They spoke to him. He could feel the silent hum coming from them. The stars were speaking to him. Daniel was sat where he went every night now. At the top of the grassy field near Murray Street, just outside of the train station. That's where he felt closest to his family. All he had left of them was his brother James's bike, his father's Swiss army knife that he used in the war, and his mother's gold watch. Not once had he considered selling these precious items. No matter how hungry he was or how cold it was outside. Not even his bike. It was too battered and rusty anyway. Dan (as his father used to call him) was reading his favourite book - Moby Dick- when he heard a shout coming from below him, "There he is!"

He'd not seen them for years. It had been a cold day, when they left. Dan had wrapped his scarf tight around his neck, pulling its folds right over his mouth to stop his teeth from chattering. Before they had even set off, a low fog had settled over the grass, shrouding the neighbour's lawn. He had said he'd stay home. He had an art project to finish up before the deadline tomorrow. It was already mid-January, but it was the first day since Christmas when the weather was even nice enough to risk a quick blow out, when the stubborn ice had finally thawed and sent a waterfall rushing from the gutters. The way James' eyes had lit up when their Mum had suggested that they take his new bike out for a ride, Dan couldn't resist coming out of the house just to watch him pedal manically off down the street, laughing giddily, enthused entirely by the humble destination of the park around the corner. He had watched them, hands burrowed into his pockets, until they were just specks of jaunty colour disappearing down the street.

If he knew that would be the last he ever saw of them, maybe he would have said goodbye instead of begging his mother for a hot chocolate from the tiny café just across from the park.

Later that day, when the cold sun dimmed, he just assumed that they'd stopped off at his uncle's house for a bit. If he weren't obsessing over his art assignment, he might have realised it was strange that his mother hadn't messaged on their family WhatsApp chat that they'd be a little late home, and why.

He went to sleep stressed. He woke up, still stressed. He hadn't been able to finish all of his painting. Still, he realised nobody was home, worried for much too short a time. Decided to take the liberty of pouring chocolate milk all over his cereal whilst his father wasn't there to pull him up on it. Realised he was up early, moved to his father's armchair, flicked the TV on. The morning news. It was his Dad's default routine, before he began his commute. He said it was a way to make him stop being so depressed about his job, by learning how much worse other people's lives were. It was selfish, but Dan was thankful for it. Otherwise, he might have never known what had happened. Well, he still didn't. The news reel was talking about a family who was there one second and gone the next. Like they'd been a magician's illusion and not people at all. The reporters didn't even know. Were they grabbed so quickly from behind that nobody had even suspected they were kidnapped? Had they run away down a concealed tunnel or passage? It seemed like fantasy.

Maybe it was. He hadn't even thought of the possibility that the family on the news was his, until he knew it was. He had left the house quickly, throwing his satchel over his shoulder, setting off at an ok pace. Halfway to the bus stop, he found a little red bike, shiny and new. No mistake who that belonged to. It was upturned on the pavement, wheel still slowly revolving as if it were stuck under some cruel spell. He'd picked it up, carried it easily. He didn't care about the looks that he got once he got to school. His brother's bike, his brother. One of the ones who had just...gone. People were talking about it at school. He'd just about played along with it. It was only once he got home that he allowed himself to cry.

***

He'd tried to blot it out. He'd tried to forget. But he couldn't forget his brother's voice, his brother's laugh dragging in the wind. He couldn't forget the sound of his parents' footsteps quickening as they hurried to keep up with him. He'd lost the house shortly after they had disappeared. He'd tried to keep a part time job. Lost it. Failed his art course.

He'd once hoped that they'd come back and pretend like none of this charade had ever happened.

Maybe he didn't have to hope anymore.

He'd started coming up here for the stars, because stars are where angels go to rest. But surely stars didn't speak to you in your brother's voice?

"There he is!" The voice repeats, more ragged now, more frenzied. Not just a humming now, a proper voice, pulsing with the most perfect childhood rhythm. His brother? He contemplates turning around to face the street, to watch the trains pass over the hillside like bullets ripping through the grassland. But he doesn't want to be let down, to learn that he's just in his head again.

"Kind sir, we've travelled all this way to come find you. Please may we have the wisdom from you that we have been sent for?"

Now Dan does turn around, bewildered. The boy - is he a boy anymore? - is his brother. Same hair that falls in folds over his freckled face. Same glasses that he now pushes back up the bridge of his nose. He now has the thin beginnings of a moustache settling under his nose.

But he doesn't recognise him. What wisdom is he demanding? All Dan can think of is how much he wants to wrap his little body into his arms and hug him until he has no more hug to give.

"Wait, James? Where am I?" He finally manages, watching James' green eyes. Level, unblinking, undoubtedly waiting for a more profound reply.

"How do you know my name?"

Strange. James has no recollection of him. Dan has a distinct feeling that, wherever he is, he isn't at the top of the grassy field on Murray Street anymore.