“No, I hadn’t heard…no, thank you, Officer, I will handle that, thank you.”

Jonah almost let the phone fall out of his hand. The whole world was empty and meaningless. He sunk back in his chair, blankly staring at the charcoal table. He let the phone slide onto the surface of the table without much effort. He rubbed the contacts in his hazel eyes nearly onto his cheeks. The chair was leather, black and smooth. The sweat from his hands slipped on the chair. His brown hair fell over his forehead. He was dressed in a maroon polo which contrasted with his light khaki pants. His beard was thin, carefully shaped around his jaw. climbing to his temple, short but full.

“Professor Abelien?” A meek voice called out.

Jonah lifted his head, broken from his daydream of nothing.

“Yes.”

He looked across the large conference room table, ten people sitting around it. Each one staring wide-eyed at him in an awkward silence. At the head of the table sat a curly haired black woman, dressed in a professional red coat with a salmon blouse. Unlike everyone else she wasn’t staring at him with a blank empty expression, but with intense fear, as if she was worried the next minutes would bring about something terrible. Jonah rubbed his contacts again, the moisture in his eyes rising and the lenses kept moving from one side to the other. The woman called to him again.

“Jonah are you alright?”

Jonah shook his head.

“That was the Arizona State Police. They declared my brother dead this morning.”

A chorus of small gasps arose from the rest of the people and they began to gossip with one another. The woman waved her hand, and everyone returned to their stony silence.

“Jonah, why don’t you take the rest of the week off.”

“No, I have finals coming up and I need to prepare for…plus I have…the…the contest and that…that…”

Jonah stood up from his chair, snatching his phone, and quickly dropping it in his pocket. His contacts were swimming and his vison blurred by the water and salt filling his eyes. He grabbed his bag and bolted out of the conference room without another word.

He hurried down the large hallway. The oak walls of the university were letting off a pale glow with the small breaks of sun through the heavy rain that fell to the street. He pushed past students, other faculty, as he picked up his feet and charged down the hallway, keeping his head down, and his eyes shut. He slammed open the stairwell and ran halfway down the steps to a concrete landing. Gripping the safety bar, he let the tears flow as hard as the rain on the window. Each heaving sob echoed throughout the stairwell. His contacts slipped out of his eyes and rested on his cheek, slow flowing tears drenching his beard and draining down to his kakis leaving small broken droplets of water on the cuffs and tops of his shoes. The stairwell door opened again. He stopped crying and quickly brushed the tears out of his eyes, crinkling and tearing the contacts as he did. The sound of a woman’s kitten heels clacked against the metal stairs. Jonah refused to look at her.

“Please Dawn, I want to be left alone.”

She didn’t say a word, just simply walked to the stair behind him. She extended her hand and gave him a pair of square golden rimmed glasses. Jonah took them, holding them so tightly that he nearly bent the metal.

“Take the week Jonah. Everyone will understand.”

He nodded. Dawn made her way back up the stairwell and quietly closed the door. He placed the glasses on his face. The heat from the moisture in his eyes fogged the glasses, impairing his vison once more. Uneasily he picked himself up, and continued down the stairs, gulping big sobs with each flight.

“Fuck off,” played over and over in his head. The last words he would ever say to his brother. Nothing in the world would ever be able to take that back. He made it to the bottom of the stairs, covered his face and let out another barrage of sobs. He let the tears continue to fall as he pushed open the door and walked across the quad. He didn’t care about the rain as the large beads splashed against his face. “Fuck off,” he heard again. He meant every syllable through and through.

The quad was virtually empty. Nothing but a handful of students poorly attempting to set up a plastic water slide. Their laugher annoyed him. He knew it was not their fault, but the dismal environment and the news of his brother’s death was enough to make any joy feel grating. He wanted to run his car and be done with it, but he knew that someone would ask. His phone buzzed in his pocket; he gave it a quick look. The screen was sprinkled with water droplets covering up most of the number, but there was enough for him to tell it was his mother. He hit the dancing green phone and lifted the phone to his shoulder.

“Hey Mom, walking through the quad. I will call you back when I get home. Yes, I know about Samson.”

