Ricky turned, caught her sister's stare. The weight of that word lay between them like a brick.
"I'm not going to pry through his stuff," Kim said, throwing her hands up in surrender.
"You're not stopping me either," Ricky noted, drawing a finger along the row of books. "Shit. Damon's weird. I like it. He's got Gravity's Rainbow right in between C.D. Wright and Edible Plants of the American Southwest. And a joke book."
"Sounds about right," Kim mused. Ricky's finger paused over a book that had no label on its spine; it looked like a notebook. She pulled it out, studying the black leather cover. She glanced up at Kim.
"Think he keeps a diary?"
"I don't know, but if he does, we definitely shouldn't be reading it," Kim said. "We're not middle-schoolers at a slumber party, sneaking through someone's older brother's stuff. Put it back."
It was too late. Ricky was thumbing through the pages; from Kim's vantage point, she could see that they were mostly blank, which was something of a relief. She didn't really want to know what went on in Damon's mind. He was so … intense. Ricky stopped flipping through and went back to the first page, then turned over the next few pages slowly. Her brow was furrowed, her mouth screwed up in a way Kim recognized as Ricky's thinking face.
"This is weird," Ricky said, still turning the pages. "There's some newspaper clippings on the first five pages, everything else is blank."
"Okay," Kim said. "Put it back."
"No, wait," Ricky said, rising now. "This is weird. All of these are about some sexual assault in Providence, Rhode Island. Dated, like, twenty years ago. Here, look."
She crossed the room and held the open book out to Kim, who stared at it and then back at her sister. Ricky shook the book slightly, her expression demanding. Kim sighed and took the book. The clippings were taped to the pages, old and yellowed and looked well-worn. Ricky left her sister in the doorway, moving to the side-table and opening up the drawer.
"God, he's like a fucking ascetic," Ricky mused. The drawer contained nothing but a dust bunny, a pen, and a few coins. Ricky gathered them into her hand and sat down on the bed, examining them as though they could give her some hint to where Damon had gone.
"A Providence woman was attacked by an unknown assailant yesterday afternoon in the parking lot of Vince's Floral Arrangements on the 400 block of Turren Street. The assailant knocked the woman unconscious before beating and attempting to rape her in the backseat of her vehicle. The victim was unable to give a full description of her assailant, but according to the Providence Police Department, they believe the attacker to be under the age of 20, of large build, and may be a student at the nearby Rosen Institute, a charter school for troubled and at-risk youth."
Kim read from the first clipping slowly, wondering what interest Damon would have had in the incident. The next five clippings were further reports on the attack, each one shorter than the last as the leads dried up and the chance of catching the attacker waned.
"Besides the sexual violation, the victim sustained multiple fractures to her ribs, a broken nose, a concussion, and bruising across her back and stomach. The victim, an employee of Vince's, had just locked up the shop and was headed home when she was attacked while attempting to enter her Hyundai. The assailant attacked from behind, and the victim was unable to get more than a brief glimpse of the man before he hit her over the head with what police believe to be a plank of wood, found at the scene."
Ricky kept her eyes on the coins, rubbing them between her fingers, as her sister read aloud.
"The victim was semi-conscious during the ensuing attack to her person, but does not have concrete memory of her attacker's physical attributes. She has confirmed that the suspect was a white male, most likely a teenager, and of a large build. Anyone with knowledge about this incident or the attacker is urged to come forward and report to the Providence PD."
The sisters didn't speak for a long moment. Ricky's lips pursed together tight.
"You don't think … I mean, what's the date on that first one again?"
"About twenty years ago," Kim said. "I don't think it could have been him. He would have been, like, eight. You can't even get a boner at eight."
"I don't want to think about eight-year-old Damon's boners," Ricky groaned. "I guess they never released the victim's name?"
Kim shook her head, flipping through the pages again. "No. I mean, I wouldn't want them to, if it were me."
