Eventually, his car was found several towns away—locked and empty.
But Michael was gone.
There were searches, missing-person flyers, phone calls, and false sightings. My mother never stopped waiting for him.
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She died seven years ago without ever knowing what happened to her son.
And now, 21 years later, his necklace was hanging around the neck of my son’s boyfriend.
I needed to know where Noah got it.
I didn’t want to ask him in front of Tyler, so I waited until I had a chance to speak to him alone.
I told Noah I had something interesting downstairs and asked him to follow me into the basement.
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Once we were alone, I pointed at the necklace.
“Where did you get that?”
He touched the pendant.
“This? My dad gave it to me.”
“My heart started pounding.
“What’s your father’s name?”
Noah’s smile disappeared.
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“Michael.”
I couldn’t breathe.
My brother.
Michael.
Without thinking, I pulled the basement door shut and locked it.
“We’re calling the police,” I said through the door.
Noah grabbed the handle.
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“Why did you lock me in here?”
“I’m sorry.”
A moment later, Tyler came into the room carrying two cans of soda.
“Mom, what are you doing?”
“Tyler, put those down.”
“Why is Noah locked in the basement?”
“I need to make a phone call.”
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“The police?”
“Yes.”
Tyler stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.
I opened an old photo album and pulled out a picture of Michael wearing the same silver pendant.
I handed it to Tyler.
“Look at his neck.”
Tyler stared at the photograph, then toward the basement.
“No.”
I pointed to the picture.
