Part 15

"You're such a klutz!" The female voice piped up from behind him. A second voice followed.

"Oh man, that sounded like something broke," it was Elvis. August recognized the woman's voice as well. The voice belonged to Merriam, a friend he had made during a freshman Calculus class. She was loud, brash but also a fellow mythology enthusiast. They just gravitated to each other while studying derivatives, limits and integrals.

"You jumped like my little sister. That was hilarious!" Ever indolent Merriam liked to tease her contemporaries mercilessly. August had bent down into a crouch and stared at the box which was laying askew on the hard tile floor. Elvis and Merriam walked up beside him. The two gave each other a sideways glass as they flanked August, who seemed absorbed and just looking at the fallen package. Elvis raised an eyebrow then asked.

"Aren't you going to pick it up?"

"He's probably going to drop it again. Better just leave it on the floor" Merriam chided August while giving him a playful punch on the arm. August finally looked up at her and smiled. He did like the banter Merriam and he shared. He thought of her like a sister. Well, maybe not a sister, but definitely a cousin at the very least.

Merriam definitely danced to her own beat - and many would consider that beat to be dark and angry. She was a short and thin girl, coming up an entire foot shorter than August's lanky frame. Due to her thinness and pixie-like appearance, her age was often misquoted. She was even banned from watching a "rated-R" horror movie by an unbelieving theater manager after unfortunately forgetting her drivers license at home.

Merriam often liked to color her hair different colors and tonight it looked like she had chosen to tint it black. Her raven hair shined like a slick of oil on fresh laid asphalt. It appeared to have a purple tinge to it as well. Quite interestingly to August, Merriam had left a thick strand of white along her left brow. For additional shock value no doubt, August presumed.

With her dark purplish hair pulled back into two symmetrical pigtails and her dark shaded eye liner, August figured she was going for the "Goth" look. Merriam did not consider herself a part of this social movement. Merriam was actually another doctoral student at Saint Kristoffer's in the field of Sociology and Social Dynamics. Another genius, but not a lazy one like Elvis.

Merriam would be considered the polar opposite of lazy. Her peers and professors went as far as to say she was overly assertive, uncommonly aggressive and driven to the point of zealotry when it came to her research. And in this case, her research revolved around social stylings and patterns among teenagers and youths in America.

Her brand of genius, while definitely much more productive than Elvis', still inhabited the same region that bordered on insanity. When thinking of Merriam's research tactics and direction, August often thought of the Shakespearean line from Hamlet: "Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.

August had always wanted to play the part of Hamlet during his high school's rendition of the famous play, but the lead role he coveted was given to Vince Capp, a star soccer player who needed an additional Humanities credit to ensure he received his scholarship.

"What is that?" Elvis's curiosity had been peaked, "Was it fragile. I heard a crack, did you hear a crack?"

"Yeah, I heard it break. It definitely cracked," Merriam said bending down to reach for it, "let's see what happened". Before she could reach out and pick up the package August abruptly put a hand on her wrist to stop her.

"Hey!" Merriam said annoyed, "I was just trying to help you", she pulled her hand back quickly and straightened up. August ignored her reaction and continued to stare at the package on the ground. The box was lying top down so the two newcomers could not see to whom the box had been addressed.

The rest of the package looked quick nondescript. It was simply a small shipping box made of card board and sealed with a sturdy invisible packing tape. August reached out and gingerly picked it up. Just before he touched it he had a strange but fleeting thought that his fingertips would dissolve the box upon contact. As if touching the box again would be enough to crush it into dust. August pushed the strange premonition from his mind and lifted the box.

Much to his relief the box did not crumble yet held firm. The cool cardboard was reassuring to his hands. August rose to stand as he picked up the box and set it back upon the counter top. He flipped the box over just before setting it down and stared at the addressee line again.

Merriam had already gotten bored with August's odd spectacle and had withdrawn her cell phone from the small clutch purse she was carrying. She looked intently at the screen reading a new text message then began a hurried response, typing deftly into the keys.

Elvis, on the other hand, was much more nosy. He peered over August's shoulder to see who the box was addressed to. August pryed his attention from the box and finally noticed Elvis staring at the addressee line. August's first reaction was to cover the addressee line or to pull the box away to cover the addressee line.

However, August could tell he was too late, Elvis's face was contorted in concentration. The wheels of thought inside Elvis's mind began to churn. It took him a moment before he was able to connect all of it. For the first time in many years Elvis was struck dumbfounded for a moment. Elvis slowly turned his head to face August then asked.

"Is that addressed to who I think it is?

Part 14

"Stop right there!"

For most boys, those three words actually mean, "run". The boys scattered. Most executed a Baryshnikov-esque jump turn and sprinted back down the hill. A gymnastics coach would have been pleased by the grace and execution that the boys had displayed in their haste to escape.

However, two boys had stood still. The first, was August. Though his mind was screaming frantically, begging his feet to run, his body stood motionless, paralyzed by both fear and guilt. The synapses in his brain stopped firing and whatever signal his mind was trying to send was not getting through.

How pathetic, August thought. His response to a traumatic situation was neither "fight" nor "flight", it was simply, "quiver in fear".

The other boy that had not moved did not stay because of fear. He would have been the first back down the hill had the next two words yelled caught him.

"Fredrick Canon!" It was Freddie's father. The owner of the big red truck and the school's janitor.

Calamitous for both Freddie and August, the owner of the beige sedan was Mr. Bridger, the school's principal. Both Mr. Bridger and the elder Canon were now steaming straight towards the two frozen boys.

