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He felt a stab of fear, but as his eyes grazed the interior, he saw it was perfectly normal.
Nothing was amiss.
No tarot cards.
He remembered the shadow man standing on his front stoop. And he remembered stealing his brother’s trumpet and making the deal with the man. But now that all seemed like a bad dream, too.
Whistling to himself, Jamal pulled on a jersey and some jeans. “Hey, Malik, you getting up for school?” he called to his brother’s bed across the room.
But his brother didn’t answer.
Jamal poked his head out of the closet. His eyes fell on his brother’s bed. It was empty. No sign of Malik. Also, the bed was made, like nobody had slept in it the night before.
That’s strange, Jamal thought. His brother never made his bed except when their mother threatened them during one of her manic cleaning binges after too much coffee.
His mind whirred through possibilities. Maybe Malik got up early for school, excited about his first day as their new class president. Perhaps that was also why he had made his bed. Just showing off for their parents for the millionth time, Jamal decided with a roll of his eyes.
“As if he’s not already perfect enough,” he snorted, traipsing into the kitchen, which smelled of coffee and burnt toast. That meant his mother instead of his father had attempted to make breakfast.
“Kiara, step away from the toaster,” his father said, unplugging it and handling it with oven mitts. A puff of smoke emerged from the vents, filling the kitchen with a bitter aroma.
“Uh, smells extra toasty,” Jamal said with a smirk.
“Sorry, baby,” Mom said, looking chastised. “I was just trying to help.”
Jamal sat down at the island. He eyed the burnt eggs in the skillet, then poured himself a bowl of cereal instead. It was never a good idea for his mom to cook. He couldn’t bring himself to stomach it, but sometimes Malik would eat it, just to make her feel better.
“Where’s Malik?” he asked, digging into his cereal.
His father busied himself scraping the burnt eggs from the skillet into the sink. He fired up the disposal, which almost drowned out his answer. “Uh, Malik who?”
“Is that one of your new friends?” Mom said, giving him a knowing look over her steaming cup of coffee. “I mean, you have so many. It’s hard to keep track. Isn’t that right?”
“Sure is,” Dad said, chuckling. “You’re the most popular kid at school.”
“Me…popular?” Jamal snorted, and almost spit out his cereal. He was sure he’d heard them wrong over the disposal. “You’re mixing me up with my brother.”
“Brother?” Mom said with a laugh. “What brother?”
“Son, you’re an only child,” Dad added, sounding concerned.
Mom got her “something’s up” look. She walked over and felt his forehead. “Jamal, are you feeling okay?”
He swiped her hand away. “Ha, very funny. Is it April Fools’ Day?”
His parents both stared at him, looking worried. “Uh, you know…my brother,” Jamal went on. “He was born five minutes before me. Never lets me forget it. He’s my twin. Malik.”
Now they looked even more worried. Jamal felt a strange sensation creep through his body. He sprang up and ran into the living room, to the bookshelf with all the family photos on it.
“Come look, over here…” he started, but the words dried up in his throat.
His eyes passed over the pictures. He couldn’t believe what he saw.
Every single photo was of him. Jamal was now playing trumpet at the recital and shooting a layup to win the basketball game. He was holding a first-place trophy at the school science fair. The family portraits showed only the three of them—Mom, Dad, and Jamal. Even the baby pictures, which had always depicted two fat, cuddly baby boys, now showed only baby Jamal.
There were no pictures of Malik.
It was like his brother had been erased.
