Find You There

by Brianna Bennett

  It was empty.

  Rider was eight when his dad turned into a stranger. One day, he was an ordinary guy; he played catch with his kids, hosted barbeques, brought home the bacon—the works. Then, out of the blue it seemed, he started spending endless hours in his office, not coming out for anything except maybe food and to take a piss. He also forced his mom to pay for the office renovation that transformed it into his own version of the Oval Office, making his ambition clear early on.

  It was around that time that Carrie came into their lives too, now that he thought about it. They became thick as thieves, and Carrie spent countless nights in the guest bedroom of their house because she couldn’t be home alone and Henry was always with his dad. Rider secretly suspected that Henry had been the one to convince Rick to run for office in the first place, but he didn’t have any proof for that claim, so he kept it to himself.

  A strangled gurgle burst out of Lyric like a belch. Her knees turned to Jell-O, and they smacked the floor hard, but she didn’t even notice. A stray shard of one of her pieces had skittered under the shelf, so she reached for it, thumb reverently rubbing her carved initials. She put the piece in her pocket. The police have enough evidence. They won’t care if I keep this.

  “I’ve already gotten Jessie’s statement. I will need yours as well, since you were the perpetrator’s apparent target.”

  “Wow. Good to know you haven’t learned any social cues in the last year. Can’t you see that she’s devastated?” I kind of want to rub her back or something, but wouldn’t that be weird? Luca thought, even as he narrowed his eyes at the detective.

  “I’m just trying to do my job,” Detective Abbott answered testily.

  “She’ll give you her statement when she’s good and ready,” said Luca with just as much, if not more, irritation in his tone. “Just give her your business card and fuck off.”

  “You have a lot of nerve, speaking to a police officer like that—”

  “And you have a high opinion of yourself for such an asshole. You sexually harassed my girlfriend. I’m entitled to speak to you however I see fit. I’m sure you don’t need reminding that I could’ve had your badge for that, especially since your department formally endorsed my father’s campaign and Carrie happens to be the campaign manager’s daughter.”

  Detective Abbott almost choked on his anger but couldn’t deny anything that Luca had said. He wordlessly took his business card from his wallet and threw it in Lyric’s general direction before storming off in a huff.

  “I . . . need to go to the bathroom.” Lyric got to her feet and barreled out of the room, determined to be away from prying eyes while she cried. Yellow walls and dirty brown floors surrounded Lyric on all sides as she clambered her way into the first stall.

  She slammed the door closed and locked it, sitting on the toilet and holding her head in her hands. All my work. Everything I’ve done in the last year, destroyed, and for what? A tear slipped down her cheek and fell to the floor. Sobs quickly followed as if someone had flipped the switch on her emotions. She rubbed her arms and let herself feel her feelings until the ache in her chest dulled. She didn’t even look at her reflection when she walked out of the bathroom. Let them see how upset I am. I don’t really care anymore.

  “I guess classes are cancelled for today,” Lyric said to Mr. Patterson upon reentering the studio, not recognizing her own voice. He nodded slowly, cautiously, as if he was afraid of an outburst. “Is there anything else I can do?” she inquired a little desperately, biting the inside of her cheek.

  “Of course, but I was prepared to give you the rest of the day off—”

  “No!” she cried out. I can’t stand the idea of going home right now. It would feel like I was waving a white flag. “I, uh. Sorry. I just . . . I don’t have a ride home,” she said lamely. For some reason, her eyes landed on Luca when she lifted her head. “You still need to master the wheel, right?” she asked him.

  “Right . . . ?” Luca caught on to her train of thought a few seconds later. “Lyric, are you sure you’re up for that?”

  “I’m fine,” she snapped, and instantly regretted it because Luca hadn’t done anything wrong. “Sorry. I . . . Do you even want to work on a project?”

  “I never finished the key bowl from last night,” Luca answered kindly. He’s pitying me, Lyric thought. Even though she resented it, she appreciated it at the same time.