"Did you see what you did to my car?" Mr. Bridger was livid. He had always been a man with a short fuse and a volatile tempter. He enjoyed the structure and power of administration, but had little patience for students. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Freddie, what happened? Who did this?" Mr. Canon was much level headed, but his voice and tone still carried the same severity and weight. He had received the school board's letters advising against the use of the school's fields. As an employee of the school itself, he knew he would be held to a higher standard.

Freddie remained quiet. Mr. Bridger knew him well, for Freddie had been sent to his office several times for acting up in class. Once Freddie bloodied another kid's nose after that student had teased that Freddie was going to follow in his father's footsteps.

"Who did this!" Mr. Bridger was nearly screaming. August could see an angry blood vessel pulsating in the corner of the principal's brow. August worried that it might burst and spray them all in hot human blood.

Freddie still remained silent.

"You," Bridger now focused his wrath on August, "I'm only going to ask you once, do you want to be suspended?" he threatened, "Who did this?" Mr. Bridger paused between each word wanting to hammer home the severity of the crime.

"Do you know how much this will cost?" Bridger was always aware of the costs of such things.

Freddie was accustomed to these types of brow-beatings. He had weathered many berating from figures of authority and these censures held little sway. For August, on the other hand, this type of rebuke was new beast of the outside world. August's parents adhered to a strict no-shouting and no-corporal punishment regimen during his childhood. August was inexperienced in this type of interrogation.

Knowing he was raised not to be a liar, August prepared himself to confess. He would withstand the verbal assault and the impending punishment his parents would dole out. At the same time, he had hoped to gain favor amongst the neighborhood boys by rightfully taking the blame, saving the rest of them from punishment. August saw himself as a noble samurai, who would fall on his own sword.

But, during his confession, August's throat seized up at the most inopportune time. Raising his hand and extending his index finger August moved up to point to Freddie. August began his admission.

"He..." was all August was able to utter before his words failed him. Maybe he hadn't yet caught his breath from the run up the hill. Maybe he was overly nervous because of the violence in Mr. Bridger's voice. Maybe a bug had flown into his mouth and stopped his vocal cords from working properly.

In his mind August was saying "He gave me a ball and I threw it up and it came down on your windshield. I did it but it was an accident". But all that came out was, "he".

This one word coupled with August's accusatory finger pointed directly at Freddie was enough to convict him front of his father and the school's principal. August immediately realized his error but the tirade had already begun and he was quickly drowned out. Mr. Bridger railed on Freddie, then yelled at Freddie's father. He yelled and pouted like a petulant child. Eventually, when Mr. Bridger stopped to catch his breath, Mr. Canon said calmly.

"We'll pay to have it replaced Mr. Bridger."

Freddie said nothing. He knew that with his reputation and words of denial would be moot. His case was lost with one simple word and point from August. August stood witness as Freddie was unceremoniously lead to his father's truck like a convict being sent to the penitentiary.

The look that Freddie gave to him as they big red truck pulled away was only sign August needed to know that his existence among the neighborhood boys was extinguished.

Part 13

Sports coordination had not been a priority during August's formative years. His parent's valued music and art, and thus August never quite developed a knack for physical activities. But, he was stubborn to prove his own insecurities wrong and attempted to fit in with all of the neighborhood boys.

The field behind the school was considered off limits when school was not in session. School officials claimed that due to very slim budgets and the high cost of grass seeds and fertilizer, the school grounds must only be used for school sanctioned activities. But, try telling that to a group of rambunctious boys wanting to play baseball or football. The fields near the school had the best grass and it seemed that the ground was softer when you weren't supposed to be on it.

The neighborhood boys were a tight knit gang, with a few having been born at the same hospital within a few months of each other. Sure new children would move into the neighborhood, but as long as they fit in, they were usually accepted - or at the least, tolerated. August knew this is where he had to make his mark. He didn't want to lead, he didn't want to be popular, he just wanted to fit in.

That particular summer, the children in the neighborhood had been warned several times to stay off the fields near the school. Educational officials had sent several letters to all of the homes requesting parents to keep their children off the school grounds. Some parents took heed, but even the children that were forbidden by mom or dad still made their way to the fields during those hot summer days.

It was on such day that August's fate was sealed.

After a spirited game of football - where August had done absolutely nothing positive for his team, but better yet had done nothing detrimental to his reputation - some of the older boys had found a wayward baseball and decided to start throwing it as hard and as far as they could. It was a common contest among boys, another right passage between peers.

The contest had begun on the far southern field. It was the farthest from the school and was partially shielded by a low hill. If you were to head north and walk up and over the hill you would have found yourself in the black asphalt parking lot reserved for the teachers and facing the rear of the school. To the left were the school's outdoor basketball courts with their hard wrought iron basketball rims and chain nets. There was also a pair of mobile trailer classrooms where the science classes were held.

Eventually, the group of boys made their way north as each throw brought them closer and closer towards the school. The boys then decided that distance wasn't a fine measure of throwing strength, but height was more impressive. It didn't matter that there was no real way to measure the height on their throws, the winner would have been chosen by the number and volume of the "oohs" and "aahs".

August simply walked with the group but was careful not to stand near where the ball may land so that he wouldn't have to take a turn throwing it. He also decided to that should the ball land near him, he would not make a move towards it, but would let the other scramble for it. This strategy seemed to work out well for a while.

It wasn't until the ball landed squarely between him and one of the older boys, Freddie Canon, that fate caught up with him.

