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When Camp Campbell started up in summer of 2018, everyone could tell there was something wrong with Harrison.
He was thin, even more so than usual, with sallow skin and clouded, blueish eyes, and he seemed to stumble through the camp in an almost dream-like state. Absolutely none of that was normal for him. And while standing in the corner practicing magic was normal for him, he seemed intensely focused when doing it, increasingly frustrated when he failed.
Neil wasn’t worried. He was definitely not at all worried.
He wasn’t worried when Harrison seemed to look through everyone else, smiling at something only he could see.
He wasn’t worried when he collapsed in an argument with Nerris (fae had been upset that he was acting like they weren’t friends anymore, a word fae had almost never used to describe him before).
He wasn’t worried when Harrison was bound to a flimsy sick cot, whispering strange things to people that weren’t there.
He wasn’t worried when Nerris cried in David’s arms, terrified that his deteriorating condition was faer fault, while he looked straight ahead in silent terror. That stupid expression adults would make when they knew something was extremely wrong but they didn’t want to worry the kids.
But Neil was not fucking worried. He refused to be.
. . . So why was he there?
It was late. Almost midnight. And Neil had snuck out of his tent to- what? Stand there? And look at him? Why? It’s not like he was worried.
Harrison was shivering, despite it being eighty degrees and him being covered in blankets. His eyes were closed tight and he was mumbling something Neil couldn’t understand.
And then . . . something strange happened. Something he still doesn’t have a logical answer for to this day.
At first, he thought his skin appeared translucent because he was sick. But when his hair and clothes began appearing translucent, too, he knew something horrible was happening.
Somehow, despite it going against every law of science and physics, Harrison was physically fading away.
And, okay. Maybe Neil panicked then. Maybe he screamed as loud as he could for David, Gwen, anybody. Hell, he’d even take the Quartermaster at this point.
He wonders if maybe things would’ve been different if he’d actually left to find somebody. He’s still not sure why he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
Part of him doesn’t think it would’ve changed anything, though.
He’d grabbed Harrison by the shoulders, as if that would somehow keep him there, and demanded that he stopped doing . . . whatever he was doing. Because he was fucking with him, right? He couldn’t actually be disappearing. Matter can’t be created or destroyed. It must’ve all been some stupid joke, and Neil was the punchline.
He focused his eyes on Neil for the first time all summer, and gently tapped his nose. Boop.
Neil isn’t sure what happened after that.
David said he’d found him passed out on the floor, with Harrison completely gone. Of course, his first course of action upon waking up was to ramble, panicking, about what he’d seen, what had happened. What couldn’t have happened.
Nobody believed him, obviously, but they were at least sympathetic. Honestly, he wouldn’t have believed him either.
The working theory is that Neil had fallen asleep and had a weird dream, while Harrison, in some feverish haze, wandered off into the woods. There were search parties, including everyone at camp (he’d never seen David that desperate), but he was never found.
They’d eventually decided to send the kids home early. Nobody spoke as they were loaded onto the bus. Nerris sat next to him before Max or Nikki could, exhausted bags under faer eyes.
“I think . . . I think I believe you.” Fae spoke so softly, Neil almost didn’t hear faer.
“What?”
Fae pulled out faer phone, opening faer texts. Apparently, fae had Harrison in faer contacts. “We spoke sometimes. Outside of camp,” fae mutters. “I should’ve put it together . . . I’m such an idiot.” Fae hands the phone to Neil, and he looks at the last message he sent.
I’m going to look for my brother.