Page 14 of Finding Gideon (Foggy Basin Season Two)

Gideon

I barely slept—two, maybe three hours at most. I’d given up checking the time sometime after four, when the numbers on my phone screen started to feel like they were staring back at me.

The sky was soft with early light when I stepped outside. Malcolm’s back door clicking shut behind me seemed too loud in a world holding its breath.

I’d heard movement from the kitchen, but I had avoided it—Malcolm humming under his breath, something clinking on the stove. The thought of sitting at the table, pretending I wanted food, pretending I could swallow around the knot in my chest… no thanks.

Instead, I started a slow lap around the property.

The dew hadn’t burned off yet, soaking into the hem of my jeans until they clung cold against my skin.

My boots left soft, fading prints in the grass.

I checked the same fence posts I’d already checked yesterday, stopping at one as if something might have changed overnight.

Nothing had. Still, I moved on to the next.

Halfway along the west side, near the stack of lumber Malcolm swore he’d turn into shelves one day, movement caught my eye. Dennis trotted toward me out of nowhere, tail wagging like we were old friends.

“Hey, buddy.” My voice cracked from disuse. I cleared my throat, crouched to ruffle the fur behind his ears. “You don’t even know what day it is, do you?”

He pressed his head against my leg, like he could sense something. Maybe he could. Or maybe I just wanted to believe it. I scratched under his chin before standing again. He followed.

By the time I circled back to the side of the house, Malcolm had stepped outside—mug in hand, low fade catching the morning light, a shadow of stubble along his jaw.

He had on a worn T-shirt and flannel pajama pants, bare feet planted in the cool grass.

His eyes landed on me, then Dennis, and a small smile flickered. I didn’t return it.

“Do you want help with anything?” he asked, cautious, like he already knew the answer.

“I got it.” My voice came out flat, almost bored.

He didn’t push. He just nodded, leaned on the railing, and sipped his coffee. I kept walking because stopping felt dangerous.

At noon, Malcolm asked if I wanted lunch—but I shook my head. He let it go. Whether he understood or not, I was grateful.

Dennis stayed close, flopping at my feet, ears twitching every time I shifted. My hand kept finding him—stroking his head, smoothing the fur on his back. He reminded me of simpler things. Of before.

The ache behind my ribs grew heavier with each hour. I thought I could ride it out, ignore the sharp edges, the weight pressing on my lungs. But grief doesn’t care about timing.

It wasn’t just that it was the anniversary. It was that I’d convinced myself it wouldn’t hit as hard this year—that maybe distance, distraction, and Malcolm’s stupid smirks would help me outrun it.

I’d been wrong.

Around three, I stood inside the shed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over a contact. I locked the screen. Unlocked it again. I must have done it a dozen times.

I hated that I still wanted to hear their voices. That even now, part of me thought they might be different. That maybe this time they’d say?—

No.

The phone went back in my pocket. I slammed the shed door. Dennis startled but didn’t stray far. I pressed my back to the wall and stared at the thin beams of light bleeding through the roof.

The sky didn’t care. No one in town cared. Okay—Malcolm probably did, but he was giving me space.

The sun slid through a break in the clouds, too bright for this day, for this hour, for this ache.

I pulled my phone out again. My thumb hovered.

Three years. No calls. No birthdays. No Merry Christmases. Not even when I’d tried once—just once—to reach out on the first anniversary.

But I needed to hear their voices. Needed to make sure they hadn’t forgotten completely.

The phone rang.

Each tone rattled inside my ribcage. Once. Twice.

Three times.

Then, a click.

“Hello?”

Her voice hadn’t changed. Thin. Cool.

I swallowed. My throat burned. “Mom. It’s... it’s Gideon.”

A beat of silence stretched too long.

“Oh.” That was it? Just oh . Not Gideon, my God, is it really you or even it’s been three years ; where have you been?

“I... I was just calling to check in. See how you and Dad are doing.”

A sound, like a breath caught and forcibly exhaled. “We’re fine.”

Fine.

That word. Meaningless. Empty. Like the house I left behind in Oregon.

Dennis whined softly, brushing against my leg. I sank to a crouch, running my hand over his head while my other clutched the phone like it might disappear.

“Good. That’s… good.” My voice sounded like it was underwater.

Silence. Long and awkward, filled only by the wind and the quiet creak of the shed. Dennis pressed his nose briefly to my knee before settling again. I scratched behind his ear, grounding myself in that small act of care.

“I’m in Foggy Basin, California,” I said, just to say something. “It’s a little town. Rural. Kind of peaceful.”

Still, nothing. Not even a noise of acknowledgment.

My chest pulled tight. “Yeah. I’ll be here for a while. Helping out with—never mind.”

Another silence. This one sharper. I pushed past it.

I licked my lips. They were dry. “Do you… do you remember what today is?”

I heard her sharp inhale of breath over the line. “How could you call today, of all days to remind me? You. Are. Awful.”