Freddie was one of the leaders of the pack. He was confident and cocksure. He often boasted of his many accomplishments while riding on his dirt bike. While not entirely a bully, he did like to let people know when he was better at something than they were. Freddie watched the ball bounce towards the both of them. Freddie looked over to August and must have seen the fear in August's eyes.

"Hey" Freddie began, "You haven't thrown it yet. We gotta make sure you don't throw like no girl." This was echoed by other boys who simply like to agree with whatever Freddie said. Freddie walked over and picked up the ball. He casually tossed it over to August. Much to August's surprise, he caught the ball midair quite easily. He had been worried about dropping after such an easy toss, which would have started a merciless barrage of laughter.

"Go ahead Gigi" this had become August nickname after some of the boys had heard his mother call him Augie, "throw it up as high as you can." Freddie had a smirk on his face knowing August's throw would cause some laughs.

August took a deep breath. He knew he could never throw a ball as high as the other boys, and he knew that he would probably get some jokes directed his way, but he also knew that it was part of the banter. He would be able to take it and he would still be a part of the group. He was expecting some ridicule and was readying himself for it.

Unfortunately, August knew that his over-hand throw was lacking. He knew that if he tried to throw it with an over hand motion the boys would quickly decry his lack of throwing prowess and immediately say "you throw like a girl". August's young mind decided that his only chance was to throw it underhanded and hope that the height his throw reached would be enough to deflect most of the derision.

August cocked his hand back gripping the ball tightly with his fingers, swinging his arm back like a professional bowler. August hadn't realized that the years of piano study had strengthened his fingers quite admirably and he could grip a baseball very well. Once he felt his arm reach back as far as it would stretch, he reversed direction and pulled his arm forward violently.

The pendulum motion of his arm picked up dizzying speed and August could feel that it would propelled the baseball far. Could it be the highest toss yet?

Sadly, this was August's first attempt at such a throw. He was unaware of when to open up his fingers and release the ball. Unfortunately, he held on a moment too late. He had been facing towards the South when he prepared to throw. He had pointed his body this way to throw back towards the southern field. By release the ball to late it flew high and hard, but it flew behind him.

The boys had all watched August's new throwing motion. Some had snickered while others had nodded at the novel new way to throw for height. Over a dozen pairs of eyes watched the ball sail up and over the small hill and disappear.

CRACK

Everyone froze. What was that? Did you hear that? Did he hit something? All of the boys muttered. Freddie Canon looked over to one of the other older boys.

"There's no cars up there right?" The other boy pinched his shoulders together in a shrug.

August wanted to run. He wanted to flee. Escape, back to his home, away from this. But Freddie Canon didn't turn to run. Freddie's curiosity had been peaked and Freddie needed to know what the baseball had struck. Freddie began up the hill in a jog, the other boys stood silently for a second but then quickly followed him, as if pulled by his gravitational field. August's instincts to run was over come by the pack mentality and his desire to fit in. He found himself in the middle of the group, jogging up the hill.

When they reached the crest of the hill they saw the repercussions of August's powerful underhanded toss. Two vehicles sat parked on the once empty asphalt lot. There was a large red truck parked next to a beige colored sedan. These were the types of vehicles you see every day. You could walk past them each day on your way to work. They could pull up next to you at a red light and you wouldn't even take a second glance. But now, the beige sedan was clearly marked. It would be easily identifiable now. For in the middle of it's windshield sprouted a baseball buried halfway through the glass.

Part 12

August stood transfixed, staring at the package addressed to a missing boy. What could this be? And how long did it take them to deliver this thing? Caleb's been missing for nearly half a year and this only comes now? Dozens of questions peppered August's thoughts. He instinctively reached for the package again.

Holding it gingerly in this two hands he slowly picked it up to test its weight. It was quite light. A bit heavier than a comic book but not quite the weight of a decent sized hard back book. August shook it slightly from side to side. This action emitted no sounds. No rustling of paper, no movement of loose pieces. August turned the package over nimbly in his hands to study the packaging itself.

It was a common brown cardboard shipping box. However, there were no identifiable markings that many boxes typically had. No imprint from the manufacturer, no date stamping from the post office, nothing so much as a packing slip or shipping receipt. August flipped the box upright again to look at the address label.

The address block was made out to Caleb Pope C/O Knights and the Page. It had the correct address for the comic book shop but no return address. In the slot that should have held the senders information there was a simple blue ink stamp. It was a little faded, but to August the stamp looked like it was a harp.

August angled the box into the light to try and see the stamp more clearly. No, it wasn't really a harp. Not like the harps you see today. Not the large harps that you may see being played by a long haired woman at a wedding. This was a smaller instrument. It was shaped like a U, with a bar across the top and the strings pulled down to the base. August remember the name of this instrument from his Ancient Culture's class, it was called a lyre.

August tried to think of the trademark logos he had seen for some of the companies that often shipped publications or collectibles to the store. There were numerous dragons, skulls, crossed swords and even silhouettes of naked women, but he could not recall ever seeing a company logo with a lyre.

"What is this?", August actually asked the question aloud.

He examined the seams of the packaging. The box was not bound by layers of packaging tape so the flaps must have been glued prior to shipping. Normally, packages that were packed with soft Styrofoam peanuts still made some noises when shook due to the shifting, so this meant the contents of the box were protected very snugly. Since there was no return address August had no idea how long or how far this box had traveled during shipment.

As August held the package it called to him like Pandora's box. He set the package back down on the counter to subdue the urge to open it. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to they couldn't tug at the secured flaps.
"Stop it!" He commanded himself, "You're not going to open the box. Why would you want to open it anyway?" August knew it was wrong, but for some reason he felt compelled to see what was stored so securely in the package. He pulled out his right hand and scratched his chin.

