Page 30 of Into the Dark, We Go

"My apologies," he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "What brings you here?"

Mitchell interjected, "We’re here about your son’s disappearance."

Lucas’s dad grew serious, his expression clouding over. "Do you have any news? The police never contacted us."

"We’re not sure, sir. Maybe it’s best if we sit down to talk."

"You’re not from around here," he narrowed his eyes at Mitchell, turning the volume of the radio down.

"No, sir. I’m from Missouri."

"Missouri, huh… Quite a distance," he nodded to himself. "You Lucas’s friend?"

"No, sir. I am here ‘bout my sister. She disappeared. Just like your son, sir."

Mr. Whitman squinted as if trying to see where this conversation was going.

"I’m sorry to hear that. Didsheknow Lucas?"

"Not sure, sir. But before she disappeared, she took a trip here, to Black Water. Maybe you’ve seen her? Do you mind looking at her picture?"

I was slightly annoyed at Mitchell for talking over me and dragging the conversation to his sister.

The old man removed his thick-framed glasses, rubbed his tired eyes with a worn thumb and index finger, and then fished out a crumpled napkin from his pocket. He meticulously wiped the lenses before putting them back on.

"Reckon you’re right. Maybe we should step inside. Where’s my manners at?"

He held the door as we walked in, then called out from behind us, his voice booming through the house and making me wince. "Emily, we’ve got company!"

We stepped into a light-filled foyer, its creamy yellow walls glowing in the setting sun. The dark wood floors creaked underour feet. To the left, a staircase with elegantly turned balusters and a curved handrail led upstairs. The wall beside it was lined with family photos, a quiet and poignant reminder of happier times. Somewhere up there was Lucas’s room. Unless his parents had repurposed it to avoid the weight of painful memories. But I had a feeling they’d left it untouched.

I reached out to the old wooden coat rack, my fingers tracing its worn surface. The air smelled faintly of lemon polish, layered over something older—dust in the vents, dry paper, a hint of medicinal cream.

This was the house where Lucas grew up. Strange to think of him racing up and down these stairs.

Mr. Whitman led us to the living room, adorned with rustic touches, including a few sets of antlers—probably souvenirs from his hunting adventures—mounted on the walls. I tried to envision Lucas living here, watching TV and playing video games. His school trophies from football games were on display, alongside framed photos on the walls and mantelpiece.

We settled into the worn, plush couch while Mr. Whitman took the chair across from us.

"How about you start from the beginning so my old head can follow?" he said.

"My sister went missing last year, under similar circumstances to your son. She’d been out here visiting before she disappeared. You might’ve seen her? Mind taking a look?" He pulled out his phone as I restrained my growing frustration.

Mitchell was driving the conversation further away from what we had planned: concentrating on asking Mr. Whitman about Lucas’s recent visit home.

Mr. Whitman adjusted his glasses, took the phone, and scrutinized the image.

"Don’t rightly look familiar, but my eyes ain’t what they used to be," he said. "Emily, take a look at this," he called out to his wife.

Lucas’s mother, a quiet woman with a measured expression, entered the living room with drinks. She reservedly greeted us, her face betraying not even a hint of recognition, then carefully examined the photo, scanning it with her faded gray eyes. Lucas took after his dad in height and build, but his hair and eye color were unmistakably his mother’s. Now, her hair was gray, but she still dyed it the same light shade I’d seen in photos of her younger self.

She avoided our eyes, her movements tense and hesitant. It was clear that our presence made her uncomfortable.

"Who is this?" she asked, taking a seat after arranging the drinks on the coffee table.

"It’s my sister, Amanda. She’s missing, like Lucas," Mitch said.

"She’s a mite too old for Lucas, don’t you reckon?" She kept studying the picture.