Find You There

by Brianna Bennett

  “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Cadence rushed out. “Y-you left your phone, your wallet, a-and just disappeared! We almost called the cops!”

  “I told you she was fine, Cadence,” Rhythm said, strolling over and crossing his arms over his chest. Still, his shoulders fell in relief, practically boneless compared to the tension when he’d gotten out of the car. He offered his hand to Daisy for a courtesy sniff, but that was all Daisy gave him. A squirrel skittered by, so Daisy stared at it instead.

  “Wait, you thought I got abducted? We need to revoke your Dateline privileges.”

  “We didn’t know what to think!” Cadence practically shrieked. Her words echoed so harshly that birds flew off. Some joggers slowed down next to them but picked up the pace once Rhythm shot them unimpressed stares.

  “What happened after I left?” Lyric asked, and Cadence sighed.

  “Not a whole lot. Mom cried, begged us to understand. Dad drank. At least he’s not trying to hide it anymore.” Lyric exhaled and put her hands on her hips, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat.

  “Did Mom leave?”

  “Eventually. She told us that we were welcome to begin visitation whenever we were ready.”

  “I’m sorry for scaring you, Cades. You too, Rhythm.” The oldest Meadows sibling just shrugged his shoulders, apparently unaffected by the whole debacle.

  “No worries, as long as you don’t do it again. If that happens, all bets are off, and some people are going to choke on their own blood.” Lyric wanted to smile or laugh, but she had a feeling Cadence wasn’t joking around. Daisy abruptly tugged on her leash, and Luca followed her, pointedly looking away when she squatted to do her business. Once she was done, Luca fished around in his pocket for a plastic bag so he could retrieve Daisy’s droppings. Once that was done, Luca looked up and found Rhythm staring at him. Don’t show fear. You haven’t done anything wrong.

  “Luca, right?” At his hesitant nod, Rhythm continued.

  “I don’t know what your intentions are with my sister, and I don’t really care so long as she’s happy, but if you break her heart, I’ll break you. Got it?” Luca cleared his throat, fighting to keep his expression neutral. I could probably take him in a fight, but I don’t want it to come to that.

  “Got it, but for what it’s worth, you don’t have to worry about that. We’re just friends,” said Luca, valiantly attempting to ignore the way that those words tasted like lies.

  “Sure you are.” Rhythm smirked as if he knew something Luca didn’t, clapped his shoulder, and rejoined his sisters without another word. Once Lyric had talked Cadence off of the metaphorical ledge, she came back over to Luca. The elder two Meadows siblings waved and made their way toward the parking lot, where a silver Volkswagen bug waited for them.

  “Does Daisy know any tricks?”

  “I’ll show you.” Luca knelt down in front of his dog, one hand still firmly on the leash. “Daisy, high five!” The dog’s inner puppy barked happily as Luca worked through the standard tricks that he and Rider had taught Daisy years before. “Good girl! When we get home, I’ll give you a whole treat instead of the half ones that Mom insists help avoid weight gain.” Lyric’s laugh was truly musical, and Luca found himself thinking of ways he could make her happy.

  A week went by before Luca heard anything from Rider. He kept himself busy with Jiujitsu training, but that could only fill so many hours. Luca lost count of the texts he wrote out to Carrie, especially because they all ended up deleted anyway. We were together for the better part of two years. I should give her some space.

  Lifelong friends or not, they deserved to figure out their next steps individually. When his phone vibrated, he thought it was going to be a news alert, but it was actually Rider, who had made his contact name ‘Best Brother Ever’ when they were in high school, and Luca had never bothered to change it.

  This place isn’t half bad, Rider texted, and Luca pursed his lips. It doesn’t even feel like an asylum.

  How do you know what asylums are supposed to feel like? Luca couldn’t help responding with a sarcastic remark. Rider sent him a :P emoji in response.

  Luca smiled to himself, dabbing a damp washcloth against his head and neck. He hadn’t spoken to his dad since Saturday night, and he intended to keep it that way. I don’t have anything to say to him, and even if I did, it wouldn’t make a difference. He’s made his decision. Even though he’d just been texting, he was still startled by it ringing.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “I want to find out what happened to my art.” Lyric didn’t even bother to say hello back, just jumped right into the reason for her call. “And I want you to help me,” she added. “Obviously.”