"Maybe it's a clue to Caleb's whereabouts. Maybe it could help us find him." August tended to side with the police's assertion that Caleb had simply run away. Since there was no evidence of abduction, no ransom note or previous threats it had been the only logical conclusion for many folks to make. Then August's thoughts turned more dire.

"Maybe it's a message from the kidnappers? Maybe it's an ear or a finger? What if its an eyeball?" August would have slapped himself to stop this train of thought if he hadn't been worried that him own slap may hurt too much.

"You're being an idiot. Its probably just a comic book that Caleb had ordered a long time ago and the order was delayed. Or it was a rare issue that had been back logged and the wait was just really long." This was not completely out of line, at times very rare issues or very popular issues came with very long ordering queues. August finally relented and told himself that it was exactly that. It was a back ordered comic book that Caleb had sent out for long ago and it's delivery had just been delayed all this time. August picked the package up again off of the counter.

"You ready yet?"

A loud female voice reverberated in his ear drum causing August to jump. In his surprise August's normally steady hands fumbled the package. He felt the package slip forward from his left hand then he over compensated by trying to grip harder with his right hand. This extra pressure could not secure the package, rather it sent the package squirting further from his reach.

August's eyes went wide as he watched helplessly as his fingers flailed uselessly trying to snatch the falling box. He nearly had it grip on it before it hit the hard tile ground but it tumbled away from his fingers like an acrobat bouncing effortlessly on a trampoline. Like an unsuccessful juggler, August was just a disheartened viewer unable to prevent the box's fall. He saw the leading corner of the box racing towards the floor.

"The package has to be strong enough to survive this small a drop, doesn't it?" were the last words sprinting through August's mind before his thoughts were cleared by the sound of a loud crack.

He had heard that sound before. As a child that sound was like a prophecy handed to him by a Delphic Oracle. August had always been a fan of Ancient Mythologies, with Greek and Nordic mythos as his favorites. As a child he had read about the Priestesses who lived in the Temple of Apollo outside the ancient Greek city of Delphi. The myths said that the Greek Sun God Apollo would foretell the future through these Priestesses, sometimes called the Delphic Sibyl or the Oracle of Delphi.

These Oracles would answer one question for would be seeker about their future or how to please the Gods. The most famous story that involved the Delphic Oracle was of course the tale of Helen of Troy and the subsequent epic Trojan war.

The sound August heard brought him back to his childhood. It had seemingly signaled the path his young life would take. The loud crack was the sound, of breaking glass.

Young August had survived a rough childhood. His father was a factory foreman for a large Midwestern manufacturing company. That company manufactured machine parts for automobiles and contracted with the three large Detroit car companies. Through the years those three companies suffered staggering losses and were forced to close many of there production facilities.

As the number of vehicles manufactured diminished, so did the need for the parts that went into those vehicles. So, August's dad was transferred from town to town, seeming to leave right before each facility was shut down. What August didn't realize until he was older was that his father had actually been the man in charge of supervising the shut down of each of these plants.

As you could imagine, most children did not like the boy who's father was taking away their mom or dad's jobs and in essence killing many of these smaller towns. August's father had taken no joy in his responsibilities and often contemplated quitting, but coming home to his own wife and child - who he needed to support - spurred him to keep working.

Respite for August finally came after the last of these manufacturing plants had been closed. His father had settled on taking a small managerial position for a small local candy company. With no one to fire, no jobs to terminate and no community to destroy, August's father finally felt peace. And with this peace, August hoped to finally make friends.

CRACK

August could hear the tell tale whisper of shattered glass. He could almost picture the spidery fingers stretching across the pane splintering and destroying as it progressed.

August's family had just settled into a new neighborhood just outside of the city limits. His father, who had once lived in the midst of the urban sprawl enjoyed the small quaint neighborhood. His parents liked the fact that the middle school that August would attend was at the front of the neighborhood and could easily be walked to.

August had seen all of the neighborhood children playing in the streets and knew he could reinvent himself here. He could become whoever he wanted to be. He wouldn't be the weird kid who liked to read funny books. He wouldn't be the nerd. He wouldn't be the outcast. He wouldn't be the social pariah who's father was responsible for ruining the local economy.

Alas, the Oracle of Delphi foresaw that August's wish would not come true.

Part 11

The rest of the afternoon and evening at Knights and the Page after Risa's visit seemed even more mundane and boring than usual for August. A few customers filtered in to peruse the wares, but nothing exciting happened. Elvis had stayed for an hour or so then left to take his brother home, but promised to return around closing time so he could join August for bite to eat. August looked down at his watch, 8:43, 17 minutes left before he could lock up and go. He reached up with both hands to complete a stretch and yawn.

In his left pant pocket he felt his cell phone vibrate. Crap who could this be? August thought. He subconsciously looked around the store to check if anyone was around before he took a look at his phone. This unneeded exercise was born from his fear of Mr. Chapwick.

Mr. Chapwick, the owner of Knights and the Page, did not like cell phones ringing in his store, particularly employee cell phones. Mr. Chapwick was an odd owner of a comic book store. He had made his fortune in gas stations, owning a few across town as well as a large service plaza right off the main highway that bisected the city. Mr. Chapwick had actually purchased the comic shop from the previous owner for a bargain basement price. The previous owner cited that he had to move out west suddenly for family reasons.