  What had he done? His thoughts moved through his mind like hummingbird wings, fast and almost impossible to see, let alone understand. His hand shook as he lifted his energy drink to his mouth, and it tasted like flat soda—too much sugar and not enough carbonation. He grimaced but continued drinking anyway, tipping the can back to get every last drop.

  His arm stung from where he’d cut it on the window, but he couldn’t risk getting disinfectant or a Band-Aid. Someone could catch him and ask questions he couldn’t answer. No, he’d wait until everyone was asleep again to deal with that. He sighed and tossed the empty can toward his trash can, habitually pumping his fist when it landed cleanly in the plastic container. Somehow, the little victory felt empty.

  Once the police left, Mr. Patterson informed Lyric and Luca that he had another commitment to attend to, so he left them alone in the studio. Luca sat in front of one the wheels, brows furrowed and pink tongue poking out the right side of his mouth. He carefully pressed his foot onto the pedal, but it still spun too fast for him. He swore under his breath and shook his head, frustrated.

  “You don’t press that hard on the gas pedal when you drive, do you?” Lyric asked mildly, and he shook his head.

  “Cars are not even remotely the same as this stupid thing!”

  “Just because you haven’t mastered it yet doesn’t mean you have to be mean!”

  “Obviously, it does!” he replied, and Lyric snorted, covering her mouth to conceal her laugh. It wouldn’t be denied, though, and her telltale pig snort shot out of her. Luca raised an eyebrow at her, and she flushed, steeling herself against the taunts he’d inevitably throw her way. “That’s adorable,” he said instead.

  Surprised, Lyric blinked, carefully lowering her hand. The naked admiration on his face made her laugh turn nervous, so she broke eye contact. “You’ve got some clay on your—” He pointed at his own forehead, gesturing to his brows.

  “What?” Lyric reached up to check and found he was right. She shot up, laughing awkwardly, but he gently clasped a hand around her wrist.

  “Here. Let me.” He curled his finger in a beckoning motion, and she leaned down until their breaths mingled. Luca carefully dabbed the cloth against her skin, and Lyric gulped, barely daring to breathe. Her heart hammered against her chest. “All better.” Luca cleared his throat, and Lyric reeled back as if broken from a spell, careening into the rolling tool cart that always seemed to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “Shut up,” she told him. Luca snickered, and she glowered at him, embarrassment scorching her neck on its way to her face. She was saved from further mortification by Luca’s cell phone, which he took from his pocket. He scowled and slid his phone back into his pocket, letting it ring until it went to voicemail. Turning off the ringer, he opened his mouth to say something else to Lyric when his eyebrows furrowed. His phone rang again, and he took it out, glaring at the it with aggravation in his eyes.

  “Hello.”

  Chapter Four

  “Your brother has been conditionally released from the hospital and will be on his way to the state mental health center shortly,” Rick informed him. Luca’s blood turned to ice in his veins. “Come home immediately if you want to say goodbye to him. Keep in mind, I’m only informing you of this at your mother’s behest. If it were up to me, he’d already be locked up where he belongs.” The phone clicked off. Luca lowered the phone and closed his eyes, counting to ten under his breath.

  “Are you okay?” Lyric asked hesitantly. Luca let out a sharp, unamused scoff.

  “No. Listen, I have to go, but befo
re I do—I want to help you figure out what happened to your art.”

  “Luca—” she started, but he cut her off.

  “Think about it. I’m no cop, nor do I want to be, but I do like to think of myself as an amateur sleuth of sorts. You like true crime; you should know what that means.”

  “Fine. I’ll think about it. Now go.” She made a shooing motion, and Luca did so without another word.

  Alone in the studio, Lyric put Luca’s work-in-progress on an empty shelf in the storeroom, her chest clenching painfully when she saw her own vacant shelf once again. Her hand went to her pocket, where her shard had been for the last few hours. She went through the motions of making a label for Luca’s shelf, writing his name and last initial as slowly as possible to keep it neat. Once she stuck it to the outer lip, she swallowed hard.

