Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“People usually pretend to care.”
“It doesn’t matter what people usually do. Why are you pouting, kid?”
“I’m not a kid.” He sat up straighter.
“You’re acting like one.”
“It’s my mom.” He threw another stone. “She won’t stop praying. My baby sister won’t stop crying. Mom thinks it’s because, a couple of weeks ago, some idiots broke in and stole this stupid golden Cross.”
I nodded, saying nothing, and then he went on. That made me peaceful around him immediately, though I wouldn’t have acknowledged it then. He would talk without me needing to prompt him or say anything in reply.
“Can’t your dad stop her praying?”
“Stop her?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Yell at her or something.”
“Dad doesn’t yell at Mom,” he said like I was crazy even thinking that.
More silence. We stared at the moon and the stars. Everybody from our small midwestern town came to the lake to try to sort out their minds and the pain in their souls. I was just here because I didn’t want to listen to Mom and Dad.
“The thing is,” he said, “I know where it is. The Cross. Mikey from school… Do you know Mikey?”
“I don’t know anybody’s name.”
“Well, I’m Brad.”
“I’m—”
“Rust. Everybody knows.”
I shrugged. “Where’s the Cross, Brad?”
“Mikey told me his older brother had heard about the burglary from one of his friends. So I found the friend by watching the brother on my bike. I saw two guys who looked pretty shifty, you know? They all walked into town together and hopped on a bus to Lonham. So I got on the same bus and followed them to their apartment. Look.”
He reached into his pocket and took out a Polaroid. “You photographed them?” I say. “That takes balls, kid.”
“I’m not a kid.”
I took the photo. Then, for the first time in my life, I smiled. It felt so strange. In the photo, there was a rundown apartment with dirty frontage showing in the sunlight. There was a bright, gleaming point proudly displayed in the window— the Cross.
“Why didn’t you take it back?” I asked.
He looked at me weirdly. “What? They were home. No way.”
“Then your mom would stop fussing. Maybe your sister would relax if your mom settled down.”
“I was going to take it to the cops tomorrow. I’m just worried because Dad said they’re all working overtime to find that missing girl. The whole county is.”
“You need to take some action,” I told him. “You did good tracking it down, but you should’ve taken it.” I stood up and checked my watch. It was nine p.m. “The last bus is at ten. Lonham, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I sometimes go to the kickboxing gym down there. Come on.”
“What… now?” He sprung to his feet, shaking his head. “We can’t do that.”
“Do you want your sister to stop crying or not?”
“It looks like they’re having a party,” Brad whispered as we stood on the other side of the street, looking at the rundown apartment. This was a bad part of town. It’s not rough by city standards, but there are quite a few addicts and petty criminals. Music boomed from the small apartment complex.
I stood tall to my full five-foot-nine height. I was long and wide for my age. My body was strong from two years of training, and I was calm. I didn’t care. I think it was then I realized something. I could use my coldness to help people. Even if it didn’t matter to me, I could still do something.
When I walked across the street, Brad trailed behind, muttering about how we shouldn’t be there and should turn back, but I wasn’t hearing him. I slammed my fist against the door.
“What the… man?”
The door sprung open. The man was maybe six feet and covered in tattoos. There was an arrogant sneer on his lips right away, a cigarette in his hand. He was used to intimidating people. I’d met people like him in the gym. “Can I help you, kids?” He took a drag of his cigarette. “Or should you maybe fuck off and sell your cookies somewhere else?”
“Is this your apartment?” I asked.
“Pfft. Get a load of this. Maybe it’s your whore mother’s apartment, eh? What about that?”
Brad later told me he was shaking in terror by this point, and I couldn’t say I blame him. He was just a kid with mostly regular parents who always loved and supported him. He didn’t fight grown men twice a week during sparring sessions. He’d never seen his dad bounce his mom’s head off the kitchen tiles.
“You’ve got a Cross ornament in your window.”
A shit-eating grin smeared across his lips. He leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Ah, I see. Yeah. It’s a family heirloom.”
“Give it back,” I said.
He laughed and threw his head back, making a show of laughing too much. I wondered if he was nervous because I was giving him no reaction. “Yeah, good one.”