  “You got it,” Luca replied, slamming his dojo locker closed. He pulled on a clean T-shirt and took his duffel bag out to his car. “I just finished training, so I can meet you at Craft Me Happy in a few.”

  “Why are we starting there?”

  “Scene of the crime. Maybe our younger eyes will catch something that the police missed.”

  “And if we don’t?” Lyric inquired, and he could practically hear the nervous lip bite.

  “Then we interview witnesses.”

  “You’re the self-proclaimed amateur detective. I’ll follow you,” she replied. “Listen, Luca, about what I told you with my parents—could you not mention that to anyone? I really needed to vent, and you’re a good listener, so I . . . anyway. See you soon.” Luca didn’t even say goodbye before the call ended.

  “The first step to any investigation is to check out the crime scene,” Luca informed Lyric a few minutes later, and Lyric shot him a raised eyebrow. “I know you know that, but humor me.” I can’t deny that his over-the-top detective act is pretty cute, she thought, forcing herself not to think about where that wayward thought process would go from there.

  They opened the main doors to Craft Me Happy, going to the ceramic studio as if on autopilot. Once they could see the familiar space and hear Mr. Patterson’s classical music, Lyric slowed down and inhaled deeply as if steeling herself. Luca quickly realized she wasn’t beside him anymore and stopped, turning around to check on her.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Seemingly deciding not to think about it, she used her key to unlock the door, grabbed her apron from its hook, and tied her hair into a braid. “Well, get a move on! We don’t have all day!” she reminded him once she found him standing still in her peripheral vision. He chuckled and grabbed his own apron, following Lyric back toward the storeroom. Even if they weren’t here to do ceramics, there were plenty of ways that their clothes could get stained that had nothing to do with crafts and everything to do with Mr. Patterson’s poor organizational skills.

  Maybe I should have gone to the hospital. He grunted as he peeled the large bandage from the wound on his arm. Small hair pieces came off with it, and he hissed under his breath. Whoever said taking a Band-Aid off was easy can go jump off a cliff. This shit hurts worse than the wound it’s supposed to be protecting!

  A single line of blood, approximately four inches long, stood out on the white antiseptic pad. The cut wasn’t deep, but it was annoying. He’d been so careful to avoid anyone finding out who he was, what he’d done, that he kind of wanted to pat himself on the back. Normally he was as subtle as a brick, but this time, he’d been able to work around that.

  The storeroom had been cleaned up, but the Lyric’s empty shelf stood out amidst the other shelves, and pain hooked into her chest, sharp and fierce. A gust of choking humid air came rushing in front the window. Mr. Patterson had clearly attempted to use duct tape to fix up the damage, but someone had clearly gotten in.

  “You know something that kind of bugs me?” Lyric asked casually. “That the police didn’t find any fingerprints on anything. Who would wear gloves if this was a random blitz attack? This person is meticulous.”

  “That, or they’ve watched a lot of crime procedurals,” Luca mused, and Lyric tried to
laugh but failed, as the noise that had escaped her sounded decidedly inhuman. He turned and found her with tears streaming down her face. This is the second time in the same week he’s seen me cry. That’s more than Shawn ever saw, and we were together for a while.

  “I just . . . I don’t get it. What did I do to I deserve this?” She stared forlornly at the empty shelf. “And don’t waste my time trying to comfort me with pointless excuses,” she added when Luca opened his mouth to respond. He closed it immediately after that. Another gust of sticky air whipped through the window, and Lyric’s eye caught on something red on the shattered glass. “Can you grab me Mr. Patterson’s stepstool from his office?” she asked, and Luca nodded, curious about what she’d found. Once he did, she carefully plucked a jagged, triangle-shaped piece of glass and inspected it, noting the way the blood had dried on the surface, staining it red.

  “Could they have cut their hand, maybe?” Luca wondered, his voice so close to Lyric that she stumbled a little bit, tripping gracefully from the stepstool and partially into his arms. “Whoa, watch yourself!” he told her as he kept her from falling flat on her face.

