Mark wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands as if it would stop the tears from flowing. Luke always told him not to cry. Guys just didn’t do that, and Mark was no baby. But, what else could he do when he felt so lost? Nothing around him was as it was supposed to be, and as his dad literally dragged the twin bed that belonged to Luke out of his bedroom, Mark wanted to do more than cry. He wanted to scream.

“Don’t do that, Dad!” he called. “Luke won’t like that! You’d better put his bed back!” But the mattress had already disappeared out the door. Mark turned his attention to his mother, who was purposely avoiding his eyes as she filled a box with pictures that covered Luke’s side of the room. Mark went to her. “Mom? Mom? Why’re you taking all of Luke’s stuff? Mom, don’t do that. Those are his pictures.” Mark reached for one, but Dorine quickly put the box down to grasp his hands and give him a gentle smile.

“Mark, why don’t you go outside for a while, alright? Feed your chicken.”

“But Mom--Mama, Luke’s things...”

Dorine’s smile faded and she lowered her voice. “Now you’ve got to stop this, Mark. There is no Luke.”

Mark frowned. “No. No. Luke’s my brother, Mom. I love him.”

“He’s not real, Mark. Remember? We talked about this. Now you can’t talk about him anymore.”

“But...”

“You don’t want anyone to take you away from us, do you?”

“No, Mama, but Luke...”

“And you want to see Jackson again, don’t you?”

Mark paused, his face bunching up in distress. Nothing was right. For days now, nothing had been right. He wanted to see Jackson, but Jackson hadn’t come to see him, and he didn’t understand why his parents were saying that Jackson didn’t want him to go over there. “Can I see him?” Mark asked. He’d been asking since Jackson drove away without saying goodbye. He hoped the answer had changed.

“Well, that depends,” Dorine replied. “Mark, I want you to try to understand that Jackson isn’t very happy with you right now. We’ve already talked about what will make him happy, haven’t we?”

Mark turned his eyes away from his mom’s, shaking his head. “No,” he said flatly.

Frustrated, Dorine reached up, grabbed Mark’s chin, and forced him to look at her. “Jackson doesn’t want to hear about Luke. No one does.”

Dorine gasped when Mark suddenly pushed her hand away. “It’s not nice to say things that aren’t true, Mom!” he snapped. “Jackson said Luke’s not bad. He’s my brother!”

“You don’t have a brother!” Dorine stated. She could feel her hands shaking, pressure building behind her eyes. Why couldn’t Mark just understand? And she hated the look on his face, the confusion, the hurt, the anger. Things had gone too far, and now Mark had to suffer for it.

Dorine suddenly reached for him, wanting to provide comfort, but Mark lurched away from her, pulling his own messy hair. “Why? Why? Why?” he demanded, moving to the box full of Luke’s pictures. “These are his! You can’t take them away. He won’t like it! You can’t!”

Mark finished, only to jump right along with Dorine when they heard a crash in the doorway and turned to find Raymond standing there over Luke’s now shattered camera as he looked disapprovingly at Mark.

“There is no more Luke in this house, son,” he said before looking at his wife. “I need your help outside, Dorine.”

Dorine frowned, but followed her husband, glancing back at Mark only briefly before they left him to mourn over Luke’s most cherished possession.

***

Jackson was well aware of his mother standing at the attic stairs, frowning at him as he looked through one box after another, but that didn’t stop him from pretending that he wasn’t. Until she finally talked to him. It was always a bad idea to pretend not to hear her, because she’d figure out what he was doing and he wasn’t likely to hear the end of it for days.

“What are you doing? I thought we decided that everything up here is stuff we can do without. What are you looking for?”

“A camera,” Jackson said flatly. “Any camera.” Besides the disposable one, he thought. Anything else would be better. “How is it that we have, like, a billion family pictures and no camera?”

Sophia looked thoughtful for a moment, and then a light as she stepped further into the attic, illuminating the small room. Jackson frowned. After all the boxes he’d hauled up here, he’d been completely unaware that this part of the house even had electricity, which is why he’d been relying on a pathetic amount of light coming from a sliver of a window. A dusty window.

“I think we have a few of them,” Sophia said as she knelt down next to him to help look. “Have you checked the box that old stereo’s in? The one with the brown speakers?”

Jackson stood to do just that. “Nothing here,” he said a few moments later. “Whatever happened to that polaroid?”

“We tossed that. It was a pain in the . What do you want a camera for, anyway?”

Jackson shrugged. Now was a good time to be evasive. “Just thought I’d take pictures of a few things around here.”

“Hmm... I don’t know if I can find a camera... but come with me.”