  There’s definitely something weird about this. Why would a random vandal attack a ceramic studio, but more importantly, only destroy my creations? They’d have to know me, wouldn’t they? She finished cleaning and texted Cadence for a ride home. She recalled something from the 3M podcast. Don’t certain behaviors indicate that the criminal knows their victim? She wracked her brain for more information, but it was hidden under lock and key.

  Idly, she debated checking on Luca, but then she remembered what her sister had said earlier. Why would him having a girlfriend make a difference? We’re friends. As she recalled their moment earlier, though, she started to wonder whom she was trying to convince.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to my brother alone,” Luca told Henry, who raised an eyebrow at Luca’s tone. The fact that he sounded like his dad made his stomach lurch, but he had no choice. It was the only way to get Henry to leave them alone. Once the campaign manager went back inside the house, the Sherwood brothers sat on the back patio of their home. Rider had his faded black suitcase and backpack beside him, as if he was only leaving for vacation. Daisy, the Sherwoods’ dog, bounded across the yard, bringing her favorite ball back to the boys each time she found it. They wordlessly took turns throwing it for her to chase after.

  Filled to the brim with ghosts of their shared past, the backyard symbolized so much. They’d moved here when Luca was seven and Rider was ten. Carrie was the same age as Luca, and whenever they’d played knights, she’d been the damsel that he had to save. They’d played pretend a lot, growing up. I wish we could play pretend right now, Luca thought with a bitter smile.

  “Promise me you’ll break me out if I ask,” Rider said with a weak laugh, and Luca stared at him in horror.

  “If? Rider, he’s sending you to a mental hospital! Practically a prison!”

  “I’m aware,” Rider responded flatly. “And, technically, Dr. Goswami’s the one sending me to the hospital, not Dad.” Luca pursed his lips, annoyed.

  “He signed the papers. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the one sending you away.”

  “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, but this isn’t the worst thing that could happen.”

  “Oh no? You’re being carted off to a—a—” He broke off. “Are you seriously telling me that I’m supposed to just accept that?” Daisy dropped her drool-soaked ball at Luca’s feet, and he threw it as hard as he could to the far side of the yard. She took off after it, barking happily.

  “Yes,” said Rider, and Luca sucked on his teeth, barely able to believe his ears.

  “I hate that you look and sound like you’ve already given up. The fight doesn’t have to be over.” Fresh anger, coupled with despair, filled Luca from head to toe, and he had to stretch his fingers to stop himself from going inside and confronting Rick. Daisy dropped the ball by Rider, and he flung it as hard as he could. Ever energetic, Daisy went after it as if nothing was wrong. As if this wasn’t possibly the last time Luca would see his brother for several months, potentially longer.

  From the front of the house, the Escalade beeped, and the two brothers jumped like startled deer. Daisy froze in place, ears perked up curiously as if she had never heard a car horn before. Her tail wagged, and she trotted toward them to stand beside Rider. He got to his feet, shouldering his backpack and curling his fingers around the suitcase handle.

  “Henry hates being late to things, so I should go.” He scratched Daisy’s head, and the dog whined softly, finally sensing the tension and clearly disliking it as much as they did. Luca leaned down to hold on to her collar so she wouldn’t chase after Rider.

  “I still think I should go with you.”

  “I’ll be fine, Luc. Take care of Mom for me, okay?” Without another word, wary of Henry honking again, Luca watched as Rider walked toward the luxury SUV, dragging his suitcase behind him with his backpack thrown over one shoulder. At least Carrie was going with him so he wouldn’t be totally alone.

  He forced himself to swallow past the desert that had overtaken his throat and went inside the house. Daisy trotted beside him, her ball still in her mouth even as she lay down in her bed in the basement.

  When Lyric sang along to the radio on their way home from the studio, Cadence had to do a double take. She hadn’t heard her sister sing in years. She pressed her big toe into the Beetle’s brake as the traffic signal in front of them flickered from yellow to red. Lyric kept singing, at least until Cadence turned the radio off.

