IT HAS BEEN TWO WEEKS, and there is still no news of Cameron.

The lilies have wilted, and the daisies have bloomed. The black and white picture of him is still watching me from the reflection of the glass. His stubborn blonde hair and the piercing on his lips sparkle in the picture from the flashlight. The stubble has been cleaned into perfection, showing off his jawline, and for a moment, no one could tell that he was the druggie’s son.

The air I breathe carries traces of salt and the sea- the same that my brother had taken before going missing once and for all. 

Everybody says it’s time to move on- that Cameron is not returning. “The ocean has taken him, Clara. What the ocean claims never returns. “

How can they make me believe it when the same had happened to my grandmother and she returned just fine a week later? Cameron is just taking his sweet time exploring the ocean, his favourite place on earth, his home.

The ocean can revolt and consume the land, but Cameron would return just fine. 

The blazing sun makes my skin ache and heats up in fright, making it look around for a cool shade. It urges me, Clara please, I beg of you. Move from this heat. 

I do not listen. I stay under the sun, away from the shade that the molten cliffs provide and let myself burn. The ocean seems to echo my name, Clara. Clara. 

It sounds like him and I am tempted to answer back. Cameron. Cameron. A lone tear slips down my cheek, down my chin and oh dear, it is the fifth time today already. 

“Excuse me, is the store closed for the day?”

A lady dressed in a thin white summer dress approaches me, her jute hat covering her face in a dark shadow. Even then, her face glistened from the pores in the hat, some of it going into her eyes, making those hazel eyes appear green. “Ah, no. Sorry, I will be there in a moment.” 

I stood up from the shore, away from the waves calling for me, my soul, and made my way towards the lady who already had her back turned to me. What a promising sight.

We both head inside the small shop a little far from the seashore where they have made a barrier with huge rocks. It appears like a hut with small windows that peek into the soul of the sea all the time, flirting with the passing winds, angry at times but mellow at other. The door that is slammed shut is pushed open with a creak, and the bell that Cameron had attached on top of it jingles to the movement. 

The air is different inside compared to the salty one outside- it’s dusty with sand and cobwebs that would not go away with every brush of the broom. It’s settled there permanently as if it is forcibly leaving its traces behind on our shop. Something Cameron would have done as well. Something Cameron has done. 

The antiques in the store shine under the golden light from the bulb, golden, never white, just as how Cameron preferred it, and their rusty scent intertwined with the harsh wooden paints hangs in the air. It should feel like home, but it doesn’t. It never has. 

The blue paint of the walls glistens brightly under the light, and the ivy creeping over it from the corner of the room has started to wilt as well as no one, not even me, had bothered to change the water for it. 

Picture frames are waiting for me behind the closed doors that separate our home from the shop. Pictures that Cameron had forced me to take, starting from the day he returned from his fifth last trip back in September four years ago and the recent one, one that he had made me take, although this time with less force, right before he had left for his trip. 

The lady picks an antique- a handmade wooden sculpture. It is long, curved at the top making a round figure and then it extends to the top again and several branches sprout from it. My heart pangs a little at the sight of her taking it away, but I hold myself back, reminding myself that it’s business. It’s business, even if it carries traces of Cameron. 

I hold back the grief in my veins and regard her with the same smile I’ve mastered over these years, your business smile, as Cameron calls it. It’s faker than the ones politicians wear. He would tease me. 

The woman paid for it and left, leaving the store once again empty, even though I am surrounded by a dozen wooden sculptures and other home decor items. I am alone again. 

I spent my time rearranging the sculptures after wiping off the dust that had settled on them. I leave the ivy behind, along with a few other objects that need mending, but I dare not touch them because they belong to Cameron and him only. They are objects that told me of his presence, not mine, and they should remain so until he returns. 

By the time I was done, the sun had nestled inside the sea, and the moon was up, singing its lonesome thoughts. The darkness around it is ever so consuming, and I fear that Cameron might be seeing the same sight as well, believing that everyone might have given up on him. How can I tell him that I have not given up on him?

I slowly walk out of the shop, locking the doors behind me. I abandon my shoes and walk barefoot on the tarred road and past the sand until I feel the cold touch and hear the song of the crashing tides. I gaze up at the moon and sigh, silently asking it, Oh dear moon, would you please tell me where my brother is?

The moon remains silent, and my question is left unanswered. I sit down on the wet shore, uncaring of my clothes getting drenched. I peer at the ocean before me, and a memory catches up with me. I was ten, and the sight of the sea was familiar, especially during the night. Me, Cameron and grandma would sit together on the shore like this and sing a song or hum a melody that appeared in our mind first. 

You have a beautiful voice, my child; the ocean would be envious of you. 

I sigh. I tilt my head and close my eyes. A faint melody enters my ears, and I hum along with it until the tide crashes and my voice mixes up with it. The melody I hum is full of melancholy, but at the same time, it is tender and loving.

I continue to hum even as the tide starts to consume me. This is fine. If you promise to take me to Cameron, this is fine. 

The wind spikes up and the coldness of the water seeps into my skin. I freeze. What am I doing? I standing up when the tide retreats only to fall backwards as my body is covered in sand. “Oww…”

I try once again and succeed. I am standing on my toes and gently retreating when a faint hum sounds from the ocean. It’s barely audible at first, but then it grows loud with the approaching tide. 

I freeze again. The melody is familiar. It is the same one that I was humming before- a made of melody that only I knew. With wide eyes, I glance around, but there is no sign of a human being around me. The sound grows loud, but it's enchanting. It’s approaching me, it is somewhere near me. 

And then I see it. The ocean is glowing. 

And in the centre of it is a pair of glowing eyes staring into my soul.