Return Requested

The box was unlabeled, which meant Ian was already annoyed.

His car keys jangled as he shifted his thermos to the crook of his elbow, freeing one hand. The delivery drone beat plasticky air down on his thinning hair as he signed the electronic pad with a swipe of his finger.

“This couldn’t wait until the afternoon?” he grumbled as the mechanical arm retracted. The nondescript box landed at his feet with a hollow thump. Ian stooped to grab it, but the drone whirred in front of him. It spit out a glossy strip of paper before rising into the air, disappearing over the identical, suburban rooftops of Ian’s neighborhood. The motorized buzzing fading as he plucked the curled paper from his porch. Its freshly printed ink was blotched by that morning’s dew: DELIVERY CONFIRMATION.

Ian sighed and crumpled the piece of paper into his pocket. His phone buzzed with an impatient reminder. “I know, I know,” he muttered as the key turned and he shoved the box inside with one foot. He glanced at it again. No writing. No return address.

The door closed.

Ian paused. Raised his key to lock up again.

He yanked the doorknob and kneeled in the entryway, prying open the box with scrabbling fingers. Where had it come from? His curiosity mounted as he pulled back the cardboard flaps.

He peered inside.

No matter how many times he sat here, under the sterile white lights, breathing clinically clean air, Ian’s stomach always lurched when he saw the glint of the needle.

“Just the swab.” The sharp scent of alcohol stung his nostrils. Paper crinkled under his shifting weight. Once again, he screwed up his face and tried not to picture the test tube filling with viscous fluid. It was always darker than he expected. There must be several bathtubs full of me by now, he thought dryly, then squeezed his eyes shut at the ensuing wave of nausea.

“All done!” Ian let out a breath, giving the technician a tight smile as he rose to his feet. His shirt rode up briefly over the scar stretching across his abdomen. Another thing he would never get used to. He yanked down the hem and hurried out of the clinic, waving to the familiar faces at reception.

His annual follow-up appointment. Had it been another year already? Ian slid into his car and stared at the collection of bone-white buildings. The sight used to evoke dread, fear, pain. Now, he felt merely bored with the routine of it. A year, he marveled. A year, and he was no longer dying. And Jesse, so vibrant, so bursting with life, was dead.

He sat there, ignition off, and listened to the gentle scrape of leaves against his windshield. He hardly registered the numbing of his fingers on the cold steering wheel. He was thinking of Jesse. Of the days passing by without him. Of the last part of his brother that lingered. Aboveground. Alive. Miraculously cocooned inside Ian’s warm body.

Ian flicked the switch up and down. Their faces were briefly illuminated, then plunged into darkness.

“Seems to be working fine.” He climbed the creaking basement steps as Ava hovered in the doorway. Her bony arms were clamped across her chest.

“It’s faulty,” she insisted. “All of them are. Last night –” but her face paled, and she pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Well,” Ian sighed. “I can have an electrician come out...?”

But he knew how that visit would go. When Ava heard strange noises coming from the walls, he called an exterminator, who found nothing resembling an infestation. After Ava howled that the water streaming from the faucet had turned as red as blood, Ian hired a plumber, who determined the pipes to be in excellent condition.

The flickering lights, like the rest, were only real in his tenant’s mind. That, or she was seeking attention. As Ian returned to the living room, dialing the number of a local electrician, he began to think that Ava was becoming more trouble than the rent check was worth.

“They’ll be here tomorrow,” he said, lowering the phone from his ear.

Ava beamed. “Wonderful. It’s not just for me, you know. Think of the future tenants!”

“There might not be any, after you.” Ian ran a thumb over the peeling wallpaper. “I’m considering selling the place. Jesse didn’t take the best care of it, but with a few renovations,” he shrugged. “Might be a decent family home.”

He frowned as Ava goggled at him.

“Family home? You mean – kids? Here?” She ran her fingers through her hair. “But what if it’s not just something wrong with the electricity, or the plumbing, or –”

“Ava, Ava, I’m sorry!” Ian raised a hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Of course I wouldn’t sell the house if I thought it was dangerous.”

Her expression slipped. She took a steadying breath. “Can you just promise me – promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to fix this?” She stared at him with her eyebrows raised.

“Of course.”

Such a wave of relief flooded Ava’s face, he almost felt guilty for his previous irritation. He fished his keys from his pocket, brushing against the crumpled receipt from the delivery drone.

“By the way,” Ava said as she saw him to the door. “I found some boxes in the attic.”

“They must be Jesse’s old things.” Ian’s throat had tightened. “I can grab them tomorrow when the electrician arrives.”

“I do hope it’s an easy fix with the lights.” She was staring up at the ceiling, as if she could see straight through into the attic.

“See you tomorrow, Ava.” He swung the door shut behind him. Her eyes never left the ceiling.