  “Thanks,” she said, and he nodded as he let her go. “Do you have any friends in forensics?” He shook his head, and Lyric frowned. “It was worth a shot,” she muttered half-heartedly under her breath. Like she’d seen on so many television shows, she placed the shard in a Ziploc bag. “So, we just have to look for someone with a recent cut on their hand. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

  Chapter Six

  Carrie chewed her fingernails down to the quick, staring anxiously as the elevator moved between floors. Visiting hours are from three to sundown. She repeated what the receptionist had told her in her head over and over, turning it into a mantra of sorts. The hospital, what she’d seen of it so far anyway, was clinically decorated and efficiently designed. Mostly white or off-white walls, soothing colors used for decoration, and, most of all, a staff that “truly cared” about their patients.

  If her father knew she was here, she’d be in so much trouble. Let him ground me or take my phone away. I have to check on Rider. The elevator lurched to a stop, and the doors slid open to reveal a similar setup to the rest of the sanitarium. Most of the patients were isolated, but a small group of them had started a game of Monopoly. She searched for Rider’s familiar face.

  “Carrie?” Startled, Carrie whipped around to the person that had addressed her, her heart immediately slowing down once she realized it was Rider.

  “Hey,” she offered lamely with a wave.

  “What’re you doing here?” He leaned against the wall, and Carrie had to admit that he didn’t look bad. Doesn’t look bad? she mocked herself, her mind turning traitor. He looks amazing, considering the circumstances.

  “Checking on you, stupid,” she told him reflexively, curious as to why she felt so nervous around him all of the sudden. Is it because I ended things with Luca? she wondered. I removed the security blanket, and now I have to face the consequences?

  “That’s sweet of you.” He glanced around, as if concerned that someone would be spying on him. “Come on, let’s go to my room.” He beckoned her to follow him, and she did. They walked quietly down an endless hallway until they reached a corner room. He took a key from around his neck and pushed it into the keyhole. He pushed the door open and gestured for her to come in. The box-sized room was a single, undoubtedly due to a generous donation from Senator Richard Sherwood, and Rider had decorated it with paintings he’d done in the week and a half he’d been here. He was by no means a prodigal artist, but the intent was clear, and it made Carrie smile.

  “You’re allowed to have visitors in your room?” Rider smiled, and it made Carrie’s insides do funny things, much like Luca’s smiles once had. Am I a slut for switching between brothers? She went back to playing with her cuticles, bringing her bitten nails to her mouth once again.

  “You need to stop watching so many documentaries and horror movies.” He took hold of her hand and pressed it into her lap, his warmth radiating like a thousand suns. Trying to ignore the sensations his touches caused, she responded with playful annoyance. I hope he doesn’t see right through me . . . .

  “If I recall correctly, you’re the one that introduced me to those things!”

  “Well, things are different now.” Absently, he drew invisible lines between the freckles on her hand, which sent goosebumps across her body.

  “How are you, Rider? Really.” He shrugged, and Carrie pursed her lips. “That’s not good enough,” she declared, and he stared at her, something in his eyes raw in a way she’d never seen before.

  “This place isn’t so bad. It’s better than jail. I get to practice painting without being told that it’s girly.”

  “That was your dad’s alternative?” The words came out scandalized, but internally, she wasn’t surprised. Rider shrugged helplessly.

  “I know my dad, Carrot. I know him because I see him every day when I look into the mirror.”

  “You’re nothing like your dad,” Carrie stated emphatically. Rider raised an incredulous eyebrow, and she continued. “I mean it. You’re sweet and funny and cute and . . . your dad is none of those things.”

  “You think I’m cute?” Carrie fidgeted, embarrassment flooding her cheeks.

  “And sweet. And funny,” she mumbled, heart thumping loudly. Talking to Rider has never been this hard before, she thought, ducking her head. She was sort of glad that he changed the subject.

  “I have the bastard’s name, Carrie. The apple doesn’t fall far, and all that.”

  “Your father is a paranoid, egotistical, dangerous, and downright terrifying man. You couldn’t be any of those things even if you tried.” I don’t want to think about how those words also describe my own father.

