tired. Crouched down. Took a deep breath. Checked his phone.
No service. No surprise.
It would be catastrophic if he got lost too.
Then — a sound.
One at a time. Crunch. Crunch.
Footsteps. On dry leaves. Coming closer.
His mind screamed: "Luke?!"
Then instinct cut through the hope:
"No... listen, Jack. Prepare for the worst. Always."
Slow steps. Coming closer.
Would a six-year-old step that heavy? Slowly, when lost?
He tried reasoning — but it was just assumptions. No solid ground. No certainty. Too much time. Too much silence.
"I'll kill the light and hide."
He did. Snapped off the flashlight. Slid behind a thick tree, holding his breath.
The footsteps came closer. Closer. Closer — until they stopped.
Near.
Too near.
Jack thought:
"He knows I'm here. How can he even see in this darkness? Just moonlight? Is he used to it... a regular visitor to these woods? Right now — he sees me. Or hears me. Or senses me."
He prayed that the stranger hadn't seen the beam of his flashlight earlier.
Silence.
No breathing. No movement. Only Jack, inhaling and exhaling slow and deep, controlling it masterfully — yet no use.
CRACK!
One wide, brutal swing to the back of his head.
Jack's skull smashed against the tree.
In that last flicker of consciousness, he thought:
"He found me. He hit me. With what? I'm going down I can't move. I'm losing it."
Darkness swallowed him.
End of Prologue: Part I