Before she could respond, he hung up the phone, clenching it tight in his hand. He made it to his car, throwing the door open and tossing, his bag and phone carelessly on the passenger seat. He turned the key, still weeping, as he pulled out of the university parking onto the highway.

“Fuck off!” He heard again. He flipped on the windshield wipers; the slow pitter pattern of their movement was like a metronome sending him deep into his thoughts. He remembered the tarmac. He remembered the gate. He remembered Samson’s last few words of self-righteousness but still true remorse. He couldn’t see past his pride, neither of them could. But none of that mattered. Mostly he was remembering grabbing his bag, walking to the gate with just “Fuck Off,” and that was it. No birthday wishes, no Christmas wishes. Just the emptiness of the curse and nothing. He didn’t even know if Samson tried to reach out. He changed his number and never bothered to get a phone for his office, so far as he knew his brother had tried to reach out but couldn’t. It was unlikely, Jonah thought. If Samson wanted to reach him, he could have.

Jonah wondered if he wanted to believe that he and his brother both didn’t make the effort to see the other one. But he knew Samson. He received a birthday card from Samson every year that he never opened. Samson would put something else on the envelope but still couldn’t help scribing Yuma, Arizona on the return address. Jonah wondered what one of those cards said. Knowing he would never know he let out another burst of tears. The rain did not look as if it was going to let up. The roads were starting to become flooded and consumed with deep puddles at every turn. It was particularly bad on the roads leading up to his house. He swung the car left and right trying to avoid digging it into the divots of the road. The water splashed up on the windshield with a loud clash, breaking him briefly from his thoughts.

He pulled into his driveway. The leaves were staring to come back into bloom with little buds on each branch. The lawn looked fresh and green, but a lack of care to it. The grass unevenly cut climbing into a disheveled mess. His home was simple. Red brick painted the side of the house, like a one cohesive stroke. The trim was white, stained gray through the years of wear and tear. Small gray steps led up to a tattered screen door barely holding onto the hinges. Jonah collected his items and slammed the door shut, making his way up the driveway. He clicked the garage door open, it lifted off the ground and spilled the first level of rain onto the pavement. His garage was cleaner than the outside of the house. Large piles of papers neatly stacked on the workbench at the back of the garage. The floor neatly swept, especially around the center where his silver motorcycle was parked.

The build was a simple soft tail. Second seat, large hard plastic saddle bags, extended straight handlebars were just a few accessories added to it. It was a painful reminder. Samson had helped him rebuild it. The hours spend tediously tightening bolts, mulling over politics, history and religion. There were fights for sure but nothing that stopped the work. The Saturday when they tightened the last bolt and each one taking around the block was one of the last pleasant memories he had of Samson. He remembered telling Samson to take the bike if he was going out west, he would need it to blend in. Samson had laughed and joked about not starting a Bible biker gang. He couldn’t remember how they decided to have him keep it but remembered it had something to do with the Red Sox.

He pushed past the bike, closing the garage door as he rushed into the house. He threw his coat on the back of one of the chairs. It missed and toppled to the floor, but he didn’t care. His living room was quite small. Four pieces of furniture. A loveseat, two chairs, and a coffee table. The floor was wooden, dark and old. No amount of lacquer was going to cover its age. He slumped into the loveseat trying to collect his thoughts. Out of habit he reached for his phone, seeing that he had two missed calls, both from his mother. He knew he needed to get this conversation over. He took of his glasses and set them on the coffee table. He hit the call button and held his breath.

The phone buzzed only once before he heard her gruff voice. The rustling sound of her trying to situate the phone only delayed the conversation.

“Jonah?” She said through sobs.

“Yeah Mom.”

“Is this really happening? I want to roll over and wake up now.”

“Yes, Mom it is really happening.”

“Perhaps they missed something. Samson never said where he was going half the time.”

“Mom, please don’t do that. It-”

“I am allowed to grieve in my own way!” She snapped back.

Jonah fought off the urge to snap back. He didn’t want her to have to comfort him too.

“Okay Mom, maybe they missed something.”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Jonah!” She said, with judgement in her voice.

“Didn’t you talk to him that time he got mugged?” She continued.

“I don’t think so,” Jonah responded sheepishly.

It made his heart sink. He didn’t even know Samson had been mugged or how long ago the mugging had occurred. She wouldn’t want to hear that. Not now.