You are awful . Those three words punched through me like she’d flung them from a great height.

My breath whooshed out of my body. “Mom?—”

“How dare you. Bringing this up. Today of all days. You have no heart.”

That wasn’t true.

My heart was breaking right now.

“I didn’t call to hurt you,” I said, even though I didn’t owe her that explanation.

“Of course not. You already destroyed this family.”

“I didn’t—” My breath hitched. “It was an accident. I tried ?—”

“You should’ve tried harder.” Her voice cracked, not with sadness but with fury. “He would’ve finished college by now. Had a real job. Maybe a girlfriend. A future. He’d have made us proud.”

My breath stuttered. “Don’t—” The word came out strangled.

“You were always his shadow. Garrett was light . Do you know what that’s like? To lose your sun?”

I bowed my head, breath shuddering. “I lost him too.”

“You don’t get to say that. You’re still here.”

Still here. That old guilt clawed through my chest like an animal trying to escape. My eyes burned.

“I’m your son too,” I said softly. “You can have me. We can be there for each other.”

“I don’t want a half-ghost reminder of what I lost.”

It felt like she’d reached through the phone and carved a hole inside me.

I couldn’t breathe.

Why couldn’t she love me?

Even a little?

Even out of duty?

“I—” My voice broke again. “It doesn’t have to be… I need you. I need Dad. Please, Mom?—”

“You don’t get to need me. ” She didn’t stop. “He always had such promise. Not like?—”

“Don’t.” I didn’t shout it. I just said it, firm and hollow.

Dennis whimpered softly. The dog knew pain in its many forms.

“You should have tried harder,” she said, her voice anguished. “You were there. He was your twin. You were supposed to look out for each other.”

If I weren’t already stooping, my knees would have buckled right then. I leaned forward, forehead nearly brushing my thighs, one hand still resting on my dog’s back like a lifeline.

“I told him the climb was risky,” I whispered. “Told him to come down… I tried to hold on to him, Mom… but… but…”

My whole chest felt like it was being squeezed by invisible fists.

“You think telling me this makes it better?” she snapped. “You think that brings him back?”

“No. But neither does pretending I didn’t try to save him.”

A beat. Then she hissed it, low and venomous: “I could never have a son like Garrett again. He was?—”

“I was your son too.” Then I caught myself. “I am your son. Garrett and I shared the same face. The same blood. Why couldn’t you love me even a little? It didn’t have to be the same. Just... something.”

I heard it then—my father’s voice, deeper and sharper. “Give me the phone.”

I heard a rustle.

“Gideon.”

Not tender. Not with longing. It landed like a sentence. A line drawn in dust.

I swallowed, trying to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Dad.”

The quiet stretched, brittle as old twine.

I swallowed past the knot in my throat. “Dad.”

“You should’ve known better than to call today of all days.” His voice was steel. “What the hell were you thinking?”

My lips trembled, but I set my jaw. “I was thinking… maybe you missed me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Dennis pressed his muzzle against my leg again, whining low. I stared out past the paddock, to the blurred green lines of trees beyond the field. Everything in me wanted to go back. Just one step back in time. One hour. Three years. One lifetime.

“You didn’t answer me, Dad. Do you… do you miss me?”

“Don’t twist this. You’re the one who lived. You’re the one who let him fall. We lost our son.”

“I’m your son too.”

“You were .”

That one word hit harder than the rest. Past tense.

Were.

My fingers curled around Dennis’s fur as nausea rose. My head was spinning, ears ringing, but I wouldn’t let myself fold.

“I didn’t let him fall,” I said, low and hoarse. “I did everything I could to pull him back.”

A memory cut through like shattered glass:

Garrett’s fingers slipping from mine.

The panic on his face as he fell, arms flailing, scream torn from his throat?—

And silence.

Only the wind moving after.

Silence now too.

Heavy. Final. Not even the sound of breathing on the other end.

The line was dead.

They’d hung up.

I didn’t move right away. Just sat there, phone pressed to my ear, listening to nothing. Like if I held still long enough, they might come back. As if love could echo.

I pulled the phone away. My reflection stared back from the black glass—pale, gaunt, eyes too old for twenty-four. Garrett’s face, haunting mine.

My hand dropped to my side, phone still clenched in my fist. Then it slipped through my fingers, landing on the ground with a soft thud. The screen lit up, searching for something—a signal, a purpose—then dimmed again.

It felt like my ribs cracked open, like my lungs collapsed under the weight of everything unsaid. My palms pressed into my eyes until all I saw was red behind the lids.

It was too much. Too much silence. Too much blame. Too much loneliness.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to no one, to everyone. To Garrett. To the ghost that haunted me. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

I let out a sound—something between a groan and a scream. A jagged exhale torn from somewhere deep inside me.

Into the woods. Into the sky. Into the shed wall that had no answers.

I curled over my knees, shoulders shaking.