Mr. Chapwick and his accountant spent an entire weekend to pour over the financial documents to calculate the profitability of the store. They found that while the Knights and the Page would never be a cash cow, it enjoyed a decent profit and even during the slimmest months it could usually sustain its own expenses. Besides, Mr. Chapwick thought, should it ever be unprofitable for 3 consecutive months, he would just fire all of the employees and auction off his inventory. The business loss write-off would be helpful during tax time.

The Knights and the Page filled a niche in the community. There were not any another comic book specialty shops within the surrounding counties so the store was easily promoted and identifiable to the public. Sure it had to compete with the large corporate bookstore located at the mall but those book stores never carried any of the rare comic treasures that true aficionados would eagerly pay top dollar for.

Pulling his phone from his pocket he flipped open the cover to check who had called or had sent him a text message. It was Elvis.

"Running a lil' late. B there soon."

This text message did not surprise him. Elvis wasn't too keen on punctuality. Elvis had even postulated that due to the relativity of time and space, it was impossible to ever truly be "late" for something. Elvis believed that being late was a construct man had created. He would go on and on about the subject until the people who were waiting for him usually lost interest and had forgotten that he had been tardy for something. The lazy genius in his full glory.

August looked around the store again and began the mental checklist of his final duties. His last customer had left around 8:15 so he had been able to complete a majority of his responsibilities already. He had swept up the floor and dusted along the tops of the shelves. He had closed and locked all of the figurine cabinets and double checked the cash in the register - it was 10 cents off, but he quickly rectified with a dime in his pocket. All that would be left would be to collapse some of the packing boxes and take them out to the dumpster behind the store.

August checked his watch again, 8:47, "that's close enough" he mused to himself. He made his way towards the figurine shelves near the front of the store and began reaching along the sides of the cabinets to turn off the spot lights that were designed to better illuminate the crystal or painted pieces.

As August got to the second shelf he paused to look at his favorite collectible. The Minstrel. Unit price $59, with tax of course. The Minstrel figurine stood roughly an inch and half tall and was a fully painted pewter piece. August was constantly replacing figurines in the cabinets after one was sold, but The Minstrel always remained unsold. That's why August had decided to move it up into a prime position on the middle shelf, hoping it would catch a buyer's eye.

However, The Minstrel was an anemic looking piece. It seemed out of place in the middle of knights in full armor raising large swords and goblins wielding fearsome looking axes. Yet, you might even say that The Minstrel looked joyous in the midst of of what looked like an impending battle. The Minstrel figurine showed no fear as he boldly stepped between gladiators and demons holding his head high in song and armed only with a mandolin.

August had always admired the detail on this particular figurine. Often when he would look at the figurines of knights or soldiers he could spot areas where the mass production of these items was evident. A spot of paint where it should not have been. A nub of pewter that had not been sanded off. A misalignment of a figurine's legs causing an unnatural lean. August harbored a keen eye for this type of detail.

The Minstrel showed no signs of these imperfections. Each stripe of his double breasted doublet was painted with in crisp green and gold stripes. The figurine was wearing a floppy hat - like those popular during the Renaissance - with a long purple plume. The Minstrel was holding the end on his mandolin high in his left hand while strumming it with his right. The Minstrel figurine was taking a large bounding step forward as if he was striding purposefully around a tavern hall or a Queen's courtyard.

August closed his eyes for a moment and could almost hear the tiny pewter musician's tune. As he reach up to flip the switch to turn off the cabinet light, something on the figurine caught his eye. "That's strange", August thought, "I never noticed that before".

What August hadn't noticed was a long brown sheath along the minstrel's right leg. It was clearly a sheath for a dagger or long knife. The sheath wasn't quite long enough or broad enough to be a sword, but it was a weapon nonetheless. August smiled, here he was thinking that the tiny musician was helpless and could be killed quickly if one of those knight figurines ever got tired of the music, but the little minstrel looked like he had some tricks up his sleeve.

"Well," August debated in his mind, "I suppose the little guy could defend himself with the mandolin. I'm sure that would be able to do some damage if used to bash someone's head. Assuming your enemy wasn't wearing a metal helmet of course".

The battle scenarios involving 2 inch pewter figurines that had been forming in August's mind was cut short by the DING of the front door. "Oh, I guess Elvis wasn't late," August thought as he flipped the switch turning off the cabinet light. When August turned to meet his friend he was shocked not too see his friend Elvis but rather a tall extremely pale man.

The man seemed annoyed by the look of shock on August's face. The man raised a nearly white colored eye brow before pointing to a logo on the breast pocket of light jacket he was wearing. The patch on the jacket read: Lightning Deliveries. The words were sewed with silver thread superimposed on what looked like a blue colored bird. August could not quite make out what the blue colored animal was, or even if it was an animal. Maybe it was just an abstract design logo.

"Got a delivery for you," the courier said flatly.

"This late? I didn't think anyone delivered this late," August replied. The courier just shrugged. He was holding a couple packages under his left arm and a clipboard in his right hand. August absently looked at the delivery man's feet and cringed. Mud.

August was able to trace the courier's foot prints all the way to the front door. He sighed heavily knowing he'd have to clean up that mess before he could leave. The delivery man approached and handed August the clipboard.

"Sign there on line 22," he said pointing to the appropriate spot on his ledger. August took the man's pen and signed his name. The delivery man took back his clip board then extended the two packages for August to take.

The larger box had the dimensions of a decent sized school text book. It was about an 2 inches thick and had the length and width of a regular sheet of paper. The other package was about the size of a box that would hold toothpaste when you bought it from the store. August thanked the courier who grunted in response, then moved to the counter and the delivery man left.

