Chapter Four #2
“Does it matter now?” I tilt my head in his direction.
“You’re about to walk into my childhood and chase down parts of my past I wanted to leave buried alongside my brother.
Finding Harper will be much easier if I’m not walking shoulder to shoulder with someone who’s looking to harm me at every turn.
She’d want us to put our differences aside. ”
The truck swerves as a bitter, high-pitched laugh escapes Rhys. It comes so suddenly, I hastily search for the source before realizing he’s laughing at me. There’s no humor behind it, only the harsh sarcasm I’ve learned to expect.
“Don’t lecture me on what Harper would want. She wanted us. She begged for it, and you walked away. You rejected her. You abandoned us.” Rhys spits the words like a confession and a curse. His vulnerability cracks through, disguised by anger which I meet head-on with a hostile chuckle of my own.
“It will never cease to amaze me how you can continually victimize yourself. You didn’t get what you wanted, and you blame everyone else.
Never mind the way you’ve been shitting on me for months, rubbing my nose in what you could give Harper that I couldn’t.
Why would I want a life like that?” Grinding my teeth together, my jaw flexes.
I don’t have to look at Rhys to know he’s settled back into his seat, an air of superiority taking over.
“You should have taken the hint and backed down a long time ago,” he mutters. I shake my head at myself.
“I’m an idiot for thinking we could call a cease fire, even when she’s depending on us.
” Leaning forward, I turn the radio back on, putting an end to the back-and-forth I should have known better than to start.
Soon enough, we’re speeding through town after town of boarded-up buildings, Rhys jumping red lights as if he might become infected with poverty if he lingers too long.
Beneath the streams of morning sun, we pull into the main street indicated on the GPS.
Less than five minutes from now, we’ll find out if we’re on the right track.
If we’ve made the right decision by going rogue to find our girl.
However, the butterflies of anticipation in my gut shrivel and die at the sight passing us by.
Every building looks like it’s been rotting for decades.
Crumbling brick, boarded windows, and the occasional half-collapsed porch barely clinging to the frame.
What’s left of the old shops are tattooed in graffiti and neglect, while the streets are lined with tents and broken furniture instead of cars.
We roll past a community high school, or what’s left of one.
Its gates are chained shut, the surrounding walls coated in a patchwork of spray paint.
Names, insults, and declarations of love for gangs or ghosts.
The deeper we drive, the quieter it gets.
Even the air changes, becoming thick and sour, the kind of smell that clings to your clothes and won’t wash off.
“This place makes my old street look like Sunset Boulevard,” I mutter, thumbing the window button until it seals.
The glass does nothing to block out the scent of rot and oil.
Rhys doesn’t offer an answer or opinion.
He’s scanning the rows of houses like he’s expecting Kenneth to step out from behind one with his hands raised.
Suddenly and without warning, Rhys jerks the wheel and brakes hard.
The truck jolts to a stop in front of what used to be a home.
Not a soul is present along the street, as if everyone knows to stay hidden behind their closed blinds.
The Raptor’s engine ticks as it cools, the pair of us sitting for a charged moment once the engine has been killed.
There’s no need to get out, not when we’ve already gotten our answer from the view out of my window, but Rhys hops out anyway.
A rusted mailbox hangs from a bent pipe, labeling this property as ‘139 Bakersview’, or what’s left of it.
Beyond the bullet-ridden and grimy mailbox, all that remains of the house are the bones that haven’t been gutted by fire.
The walls have caved, the roof gone, leaving only a skeletal frame of charred beams tangled in ash and weeds.
The air smells faintly of smoke even now, as if the memory of what used to stand here is still burning.
Rhys stands frozen for a beat before something inside him snaps.
He storms forward, his shoulders tight as slams his fist into the mailbox.
The metal gives with a hollow clang, flying off its post and landing in the overgrown yard.
For a heartbeat, he just stares down at it, then crushes it beneath his sneaker until it’s as mangled as the ruin behind it.
I stay in the truck, watching the scene unfold. There’s nothing to see. No clues to find, no hint that life exists. My only solace is that the fire is long since extinguished and not recent enough for Harper and Kenneth to have been inside. He didn’t bring her here. We were wrong.
My chest tightens, and I drop my head back against the seat, exhaling through my nose. I’d been so sure we’d get ahead of him, that we’d find her before Kenneth could vanish underground. Now, staring at what’s left of this place, I feel that fragile hope slipping through my fingers.
When Rhys climbs back in, his jaw is locked, his breathing uneven.
Blood seeps through the white fabric of the shirt he has changed into.
He slams the door and grabs the brown folder from the backseat, flipping through it with shaking hands.
The pages flutter before he grabs his phone, jamming his cracked screen too hard as he puts in the next address.
One of the group homes Kenneth was moved to.
I try to comment that he’s better off holding on while I work out which addresses are clustered together, but he’s beyond listening.
The engine growls back to life. I can hear the desperation in every rev, the frantic need in each jerky swerve as we pull away, leaving the ashes and ghosts of Bakersview behind.
We pinned everything on finding something useful here, but that doesn’t mean we’ll stop looking.
I, personally, will never stop until Harper is back in front of me, presenting me with the ultimatum of her own.
This time, I won’t make the same mistake. This time, I won’t walk away.