Jackson watched curiously for a moment as she left the attic, and then followed her, turning off the light on his way out. In his mom’s bedroom, he watched her reach up onto the shelf he’d installed there the week before, and a second later she was passing him a small black case that he hadn’t seen in a while. Opening it, he didn’t find a camera, but the video camera his parents had bought two years before.

Sophia shrugged. “It’s better than nothing. But, you might want to charge it first.”

Jackson had to agree. “Thanks,” he said as he turned to go. “This’ll work.”

“Hey,” Sophia called, following him. “You’re not going out now, are you?”

Jackson looked at her. “Depends. Can I use the car?”

Sophia narrowed her eyes. “Jackson...”

“One way or another,” he cut her off, “I’m not going to be around when he gets here. Oh, and if you let him stay here, could you let me know now so I can clean out the shed? I’ll need somewhere else to sleep.”

“You’re not sleeping in that shed.”

“So he’s not staying here?” Jackson asked.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to make an effort here, Jackson,” Sophia stated. “But for the record, no. I told your father that he’d have to make other arrangements.”

“Good.”

Sophia followed Jackson out into the hall, and then cornered him in the living room. “You know, you’re going to have to talk to him eventually,” she said.

“No. Actually, I don’t,” Jackson said confidently before walking around his mother to get to the front door. She still got there first, though.

“Honey, I understand that you’re trying to protect yourself here, but is this really how you want it to be?”

“What I want, is for him to leave us alone,” Jackson informed her. “He didn’t have a problem with it before. I don’t see what’s so different now. So can I use the car, please?”

Sophia sighed. “I’m sorry, but no. Your dad’s supposed to call when he gets into town and your sister and I are going to go meet him. I wish you’d come.”

“I already have plans,” Jackson said flatly.

“With Mark?” Sophia asked, raising an eyebrow. She was well aware that for the last week, Jackson hadn’t seen Mark once. In fact, he’d hardly left his room. She’d thought that the sudden dark mood her son had slipped into had a lot to do with his dad’s visit, so she’d been hopeful when he actually gotten out of the bed and joined the rest of the family for breakfast that morning; but now she could see that nothing had changed, and she was beginning to suspect that Jackson’s problems had to do with more than just Ricky coming into town. Unfortunately, when Jackson didn’t want to discuss something, it was frustratingly hard to get him to open up.

“No. I just... wanted to go do something in town. I don’t want to be around here right now, okay?”

Sophia sighed. As much as she wanted to, she knew that it would be cruel to force Jackson to stick around and visit with his dad. If anything, it would only make matters worse since he’d not only be furious with one parent, but two. He needed space, and Sophia was good at choosing her battles, which was why she was prepared to give it to him.

“Well... you could always ask Mr. Rizzo for a ride. I know he’s going to head out in a little while for more paint. He might even give you a ride--even though you haven’t lifted a finger to help him all morning.”

Jackson frowned. His mom was paying Mr. Rizzo twenty-five dollars--mostly because he wouldn’t accept any more--to paint the trim on the outside of the house white in an attempt to brighten it up. Normally, it was something Jackson would have done himself, or at least helped with, but two nights ago he’d accused his mother of trying to fix the place up for his dad’s benefit. He was sticking to that theory, and wanted nothing to do with it, but that didn’t stop him from plugging in the camera to charge for a while, and heading out the front door.

It was windy more than it was cold, and although the occasional cloud passed over the sun, it was a fairly bright day. Jackson appreciated it, the sunlight they’d had over the last week. It tended to ease his disturbing nightmares when he woke up to it, and that had happened more often lately than he found acceptable.

The darkness. Jackson hated it every night when he went to bed, though he refused to sleep with a nightlight. But every time he turned off his bedroom light, closed his eyes and submerged himself in darkness, he was back in the Tuan house. Back in the basement. He’d become aware of how much the situation had shaken him the first night he’d spent in his room afterwards, and seven days later, it was becoming all too clear to Jackson that his sudden fear of the dark wasn’t going to be as easily conquered as it had been when he was five and his dad had scared the monsters away. And Jackson had only been forced to endure his experience for a few hours.

Wondering if Mark was okay, safe, and not in that horrible, dark place, had been a constant in Jackson’s mind since he’d driven away from the Tuan house. The thought of Mark alone in that room shook him, frightened him and angered him. But he hadn’t been back to check. He hadn’t woken up early, expecting to see Mark, and he hadn’t pondered going across the lake to knock on the Tuans door. In fact, Jackson had done his very best to avoid even looking towards the red roof that Mark Tuan slept under.