August guessed at the contents as he put the packages onto the wooden checkout stand. "This one," singling out the smaller package "probably holds a specially ordered figurine and the second is definitely a comic book". August set the packages onto the counter and then turned to look at the muddy floor again. I guess it's a good thing that Elvis was going to be late anyways he thought.

As August swung around to walk back to storage and grab the mop his hand accidentally pushed the smaller box off its perch above the other package. It wasn't the sound of the smaller box hitting the floor that left August stunned. It was the name to whom the larger box was addressed to:

Caleb Pope

Part 10

Wardell turned slowly to face Risa. Risa and Charlene came stomping down from the front door, bypassing the walkway and crossing straight through the yard. Risa thought she saw a hint of amusement on Wardell's face which infuriated her even more. Wardell calmly waited beside his car for the two girls to approach.

After crossing the yard Risa stopped at the sidewalk and squared her shoulders to face Wardell. Charlene came up to her right and placed both hands onto her hips striking a pose of righteous indignation - she was quite adept with that look.

"May I help you Sonrisa?" His formality and calm irked Risa .

"What do you want from my family?" Wardell cocked his head slightly but did not answer so Risa continued more specifically, "What do you want from my mom."

"Sonrisa, I'm confused by what you mean?"

Charlene let out a sarcastic laugh and Risa rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. Why are you still working on this case when we can't even pay you?"

"As I explained months ago, each year I like to take on a special case pro-bono."

"Yeah right, pro-bono" Charlene said disbelieving, "I'm sure you're hoping for a different kind of payment". Risa turned to look at her friend, while Risa was mad, she probably wouldn't have phrased the statement that way. "Why are you trying to take advantage of a mother in pain?"

"You know that pro-bono means "free" right? I don't want any kind of payment". Wardell said evenly.

"I know what it means!" Charlene yelled, "and no one works for free!"

"Well, then why us? Why Caleb's case?" Risa put a hand on Charlene's arm. Risa did not want to argue with Wardell but wanted answers. "You've been looking for months and haven't had anything! Nothing! Even the police stopped trying long ago."

Wardell shrugged, "Maybe I find the facts and circumstances of this case interesting. I like taking on the challenges of difficult cases. Your brother's disappearance," Risa again noted that Wardell still never said her brother's name in front of her, "is unique".

"Unique? He was kidnapped!" Charlene wasn't backing down. Risa loved her for her passion and that she staunching sided with her family that Caleb had been abducted and had not run away on his own.

"Well, I also happen to believe that your brother was taken as opposed to running away," Wardell said nodding. "I want to find your brother."

Risa looked into Wardell's eyes and could sense that he spoke the truth. She never saw anything in his face that tugged at her instincts to show that he was lying. Ever since her father left Risa's instincts were sharpened and her disposition towards men worsened. She already held a very low threshold of trust towards men yet she felt a strange sensation that she could trust Wardell.

She had never taken much time to speak with him. During Wardell's visits she would often be ushered out of the room so that the "grown-ups" could discuss elements of the detective's search. She never felt that Wardell or her mother was hiding anything from her but they did not volunteer any new information readily. Risa continued to look into Wardell's eyes and her demeanor softened. There was a long awkward silence so she was finally compelled to ask.

"Detective Wardell, why do you choose to do this? Look for lost children I mean."

Wardell squinted his eyes slightly as if gauging Risa's question. He seemed to be reasoning if Risa was asking a serious question or if she was still in her interrogation mode. Seemly pleased with his conclussion about Risa's motive, Wardell answered her slowly.

"Many years ago my wife and I tried very hard to have a child. We underwent test after test, but the results were inconclusive. The doctors were unsure if either of us was barren so we continued to try. After some time, we were blessed with the news that my wife had conceived and we were expecting a baby." Wardell was looking directly into Risa's eyes but Risa felt that he was not actually seeing her. It was as if Wardell was watching the story of his life through a viewing lens in Risa's eyes.

"It was a difficult pregnancy. My wife suffered through severe bouts of sickness and there were several times where we thought we would lose the baby." As he continued the tone of Wardell's voice and the gravity of his story seemed to placate Charlene as well. Charlene's arms had dropped to her sides and she stood captive to the tale. "Thankfully, even after that tumultuous period my wife gave birth to a beautiful and healthy boy."

Wardell finally broke his eye contact with Risa and looked to the ground. Risa felt a sense of foreboding creep up her spine. She knew this story would not end well, men like Wardell were pushed and motivated by grief and suffering.

"Not even a year after the birth of our son, my wife disappeared. She took my child with her and left without reason or explanation." He paused before looking up at Risa again, "I searched for them for years but could not find a trace."

Wardell had stopped abruptly and neither Risa nor Charlene knew what to say next. The three stood there motionless on the side walk in front of Risa's home for what seemed like an eternity. Risa's anger had evaporated and Charlene was also stunned into silence - which did not happen often. Wardell broke the silence.

"I will visit again soon. Let us hope that I will have more auspicious news."

With that Wardell turned on his heels and walked around his car to the driver's side door. He opened the door, climbed in and started the car. The sound of car's engine seemed to rattle the quiet street.

"Oh man," Charlene's high pitched voice seemed a little softer and less strained, "That was deep. He doesn't seem like such a bad guy". Risa could only offer a slight nod of agreement as she watched Wardell's black sedan pull away from the curb and wheel around the cul-de-sac then out towards the exit of her neighborhood.

Part 9

It took Risa a moment to catch her breath. She stood motionless at the base of the stairs. Had she heard her mother correctly? Was her mother losing hope? Her mother had been such a rock of certainty. There had never been a crack in her resolve to find Caleb, but to hear those words come directly from her mother's mouth deflated Risa like a balloon.