  “I went on a joyride and nearly died!” Rider shouted in response, his voice cracking ever so slightly. He shot up and paced agitatedly, at least until Carrie took his hand and forced him to stop. He met her gaze helplessly. “You and Luca were in the car with me—I could’ve killed either or both of you!”

  “But you didn’t. Yeah, you screwed up, but you’re only human.” Carrie rearranged their bodies so that she was sitting up against his pillow and his head rested on her chest. They were quiet for a while as Carrie combed her hand through Rider’s hair.

  “Your heart’s beating really fast,” he said quietly, as if afraid to break the moment. Carrie didn’t know what to say to that observation, so she didn’t say anything. She watched as he began to truly relax and fall asleep, his head getting heavy and his eyelids fluttering shut. They stayed that way for a while, and Carrie found herself dozing off too. She didn’t want to move, but a quick glance out the window showed that the sun had begun to set, and if she wasn’t home soon, her dad would have a stroke.

  So, she carefully extricated herself and tried to be as quiet as possible. As she was opening the door to his room, he mumbled something that made her freeze like an icicle.

  “Love you . . . Car . . .” He rolled over, turning away from her, and Carrie had to put a hand on her chest to ensure that she wasn’t having a heart attack or imagining things. Had Rider Sherwood, one of her best friends since childhood and her ex-boyfriend’s older brother, just said he loved her? Was he dreaming about her? If so, what was happening in his dream? Most importantly: What was she supposed to do about it?

  “Excuse me, Eddie?” Vietnam War veteran and ex-marine, Edward Mallory was the epitome of a disgruntled baby boomer. He had greasy salt-and-pepper hair in a permanent ponytail, which was accompanied by unkempt scruff along his cheeks and neck. His eyes had more bags than a department store during the holiday rush, and he consistently stank of body odor and cheap deodorant, especially in the summer.

  “Whaddya want?” Eddie responded gruffly, turning to see two kids staring hopefully at him. He recognized the boy from the news. What the hell did that senator’s kid want with him? The girl was one of the Meadows spawn—he couldn’t b
e bothered to remember all of their names.

  “My name is Lyric, and this is my friend Luca. I’m sure you know about the break-in on Saturday—”

  “Not this again! Look, I already talked to the police and Jessie about it, and I didn’t see anythin’ useful!”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to tell your side of the story one more time. You see, it was my artwork that was destroyed, and I just really want to know what happened.”

  “Save the sob story for someone who cares, all right?” Eddie complained. Luca narrowed his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, brother’s keeper.” He sneered, and Luca paled as if he’d seen a ghost. He turned to Lyric, who somehow managed to look both heartbroken and determined all at once. “Fine, I’ll tell ya, but this is the last time!” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “I was cleanin’, and I thought I heard a window break. It was real windy, especially for the summertime . . . .” He trailed off, and Lyric nodded encouragingly, wary of being overly optimistic but unable to keep her hopes down. “I keep tellin’ Jessie that she needs to replace all the windows in this place, but she keeps ignorin’ me . . . .” he scowled angrily. “Prolly to cut costs or somethin’,” He added, but resumed his story. “Anyway, I thought I heard a window break, but by the time I was done moppin’ the halls, I hadn’t heard anything else. I figured I was imagining things and didn’t bother checkin’.”

  “You potentially heard someone breaking into the building and didn’t bother to investigate it?” he asked, and Eddie scoffed.

  “I ain’t a security guard, kid, and for the record, I only thought I heard something. I ain’t admittin’ to nothin’.” Luca opened his mouth to say something else, but Lyric tugged on his shirt.

  “Thank you, Eddie,” she said to the janitor, who merely grunted and went back to his duties. They made their way outside and started walking in the direction of town but didn’t speak for a few minutes, each of them lost in their thoughts. “So . . . what did that tell us?” Lyric asked Luca, hoping he could make better sense of what Eddie had told them. Between that and the blood on the glass shard, there had to be something, didn’t there? Her hand went for the piece of ceramic in her pocket, the repetitive motion soothing her frayed nerves.