The Cloth.

We got the piece of cloth back.

It's the only tangible clue we have to get him back. That and the notebook.

My mother doesn't even want to look at it. She's exhausted. My dad thinks it's worthless. He's out searching. He increased the search area. He's not going to find anything.

So I'm the only one who has the cloth. It's only a foot square, and a half-inch thick. It doesn't have any stitches. Nothing. No seams, no markings. I tried ripping it, cutting it. Didn't work. It's incredibly strong.

And it whispers. I'm not going crazy, because my cats can hear it too. They go crazy if it starts talking. If it's out of my line of sight, it starts talking. I can't understand it. It's just unintelligible whispers, but they sound desperate and lonely. If only I could just understand it--or them, I don't know--I think it knows about my brother.

R.C.