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Eighteen

EIGHTEEN

Jake Burns was never seen in Clifton Heights again. The news broke in the churches that Sunday morning, the local pastors requesting prayer for James Burns because it appeared that his only son Jake had ‘run away.’ Kevin called me about it later that afternoon.

Amazingly enough I felt nothing at all, initially. I’d returned from my journey along the railroad tracks Saturday exhausted, drained, my mind emptied. I passed a restful night after a quiet evening listening to old re-runs of The Shadow on AM radio while cooking hotdogs over the campfire with Dad and Amy.

I knew Jake hadn’t run away (or at least I thought I did) but something had happened in my head on that long, mostly forgotten ramble along the railroad tracks. The terror had leaked away, leaving only vague images and impressions. I never shared with my friends what I thought I’d seen that night. I agreed with their assumption that Jake had finally decided to flee the domestic abuse all of us so tactfully never di
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