  “What’d you do that for?” Lyric asked, not looking at Cadence, staring instead at the light.

  “You haven’t sung in years, Lyric.”

  “So what? Light’s green,” Lyric murmured, and Cadence accelerated with traffic.

  “Something happened,” Cadence stated, and Lyric finally looked at her. Well, she stared emptily at her, eyes devoid of the usual light that being at the studio gave her.

  “Someone destroyed my artwork, Cades. All of it, every piece I’ve made in the last year.” She pulled her hand out of her pocket and showed her the shard, tears filling her eyes. “This is the only piece I could salvage.” Cadence turned down their street, pulling into their house’s driveway before unbuckling her seat belt and hugging her sister tightly despite the gear shift pressing into her torso. “What did the police say? Do they have any suspects?”

  “Not much, and not yet. I kind of doubt they’re going to be investigating it that hard, though.” She sniffled, losing the battle with her tear ducts as the rivulets streamed down her cheeks.

  “Leer, don’t talk like that,” said Cadence, and Lyric scoffed.

  Lyric undid her own seat belt and got out of the car. “Luca offered to help me find out who did it,” she added. “He called himself an amateur sleuth.”

  “What do you want to do?” Cadence asked as gently as possible.

  “I don’t know yet,” she admitted, and they made their way to the house. “I told him I would think about it.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think you should try. Claymoor police aren’t exactly the FBI. Plus, don’t you want to know?”

  “That’s the weird thing. I’m not sure it would help me feel better, knowing who singled me out and destroyed my pieces. Of course, part of me wants justice, but the larger part of me thinks I should just let it go and hope it never happens again.” The detective’s question from earlier frog-leapt into her head. Do I have any enemies? Is there someone out there who wants me to suffer?

  “Leer, you know as well as I do that hope doesn’t work that way.” Lyric didn’t respond, and Cadence unlocked the front door, surprised to see the lights on and Chuck Meadows seated on the sofa, a glass of whiskey hanging lazily from his sausage-like fingers. A Humpty-Dumptyish man with blocky arms and legs. Her mother had once described him as a giant teddy bear. He looks more like a cartoon grizzly bear to me. thought Lyric.

  “Your mother is stopping by tomorrow,” Chuck stated casually, as if she came by often. “We have something to discuss with all three of you.”

  “Might as well tell us now.” Cadence crossed her arms over her chest and glared at their father. He stared at them, unimpressed, a drunken glaze over his eyes. He
grunted and shook his head, tipping his head back to finish his glass in one gulp.

  “I don’t want to repeat myself. I told you that your mother was coming as a courtesy, but you are in no position to make demands, Cadence.” Lyric wanted to say something, but her mouth wouldn’t listen to her, so she stood like a statue next to her sister.

  “Whatever, Dad,” Cadence said after a lengthy pause, throwing her hands up and letting them slap her thighs when they dropped. Lyric followed her, her stomach twisting with fear at what tomorrow would bring.

  Made it to the hospital, Rider texted Luca roughly ninety minutes after they’d said goodbye. Henry’s being super awkward.

  That’s not unusual, Luca replied. Should I ask about Carrie? She’s probably fine. I mean, she’s tough. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  The press conference was scheduled for 9 p.m., and it was 8:56. Before their dad became a senator, Rider and Luca had often waited until the last possible second to come onstage, which practically gave Henry a stroke each time. High heels clip-clopping on the floor dragged him from his reverie, and he found his mother wearing a brown skirt, dark-blue blouse, and matching brown jacket approaching him.

  “Hey, Mom,” he offered, clearing his throat. “Rider and Carrie made it,” he informed her, but she barely moved at the news.

  “Luca, we need to talk.” He straightened, hope flaring through him before he could stop it. Hope that she’d tell him she’d finally decided to divorce Rick the Dick, his political career and public image be damned; but she did no such thing. “It’s about your brother.”

  “What about him?”