It wasn’t Mark’s fault. Jackson might have thought he was angry with Mark at first, but it hadn’t taken him long to figure out that that wasn’t the case at all. He couldn’t be angry with Mark. He didn’t even know if Mark had been intentionally hiding anything from him.  Jackson simply didn’t understand. He didn’t understand any of it, and every time he tried, he quickly came to the numbing conclusion that he didn’t even know where to start.

He’d replayed what Raymond Tuan had told him a thousand times in his mind, each time attempting to recall every word until he no longer knew if he was remembering what really happened, or remembering something his own mind had fabricated. The one thing that had continued to come back to him with an abundant amount of clarity, was the look on Mark’s face.  Mark’s face. Mark was the one who’d befriended him when he’d been alone. He was the one who listened to Jackson every time he talked about the things anyone with lesser patience wouldn’t have been able to stand. They’d shared kisses, and the kind of looks that were only meant for each other. He’d done all of this with Mark, but now it seemed that he’d done all of this with Luke, too. He knew Mark, but not Luke. But if he didn’t know Luke, then Jackson had to wonder if he knew Mark at all, and the entire concept confused and frustrated him. Mark was Luke. The sweet kid with a happy smile and innocent demeanor was the arrogant, crude, prick. And Jackson couldn’t see it. He didn’t understand how one could be the other when they were so different. But he believed it.

He’d never once seen them together. True, it wasn’t necessarily solid proof that they were one and the same. But, when he thought about how close Mark claimed to be to Luke, how much Mark cared for him, it was rather difficult to believe that Mark hadn’t wanted Luke around more when they were together. And that smile--they had the same one. Even Luke in his less coarse moments had that smile.

Jackson thought back to the time he’d gone to the Tuans and found Luke there alone as he slowly walked around his house. When Luke had greeted him at the door, he’d thought it was Mark, and perhaps, it had been. The boy’s demeanor had changed only when Jackson had specifically asked to talk to Luke... and then Luke had been there.

Perhaps he was putting too much thought into it. Maybe he just needed to keep doing what he’d been doing for the last week, and stay away. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have his own problems to deal with.

Jackson could smell paint even before he saw the ladder leaning up against the house and looked up to see Mr. Rizzo slowly painting the trim around the attic window. He frowned at what he was actually considering. Being trapped in a car with Mr. Rizzo for any amount of time wasn’t within Jackson’s comfort level, but at the moment, he was desperate.

It wasn’t that Jackson thought Mr. Rizzo was a bad guy. Mr. Rizzo just happened to remind him of every old, unapproachable cowboy from every western he’d ever seen with his weather-burned appearance and tired but sharp eyes. Perhaps those characters could be entertaining in a few movies, but up close, Jackson found that men with large-rimmed hats, who never smiled or laughed about anything, didn’t make for great company.

Jackson approached the ladder slowly, feeling uncomfortable when Mr. Rizzo glanced down to acknowledge he was there, but didn’t offer any greeting. Not even a simple nod. Jackson wanted to walk away, but chose to hold the ladder instead, as if it were actually needed.

“Need some help?” Jackson called up. He didn’t want to help, either, but he figured that outright asking for a favor would be considered rude. Then again, the way that Mr. Rizzo glanced down at Jackson as if it were a skunk at the bottom of his ladder, could have been considered rude, too. At least his response was civil enough.

“Just about to come down. I’ll be heading out soon. I’m sure there’s plenty more you can help your mom with around here, though.”

Jackson frowned at the accusing look that Mr. Rizzo shot him. The old man seemed to be under the impression that Jackson didn’t lift a finger to help his family. But, instead of becoming defensive, he put his pride in check and forced a smile as he looked over Mr. Rizzo’s work. “You’re not finished yet.”

“I’ll finish tomorrow. Got to pick some stuff up.”

“Are you going now?” Jackson asked. “I mean, to get what you need?”

Mr. Rizzo stepped off the ladder, wiped his hands on his jeans, and openly frowned at Jackson. “Might as well.”

“Want some company?” Jackson asked, only to have Mr. Rizzo step past him to clean up the opened paint can he’d left on the ground.

“Don’t think so.”

Jackson stared at Mr. Rizzo’s back for a long moment, and then stepped determinedly up behind him. “Well would you tolerate some company, then? I need a ride to town.”

Mr. Rizzo looked over his shoulder, raising a bushy eyebrow beneath his large hat.

Jackson let out a breath and added, “I’ll pay for the gas.”

***

Mr. Rizzo had about twelve cars in various conditions around his house, and since Jackson had offered to pay for gas, he’d made sure to stop and get the only one with the empty tank on the way out to town. By the time he dropped Jackson off in front of the movie theater, like he’d requested, Jackson was feeling a little bit like an idiot and a lot perturbed with Mr. Rizzo for being an all-around jerk. But, at least he was away from his house.