"Well, let me take that to work," Ricky said, getting up, determined as ever. When Ricky got her teeth into something, you'd be hard pressed to shake it free. But Kim still wanted to try. As Ricky approached, hands out for the notebook, Kim lifted the open pages to her chest and stepped back.
"We really shouldn't be taking this out of his room," Kim said. "It's bad enough that we're here in the first place, isn't it? What if he comes home, like, tonight, and sees that it's missing?"
"What if he doesn't come home, ever, because we didn't try to find him?" Ricky countered. "What if he never comes home, and Tricia never comes home, and it's all because we were too afraid of his wrath?"
"Tricia will come home," Kim said, nodding firmly. Damon might be unknowable, but Tricia? They'd known Tricia since pre-school. She wouldn't just leave forever …
Just like she wouldn't get involved with an abusive man? Just like she wouldn't get kidnapped the same week her boyfriend choked her out? How much can we really know Tricia anymore? What did all of that do to her …
The sisters may as well have been sharing the same thoughts. Kim reached out, dropped the book into Ricky's waiting hands.
"We'll find them," Ricky said, promising something she couldn't fully promise. She would do her best. She had to. For everyone. For Damon, for Tricia, for Cristov and Kennick and Mina and Ana. And for Kim. And for Ricky.
For a brief moment, Ricky felt a flare of anger inside her.
You big stupid brute, she thought, looking down at the open book. Look at everyone who needs you back. So where the hell are you?
18
"Hey, Jenny, let's get s'more beer," Four-Story called, slurring his words. Jenner stood behind the makeshift bar in the clubhouse. He was on cocktail waitress duty. Scowling, he opened up four more beers and brought them over the men gathered around a poker table.
"Anything else?" Jenner mumbled.
"Fuck off," Rock growled, taking the beer and swilling from it, hard. The men were intent on getting wasted that night, it seemed.
"Wait," Crow said as Jenner turned around, an evil smirk on his face. "Has anyone told you yet?"
"Told me what?" Jenner asked, feeling his shoulders sag. Whatever it was, it was probably bad news.
"Shut the fuck up, Crow," Rock said, finishing off the rest of his beer and reaching for the fourth that Jenner brought over. He always planned ahead when Rock was drinking. It saved him a trip.
"What?" Crow said, glaring at Rock. "I think our little maid deserves to know what's going to happen to his lil' buddy."
Jenner's interest rose.
"Don't think Roper wants ‘im to know," Rock growled, meeting Crow glare for glare. The men were well into the bottle by now, and as much as Jenner liked seeing his captors taking a beating, especially at each other's hands, he didn't look forward to the clean-up.
"Why not?" Crow spat back. "Not like he can go runnin' off to warn nobody. ‘Sides, he's gonna find out anyway."
"How's he gonna do that?" Rock argued.
"Well, who the hell is gonna watch ‘im when we off to Miami? He's comin' with us, ain't he?"
The conversation was making Jenner's head spin.
"Like hell he is," Rock said, slamming the half-empty beer down. "We ain't draggin' no pansy-ass gypsy traitor along with us."
"That's for Roper to decide," Four-Story said, adding his two cents to the argument.
"And it's for Roper to decide what to tell ‘im, and when," Rock grumbled, glancing up at Jenner with pure malice.
"What's for me to decide now, boys?" called a fourth voice entering the room. Immediately, the three men straightened up in their seats; Jenner, too, stood up a bit taller, caught by the gravity of the man's countenance as he approached.
"Crow here wants to go blabbin' to our pretty lil' housemaid about Miami," Rock said, throwing a sneer in Crow's direction, his voice not unlike a younger brother tattling on his older sibling.
"Beer," Roper demanded, fixing Jenner in his gaze. Jenner made his way back to the bar and returned quickly, handing the President a frosty beer. Roper didn't try to hide his smile as he took a long sip; before Jenner could see what was going to happen, he felt a thick spray against his face as Roper spit the booze back at him, making the whole table laugh. Jenner bit back the curses in his throat, knowing they'd only make more trouble for him. He wiped his face with his shirt sleeve and turned to go back to the relative safety of the bar.