“How can you not remember. He almost closed the church over it.”

“I am just trying to think of the good times with Samson, I don’t want to think of the bad.”

“You must be thinking really far back then.”

Jonah was angry with her words, though he knew she was right. He wanted to argue and plead his case, but the truth was he had wanted to forget about Samson a long time ago and now all he wanted was to give his brother one last hug. He pushed another large cluster of tears from his eyes and jumped out of the loveseat, snatching up his glasses as he did. He walked into the main walkway, staring at the front door.

“Where are they having the funeral?” He asked attempting to change the subject.

“I spoke with someone from Samson’s church and they said they would like it there but a lot of his family is on this coast so I don’t know if that will be feasible.”

He moved to the dining room slowly glancing in his yard.

“Depends on how many people in Arizona Samson knew.”

As he spoke, he saw it catch his eye. A thick black Belgian Shepherd staring at his house. The Shepherd growled, slowly padding its way to the house. Jonah stared blankly as it climbed up the driveway to the main stairs, staring intently at Jonah. Jonah clutched the phone tightly, holding his breath. The dog crept up the stairs to the front of the door. He sat down glaring directly at the window not taking his yellow eyes off Jonah.

“Jonah did you hear me?” His mother broke in, pulling Jonah’s concentration from the dog.

“No, Mom, I am going to have to call you back,” Jonah stuttered.

He shut the phone and stared intently at the dog. Its paws seemed larger than normal. Gripping the porch with its long nail, digging deep into the wood. It made its way to the door nudging its nose on the handle trying to lift it up. Jonah snapped out of his haze and began calling 911.

“Hey, get out of here!” He shouted.

The phone began ringing, the dog looked unfazed by his shouts and continued to try to get the door open. Jonah ran to the front door and deadbolted it.

“911 what is your emergency?” The dispatcher came on.

“I need animal control. There is a large dog trying to break into my house,” Jonah shouted.

“Does the dog have any tags?”

Jonah moved back to the window. The dog was no longer there.

“I-he’s gone,” he said trailing off from the shock.

“What do mean he’s gone, sir?”

“He is gone from…from where I saw him.”

“Do you see him somewhere else?”

“No but he was trying to break into the house. He is huge, he might try somewhere else.”

“Okay sir, we will send someone from animal control out to collect him. Where are you located?”

“232 Guardian Ave off highway 38.”

“Alright sir we will send someone right away.”

Jonah hung up the phone. He wandered back into the living room. Tossing his phone on the coffee table, he threw himself on the couch. He wasn’t prepared for today. Not for Samson, not for his mother, and certainly not the black dog. Tossing his glasses to the side, he closed his eyes. Sleep over came him quite quickly as tears seeped down his cheeks. He didn’t dream, it was just black. The troubles of the world spiraled away from him. Creating a perfect utopia of nothing. He was awakened by a thump. A loud thump that sounded like a piece of his house was torn from the foundation. He felt as he had just closed his eyes but the world outside was dark. He quickly looked as his watch. A quarter past midnight. He was frustrated with himself that he had slept for the entire evening. The thump sounded again. This one startled him. He fumbled for his glasses, finding them on the corner of the coffee table. The thump rang out a fourth time. He bolted the to the kitchen. Flinging open the cutlery drawer, he grabbed a large chef’s knife. His heart was pounding. The sound was coming from the front door. He slowly moved to the door. He thought the dog had returned, doing its best to claw in. He made it to the window and peered into the yard. He didn’t see a soul. Clutching the knife harder, he held his breath and opened the door.

The day’s rain left an eerie fog on the yard. Not so thick that it couldn’t be seen through, but thick enough to give the ground a chilly feel. Jonah stepped out, slowly looking over the yard. There was nothing to be found. The whole neighborhood was in a dead silence. Making his way back inside his eye caught sight of something at the base of his stairs. He looked over the side and spotted her. Her skin was dark same as her hair save for the teal streaks that hung down in front. He was hesitant to help her, when he spotted her head had been cut. He set the knife down and made his way over to her. He grabbed her wrist to check for a pulse. Like a diver gasping for air, she sprung awake and grabbed his collar, holding him for support.

“Jonah Abelien?”

“Yes?”

“Samson’s alive.”