He’d needed to get out. The biggest reason was because his stomach had been in knots all week over his father’s visit. He didn’t even know how to begin to deal with it, so he avoided it. Just like he was avoiding Mark... or Luke. Or whoever he was. Mark, Jackson decided. It was simply easier to think of him as just plain Mark. Who happened to share his body with someone named Luke.

He was avoiding them both, he figured. When he wasn’t worrying over whether or not they were okay, Jackson had to admit that doing his best to avoid them was currently one of the more important things in his life. And a lot of it had to do with the fact that he was afraid. He was afraid of what they were. He was afraid of how it worked, because he was afraid of the way it was so different from anyone’s normal standards. He’d been afraid to leave his house during the day because there was the possibility that he could run into someone with Mark’s face, and not know how to respond to it. And he had no one to talk to about any of it.

His mom. She would have been a good choice, had he wanted to share these burdens with anyone, and Jackson knew it. But he was afraid of that, too. He was afraid she’d be too good. If Jackson told her about any of it, especially the part where Mrs. Tuan locked him in a basement, his mom was likely to raise hell and drag the devil up by his toes. And he wanted her to. He wanted her to so badly that it was torture to keep it from her. He’d never felt so in-over-his-head before and he wanted to give it all away. Just let her take care of it. She would, he had no question about that. But he felt he couldn’t. It would only make matters worse. He kept thinking about what Raymond Tuan said. They’d take Mark, put him somewhere. Maybe somewhere worse than the dark. Jackson couldn’t live with that. And maybe, he told himself, the Tuans were doing the best they could. He’d seen Dorine Tuan’s eye, proof that Luke was dangerous. If they had to lock him up to keep the family safe, he wasn’t so sure that he could condemn them for that. He just hated that Mark had to share the experience with Luke. Because no matter the circumstances, Jackson knew that Mark wasn’t Luke. Or rather, Mark wasn’t like him. He couldn’t do anything that might hurt Mark. He wouldn’t. So for now, he’d keep their secret.

Getting away was a good thing, according to Jackson. And, it wasn’t as if he’d asked Mr. Rizzo to drop him off at the theater so he could spend his day watching movies and forgetting about his problems. Although, as he walked through town towards Molly’s, he couldn’t help feeling that that would have been the better idea. Unfortunately, Jackson disliked loose ends when they involved creeps photographing his little sister. And currently, Jackson had a rather large loose end.

It hadn’t been Luke. It couldn’t have been, not when Mark had been in his room when the whole thing had happened. Not to mention, Mark had been with him when he was attacked. And without Luke, Jackson’s list of suspects had dropped down to zero, which was actually more than it was less. Now, everyone was a suspect. He didn’t have a clue.

But, he wasn’t willing to forget about it. Armed with a video camera, he was following the only lead he had, hoping that he wasn’t too late. It was eleven fifteen. The week before, Judith Coombs had told Jackson to meet her at eleven o’clock, when the photography club planned to get together. Jackson had no idea if these meetings occurred every week at the same time, or even on the same day for that matter, but he was willing to find out. If anything, the trip would occupy his time with some much needed distraction.

Molly’s was less empty this time around. Jackson had walked in during a small lunch rush. It was unexpected, but welcome. There seemed to be less of a chance of being noticed in a crowd, and he found that’s exactly what he wanted when his attention was drawn to a noisy corner full of other people his age.

There were six of them, sharing two plates of greasy fries. He recognized Judith right off. This time, her jeans skirt and faded blouse suggested that she wasn’t working, and he was pleased to see a camera in her hand and a few others over the table. He was quick to take in the others: two girls, including Judith, who he paid little attention to. A guy with dark, shaggy hair in the corner seat was too big to be suspected of being at Shayla’s window. He was beyond tall, and rather big-boned. Jackson decided that there was no way he would have been able to tackle him. Another with curls and bushy eyebrows was too thin, and at least a foot shorter than Jackson.

That left two. Jackson’s eyes were first drawn to the mullet-topped guy with dark hair and artificial red streaks. He was toying with a camera, looking irritated over the chatter going on around him, which made Jackson wonder why he didn’t just leave the table. Jackson also wondered if it was possible that he was staring at the guy who’d left him with a split lip a few weeks ago. But, speculation wasn’t going to get him anywhere, so he forced himself to look over the last guy at the table, who seemed to be all over Judith Coombs.

When Jackson was in kindergarten, he’d been invited to his