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I miss uncle Brayden
I miss Brayden. Brayden is my uncle. Well, he was my uncle. I guess he still is, technically. But it’s complicated. Brayden is my mom’s brother…was my mom’s brother. I always got along so well with him. Brayden knew that my mom had the same kind of gift, or the same kind of burden, that I have. In fact, sometimes she helped him with his work. Not often, but sometimes.
My uncle Brayden is a cop. He’s more than a cop. He’s a detective. He was one of the youngest guys in his police academy and he was the youngest cop to be promoted to detective in the history of his department. He was super-smart and he was one of those people who knows what they want to be from the time of their childhood and works directly to achieve it.
He knew what he wanted. He went after it. He got it. He was good at it, really good at it. Brayden doesn’t seem to have the same gift as his sister and as me, but he has a really strong intuition. He believes people when they tell him that they “feel” something. He pays attention to everything about a person when they’re talking. And because of that, he has an uncanny ability to know when someone’s telling the truth or when they’re lying.
Brayden can tell when someone’s guilty just by the way they look, the way they sound and the way they smell. It’s the same thing with innocence. He knows when someone’s scared to death, just by the way they meet his gaze, almost pleading for help. And he works hard for those people. He works hard all the time, because the stakes are so high. He’s dealing with people’s lives.
At least, he used to. I don’t know him anymore. Brayden was trying to catch a serial killer around the time my mom and my sister were murdered. And my dad, still to this day, thinks his investigation brought the killer to us. I can’t argue with him. My mom was trying to help. And the guy, or A Guy, showed up at our house. And they died. And we can’t go back.
My dad threw Brayden out of the house and out of our lives forever that night. I’ve never seen him again. So, really, he’s dead too. He feels dead. Because I can’t talk to him. I can’t see him. I don’t know where he is. And I miss him, too, every day