Ian scowled at the box as he dropped it onto his kitchen counter and began to break it down. Empty. Someone had sent him an empty box. Or perhaps the delivery drone had gone haywire. He tugged free the overlapping flaps and heard something hiss across the cardboard’s surface. Ian froze. He tipped the box over.

A brown paper envelope fluttered onto the counter. Its color was almost indistinguishable from the box’s interior. Ian slotted a finger beneath the paper flat, and out fell –

A photograph. Or half of one. It had been torn down the middle, a familiar green-clad elbow jutting in from the missing piece. Two men laughing side-by-side, though only one was visible here.

Jesse.

He recognized this photo – could smell the charcoal and feel the rasp of that itchy green sweater across his skin. The harsh kitchen light skimmed the glossy surface, streaking his brother’s eternally young face. Two years, and he would be dead.

Ian jumped as the doorbell rang. The photo slipped from his shaking fingers. He peered down the hallway to the front door, listening.

A faint buzzing sound drifted in from the other side.

SIGNATURE REQUIRED!

Thud.

PRINTING!

Another shiny delivery confirmation unfurled from the drone’s slot like a white tongue. A second unmarked package crouched at Ian’s feet. He watched the drone disappear into the hazy twilight with a sinking heart, then carried the box into the house at arm’s length.

It was heavier than the first one. He placed it beside its deconstructed twin and leaned onto the counter with his head in his hands. Through his interlaced fingers he spotted the glossy back of the torn photograph. It had landed face down on the tiled floor.

As he reached for it, Ian noticed the jagged grooves carved into the back of the photo paper. A message written in an untidy scrawl:

GI

I

BA

Ian frowned, tracing the crooked letters with his finger. He set it on the counter and began to pry open the box, slowly, as if expecting an eruption of bats to burst through the top. When he looked inside, he saw a newspaper-wrapped bundle. It was roughly the length of his forearm, and light enough to pick up with one hand. He peeled back the folds of newsprint with delicate fingers. There was a glint of silver.

He lurched backward, crashing into the stove. An iron band was squeezing all the air from his lungs. He seized the box and flipped it over, seeking a note, an address, any explanation for who had sent the mysterious package.

Beneath the torn newspaper, his brother’s photo grinned up at him, partially concealed beneath the rusted silver knife.

His eyelids felt heavy. A dull ache pulsed through his skull. Ian fought a yawn as the electrician waved them goodbye, having found – unsurprisingly – nothing wrong with the lights. Ava had not uttered a word. Dark circles bloomed beneath her eyes.

“I guess I’ll have a look at those boxes, then,” Ian said. “It won’t take long.” Ava skittered after him up the attic stairs.

“What do you think could be causing it?” Ian pulled the string of the room’s bare bulb, shaking a loose cobweb from his fingers. The stack of old boxes wilted in one corner. The last remnants of Jesse’s life in this house.

“What’s that?” Ian asked. He ran a finger over a dusty stack of photo albums; pried the lid off a box of tangled Christmas lights.

Ava’s voice shook. “The pounding in the walls? The blood pouring from the faucet?”

“It couldn’t have been blood,” he muttered distractedly.

“But it also wasn’t a normal plumbing issue!” Ian looked up at the outburst. Ava’s hands were clenched in knobby fists. A pink flush was creeping up her neck. She lowered her gaze. “There’s something wrong with this house,” she whispered. She was shrinking in on herself, arms crossing, hair falling in curtains around her face. “Something unsettling.”

“What are you saying?”

She bit her lip. “He died here, didn’t he? In this house?”

Hot anger flooded Ian’s veins. As if he needed the reminder. As if he wanted to discuss this here, digging through the scattered detritus of Jesse’s too-short life, knowing these moldering books and holiday decorations were all that remained of his brilliant, loving, life-savingly generous brother.

“I’ve got this covered,” he said in a low, flat voice. Ava flinched as if he had struck her. She turned on her heel and fled down the stairs. Her creaking footsteps disappeared, leaving Ian alone with the cobwebs and dust-covered memories.

PLEASE WAIT FOR THE NEXT AVAILABLE REPRESENTATIVE!

Ian’s foot tapped restlessly on the porch. Beside it, a third brown box.

The drone’s monitor flickered from a blank screen to a cluttered cubicle. A droopy-eyed man looked up from his desk. He spoke in a monotone, scripted voice.

“Thank you for contacting customer service. My name is Brian. How may I assist you today, Mr. …?”

“Young. Ian Young,” He squinted down the rows of neatly manicured lawns lining the street. “I’m receiving packages from an unknown sender, and I want to know who it is.” He kicked the box. Strips of a second brown paper envelope caught in the grass.

“Delivery confirmation number?”

