Two nights ago, I lost my brother. He  vanished into darkness.  I must find him.  Anxiety raging inside me  like a  bowie knife slash.  I check his email, but I can’t read anything. Symbols in awkward positions – upside down, left when right, nothing in a regular pattern. I listen to his voice messages and realize  he’s a character in a play.  Where is the stage?  I just arrived –  new town soul. I need direction. I don’t know any streets or landmarks. The town only names and numbers. 

I go into his bedroom. The sheets crisp, never slept. Along the wall under a dark window  is an ornate desk, lion carvings on the corners,  a green banker lamp on top. The light points to a drawer. I pull it, but it’s stuck. I try harder. It opens, but I nearly send  the contents flying across the room. Inside I find torn map pieces.  A jigsaw puzzle. I put the map into coherent order, but I can’t read the symbols.   I finally decipher the theatre’s location. A red circle around two intersecting lines. A northern cross. 

I get in my car and drive. The radio blasts, “I am just a rat in a cage.” I desperately need to find my brother. Something is wrong. I don’t understand what. The knife cuts deeper with every lost second. I drive but the weather conditions are horrible. Snow and ice slashing through the air.  I can’t see the road in front of me. The car slides down a hill. I’ve lost control. I crank the wheel hard.  The vehicle glides into a linear course. It stops,  facing an ornate door with lion carvings. A cross facing north.

I go inside the theatre, but it’s empty. Rows of cold mahogany seats. I yell, Where is my brother? My fear echoes around the silence like a phantom twister. A tap on my shoulder,  a man with no face. He tells me in a whisper, the theatre is closed because the weather is so awful. Where’s my brother? I ask. I imagine the blank stare on his features. Everyone left for the Yukon. Where? I ask. I dunno, the voice shakes,  go north. 

I must go. I fear the repercussions. I leave the unknown town and drive with the blizzard. The signs on the road draw a blank. More unknown direction. Undecipherable language.  I keep driving. My compass says north. I’m getting tired. I turn up the radio, “What is lost can never be saved.” I pull over. The snow is pounding the car. I can’t see. White out. I close my eyes.

When I wake the sun is beaming. The car is warm, cozy. The road ahead is clear. A Kodiak points the way. I find the theatre. Where is my brother, I shout. A voice comes over the speaker, “What is lost can never be found.”