Available Darkness Season 1

of place.
    He opened his eyes and scanned the kitchen. The itch in his brain grew stronger. John looked at the fridge and immediately saw what he hadn’t quite known he was looking for. Beneath one of the six Pizza House magnets that blotted the fridge, was a business card that stuck out like a light in the darkness.
    What’s this?
    Hope had come home late last night, out with friends, so they’d not had a chance to talk, really. She hadn’t mentioned the card, or why it was on the fridge. John could see Private Investigator in Helvetica across the card before he reached the fridge. His itch grew to a steady buzz and swarmed like muffled, angry bees inside his brain.
    His fingers touched the card. Sudden sickness swept through him, his stomach rolled, and Jacob’s image bubbled in his mind.
    John dropped the phone and raced upstairs to where Hope was still sleeping. He flipped the light switch and shook her awake, holding the card in front of her, “Who gave you this card?”
    Hope woke, confused, worried, “What’s wrong?”
    “The card—who gave you this?”
    “A private investigator came around yesterday, the Ashbys hired him to help find their daughter.”
    “What did he look like?”
    She told him, then said, “Why? What’s wrong?”
    “I need you to tell me everything he said, everything he asked you.”
    “What’s going on?” Hope’s eyes were wide, her voice high, and fingers clenched her pillow.
    “What did he say?”
    She told him, as best she could remember in her sleepy haze. Then she remembered that the man had asked John to call him.
    “He wants to talk to you.”
    John shook his head, sorting his thoughts.
    He’s found me.
    “Who is he, John?”
    “We have to go.”
    “What are you talking about? Go where? What’s going on?!”
    John ran to the closet, grabbed a duffel bag, crossed the room to his nightstand in three long strides, grabbed the keys, went to the trunk, grabbed some items, shoved them in his bag, and closed the zipper.
    “What’s going on? Tell me, John!”
    “I don’t have time to tell you now, you have to trust me. That man who came to the house is dangerous.”
    “Who is he?”
    “My brother,” John said, as he raced downstairs and grabbed the phone off the floor, “Larry, we’re coming over. Now!”
    “Come on!” John yelled to Hope, “We need to go now!”
    “But,” she called from upstairs, “I need to pack some—”
    “There’s no time,” John called out, “we’ll get anything you need on—”
    The doorbell cut him short.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 4 — Caleb, John, and Hope

    Caleb

    Caleb rang the doorbell again.
    Agent Michael Wu, a young agent who’d been with his group for about six months, stood beside him. Wu was quiet, but discerning, usually able to pick up on the subtleties most people missed in conversation. Plus, Caleb smiled at the thought, Wu was a helluva shot.
    The door opened and a dark-haired man in his late 20’s said, “Hello?”
    He was obviously harried, but there was something else, too. Something in his eyes, something odd, or almost familiar , which caused Caleb to pause and involuntarily put two fingers to his right temple.
    Wu introduced them both, then informed the man that they were talking to neighbors about the missing Ashby girl, particularly about a co-worker of hers, Maribel Ruiz, who’d been murdered yesterday.
    “No, I’ve never seen her,” John said, “didn’t know Rebecca, either.”
    “Is there anyone else home we can talk to?” Caleb said, still unable to shake the oddly familiar emanating from the stranger at the door.
    Where have I seen this guy before? I know I’ve seen him somewhere.
    He didn’t think the man at the door was guilty of murder, but there was something off about him—aside from the weird vibe of familiarity Caleb was getting.
    This guy knows something.
    “My girlfriend, but she’s still in bed,” John said.
    “Would you mind?” Wu asked.
    “You want me to wake her?”
    “We wouldn’t ask, but time is of the essence.”

    **

    John

    John invited the FBI agents inside and offered them seats in the living room. They declined, preferring to shuffle their feet on the porch. John shrugged as though he couldn’t care less, then raced up the stairs, two and three steps at a time.
    His mind and heart were thudding. He hoped he’d been able to hide his shock at seeing his brother. John figured Caleb’s mind must be turning, trying to untangle John’s reaction.
    John