“What? Oh.” Ian spotted the glossy strip of paper. The drone had deposited it in the nearest flowerpot. He flattened it out on his palm and read, “Confirmation…41670.”

Brian clunked these numbers into an unseen keyboard.

“Delivery marked as complete. Sender address…” He leaned forward. “I’m not seeing anything. Hang on, let me verify.”

The screen blinked. PLEASE HOLD!

Ian glanced down at the latest delivery. The second half of the photo. It showed a thinner, paler version of himself. Unlike Jesse’s photo, this one was torn and bent. A jagged hole was ripped into the center, as if someone had shoved a pen through it.

Brian flickered back onto the screen.

“Alright, Mr. Young. The sender used our Drone-on-Demand mail center downtown but left no personal information. All I see here is a note: ‘return requested.’ Of course, without the return address, that’s –”

He faltered as Ian shoved the torn photo at the monitor. The contrast between the two brothers was striking. On the left: handsome, broad-shouldered Jesse. On the right, Ian, glassy-eyed and fatigued, but grinning hopefully at the camera. They had celebrated all night; a tide of family and friends congratulating them on the happy news: Jesse was a match! A living donor.

He could see Brian squinting at the photo through the hole ripped in the Ian half. “Is that you? You hungover there, or something?”

But Ian did not respond. He was staring at the back of the photo, its jagged edges melded into one piece. There were more letters written on the second half. The message carved into the photo paper became suddenly, horribly cohesive:

GIVE

IT

BACK

Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out Brian’s words. Ian turned his back on the drone as he stumbled into the house, locking the door behind him. He turned the photo back to his own face, a crescent of finger visible through the hole in its center. With the message echoing in his head, its placement seemed ominously deliberate. A torn strip peeled from his body, small but significant. The same patch of skin now sealed over Jesse’s donated kidney.

He did not remember slumping to the floor. When the doorbell rang, his head bashed into the handle.

“Go away!” Ian did not want to be anywhere near that mechanical menace. Did not want to ever find another brown box on his doorstep.

Give it back.

Someone knocked. The sound drove through Ian like a spike. Drones could not knock, so who was outside?

Give it back.

“Ian?” called a tentative voice. He froze, pressing an ear against the cool wood. “Ian, it’s me. I’m sorry to swing by unannounced.”

He rose unsteadily to his feet and cracked open the door.

Ava stood there in a frumpy overcoat, night falling quickly around her. Her mouth twitched a smile as she raised a bottle of amber-colored liquid.

“A gift for an overworked landlord!” she cried. Then she paused. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Ian hesitated, his heart still pounding. His eye fell on the bottle of whiskey.

“Not for that.”

Ava scanned the jumble of torn newspaper and flattened cardboard cluttering the kitchen countertop. Ian set a pair of heavy drinking glasses onto the table with a clunk and collapsed into the chair opposite hers.

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” she began, unscrewing the whiskey bottle. “I shouldn’t have asked about him. About Jesse.”

Ian downed the drink in one. His empty glass thudded onto the table. Ava refilled it. Her eyes looked watery.

“Don’t. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. I mean, it’s been two years…I guess I thought I could handle it better by now.” He raised the glass to his lips.

“He looked so young. Wherever he is now, I hope he can find peace.”

“You believe in that, then? The afterlife?” He ran a finger over the brim of his glass, eyes downcast.

“Oh, yes,” Ava nodded. “The soul can linger on after death. Before our bodies are laid to rest.” She tapped her wedding band. “We gave my husband a proper send-off. Cremation. I sprinkled his ashes by the lake, on his favorite beach.” She twirled the bottle in her long fingers. “I know his soul is at peace now.”

“Tha’s touching,” said Ian. His tongue felt thick in his mouth.

“Do you remember promising me to do whatever it takes to fix the problems at the house?” Ian nodded. His head seemed to be floating somewhere above his body, but it was also far too heavy. His eyes kept drifting towards the counter behind Ava. Something disturbed him about the sight, but he was distracted by a glisten of tears.

“’S okay, Ava. Don’t cry,” he mumbled. She swiped at her face.

“I’ve tried to appease him for as long as possible. I’ve tried to find any explanation for the voices in the walls, the blood, the flickering lights. I know what you think of me,” she glared up at him. “That I’m unhinged. But I know the truth now. It’s all him.” Her voice had a rough edge to it now. She was still staring at him. He would fall forever into those endless black pupils.

Distantly, he heard the shatter of glass. His body was slumping onto the table; head twisted at a sharp angle. He could only move his eyes, his vision lurching back onto the countertop. Something’s missing, his foggy mind warned.

“I have to do this,” Ava panted. “I need to free him, or he’ll never leave. You need to give it back, Ian.” Her chair clattered to the floor as she rose to her feet.

The silver knife glinted in her hand.

* * *