Risa gripped the railing to help keep her balance and shut her eyes tightly. She exhaled slowly to calm herself.

"I thought I heard you come in!" A shrill voice cracked through Risa's intense impromptu meditation like a whip. Risa looked up and saw Charlene standing at the top of the stairs.

Charlene stood with a hand on her hip and blew a small bubble with her gum. She was wearing tight black shorts over a light blue tank top. Charlene liked to wear clothes tighter than would usually be considered decent for a Sunday service. Charlene was a very pretty girl and much curvier than Risa. Charlene wanted to emulate the pin-up bombshells from the 1940's and 50's. She saw glamor in the old pictures of Bettie Paige, Dorothy Dandridge and Marylin Monroe. Charlene loathed the waifish looks that seemed to dominate all of the Women's magazines she would read.

"Why are you so late?" Charlene's voice was high pitched and was found a tad irritating by more than one person. Risa had come to tolerate Charlene's voice after many years of friendship. Charlene was a bit shallow and could be selfish or a little crass, but her loyalty to Risa had never wavered as these "best friendships" tend to do once adolescence was reached.

Though outwardly they did not share much in common - from their socioeconomic standing, Charlene's wealth to Risa's "just enough to get by", to their taste in food - they clung to each other and lent emotional support and strength.

Charlene didn't have any siblings and was doted on like a princesses. Many girls at school secretly hated and envied Charlene for all of her opportunities and the ample attention she received from the boys, so Charlene reacted with a callous and aloof attitude.

"I thought you said you'd be here 15 minutes ago. I've been waiting forever." Charlene emphasized the word "forever", drawing out the word and making sure to pronounce each syllable distinctly. Risa shook her head and climbed up the stairs towards her room. Charlene rolled her eyes as Risa walked passed her but still unconsciously served as a guardian for her friend.

Caleb's room was the first door on the left as you reached the top floor. Risa rarely entered the room before Caleb disappeared and did so even less now that he was gone. Charlene had taken a position directly in front of the door to Caleb's room as if to shield Risa from seeing it. Charlene did not realize that she always walked closest to that door whenever they both passed it together.

Further down the hall stood Risa's bedroom and the bathroom she had shared with Caleb. Risa's room door opened up on the left with the bathroom door directly across from it. When Caleb was still home their bathroom was always an untidy mess. No matter how much she fussed at him to pick up his things or how much he yelled at her to keep all of her hair products organized it was usually in a state of chaos. That was another thing that changed after Caleb was gone.

Risa's mother was notorious in her insistence on cleanliness. It was probably from her time spent in the Army. Caleb's disappearance only seemed to exacerbate her mother's need for organization and tidiness. This obsession seemed to rub off onto Risa. Risa could no longer stand having her things out of place or messy. Over a few weeks, Risa and her mother had painstakingly re-organized the entire house, cleaning every nook and cranny. They had completed these tasks in near silence. Risa figured they had done this to try and establish a sense of normalcy and order, but while keeping them busy, it did not do much to alleviate their sorrow.

Risa quietly filed into her room and plopped her bag onto the small writing desk below the far wall. Risa's room was stationed above their garage and a large window overlooked the driveway. After setting the bag down she stared outside at a green car driving past her house. The car was going way too fast in a residential area, she thought to herself.

Charlene had followed Risa into the room and went to lay down haphazardly onto Risa's bed. Charlene furrowed her brow then repeated.

"So why were you late?"

"I'm not late, I texted and told you that I was going to get here now", Risa said calmly. She never had to raise her voice at Charlene, though the thought sometimes appealed to her. Risa turned back from the window to look over at Charlene. Charlene had propped herself against some ruffled pillows adorning Risa's bed. She looked comfortable even though Risa's sheets could never match the thread count or quality.

"Whatever," Charlene finally relented, "so when I got here, that detective was already talking to your mom. I was surprised he was here again."

"He drops by every other week or so."

"Wait, I thought your mom decided she couldn't keep paying for him. Didn't she already use that money that was supposed to help towards a new car for you?"

"Yeah, he just said he'd keep working on the case for free."

"For free?" Charlene looked skeptical, "I bet he likes your mom. No one works for free."

"He doesn't like my mom," Risa shook her head, "besides, my mom wouldn't like him."

"Why wouldn't she like him? He's good looking for an old guy." Charlene shrugged. Risa took a moment to look at her best friend reclining on her bed. Charlene was a good judge of things when it came to physical beauty. Risa had never thought that Detective Wardell as an attractive entity. She supposed that she never had time to really think about. She examined Wardell in her mind.

Detective Wardell was a large man. Tall and solid. He had short, neat hair that was always parted to the side. His hair was a mix of light brown and gray. It was hard to tell his age but his face was lined with sharp creases and his eyes were bordered with crows-feet. He had a strong and straight jaw that framed the lower border of his face. Wardell had clear and bright blue eyes that always moved languidly from side to side when he looked around the room. Risa could not imagine him ever looking rushed nor panicked.

At that point Risa realized that Wardell was a good looking man. A man who may have designs on trying to woo her mother. Her mother that was racked with grief! What gall this man had to take advantage of her mother. The more she thought about this prospect the angrier Risa got.

Charlene must have noticed Risa's brow begin to furrow and said, "Well, maybe he's not a bad guy."

Risa heard the front door creak open then shut. Wardell was leaving. Risa spun around to look out of her window. She didn't see Wardell walking down the path towards his car so he must have stopped at the door to say a final goodbye to her mother. Maybe a goodbye kiss? This thought spurred her into action.

"Come on," she beckoned to Charlene, "I'm going to go have a talk with Wardell." Charlene's eyes widened in excitement, she loved drama and confrontations. Risa made her way out of her room and bounded down the stairs. Her mother was no longer in the entry foyer and Risa could hear her rummaging around the kitchen. Risa looked over to Charlene who gave her a reassuring nod.

Risa grabbed the knob, opened the door and stepped outside. She saw Wardell walking along the sidewalk towards his car and yelled out to him.

"Hey! I wanna talk to you!"

Part 8

Risa drove robotically through the streets of her neighborhood. Her knowledge of these roadways were etched into her subconscious from years of riding in her parents' cars to and from every possible school activity. On her bike she had crisscrossed the walk ways and yards of every home. She had walked down each street during Halloween making sure to raid each house for its' sweet candy loot. She could probably have driven home with her eyes closed.

The small sign resting near the front of the neighborhood read: The Elysian Estates. Such a fancy name for a middle to low income residential area she thought. Her neighborhood was very nondescript. It could have been in any Midwestern town, in any Midwestern state. Most of the homes were built from the same five blueprint models that the residential developer constructed. Though many of the house's were painted different colors, you would typically see your home's identical twin just a few doors down or one street over.

But she never complained, this place had been the only home she'd known and the neighborhood during her youth was place of such vitality and excitement.

But lately that had all changed. After Caleb's disappearance, parents were a little less likely to let their children run around with impunity. Curfew's were set a little earlier and fewer children would be seen roaming aimlessly about.

The name Elysian Estates seemed much more fitting now. Risa had learned that according to ancient Greek mythology, the Elysian Fields were where the ghosts of mortal kings and heroes would spend eternity after a worthy death. She wished she had never learned that. At night when a fog rolled in, the streetlamps began to cast strange shadows and specters seemed to lurk in among the dark corners.

As Risa turned onto the cul-de-sac where her home stood she recognized two familiar cars parked out on the street. In its usual spot blocking the mailbox sat a sleek, white, foreign two door sports car. It shined like newly polished silver dinnerware that royalty would use dine with. From the swept back spoiler mounted on the trunk to the mirror-like titanium wheel rims, the car exuded elitism and exclusivity. The windows were even tinted dark to prevent "commoners" from looking in. It was a far cry from her run down pick up truck that had once belonged to their neighbor.

Parked neatly behind the sports car sat a menacing looking black four-door sedan. It stood juxtaposed from the vehicle in front of it. It looked like a large bear cornering a swift-footed deer. Its windows were an even darker shade than those of the sports car. A person walking on the sidewalk beside the car wouldn't even be able to tell if someone was inside.

"Wardell is here again, I wonder if there's any new information." Risa said to herself quietly.

She quickly bypassed the two cars and pulled sharply into the driveway. She was always sure to park as far left as possible, giving her mother room to maneuver when she pulled out of the garage. While her mother may have been adept at commanding battle tanks, she was still yet to master backing out of the driveway.

Throwing the truck into park, Risa grabbed the backpack that she had stuffed behind the passenger's seat. She normally left it sitting on top of the seat but when she had parked downtown her mother's words reverberated in her head. "If you're parking somewhere in public, always hide anything of value. You want to minimize any temptations." This prompted her to stuff the backpack behind the seat. It had taken her 20 minutes to drive across town and she had forgotten to retrieve the backpack earlier. She silently hoped she hadn't crushed anything.

She stepped quickly across the driveway and mounted the three large concrete stairs that lead to the front door. The main door was already open to allow a breeze to pass through the screen door and cool down the house. To save money, her mother was loathe to turn on the air conditioner. Only in times of extremely high temperatures would the air conditioner ever be put to use. There was even one summer where Risa had tried to fake a heat stroke to try and spur her mother to activate the air conditioner. Unfortunately, her mother was well aware of the symptoms of heat stroke from her days in the Army and Risa's ploy failed. This taught Risa that extensive research is required before any attempts at deceit is made.

Risa turned the knob and entered her house. The front door lead to a small entry corridor. The floors were covered in an old cream colored linoleum. Her mother had been talking about replacing the flooring and carpeting throughout the house for many years, but neither the time, or more aptly, the funding, was readily available. To the left were stairs that rose to the upstairs bedrooms. To the right was a small sitting area that lead to a small formal dinning room. Through the door ahead of her she could hear her mother's voice.

She pushed ahead through a swinging gate door into the family room. Since the TV was in this room, most of the family activities had taken place here. On the couch along the back wall sat her mother. To Risa's left, her mother's right, Detective Thadeus Wardell sat on an recliner facing her mother. Wardell stood up when Risa entered the room.

"Oh Risa, there you are. I just called you about five minutes ago" her mother said. Risa had forgotten that she had left her phone in her bag and hadn't checked it yet. She really hoped she hadn't accidentally crushed it. Her mother continued.

"Charlene is here. She's up in your room."

"Hello Sonrisa," Wardell added before straightening his dark suit and sitting back down. Wardell folded his hands across his lap and looked down at the coffee table in front of him. Risa hated having to ask each time, but they never seemed to just say anything.

"So, is there anything new?" Risa said quickly. She regretted sounding irritated again. 'I really needed to fix that', she thought.

If there was any irritation in Risa's voice, her mother did not seem to take notice, or if she had taken notice, she did not seem to care.

"Unfortunately no. Detective Wardell was just finishing up his update for me". Risa did notice a sadness in her mother's voice. It didn't carry the same conviction it normally held. Risa had to fight down a pulse of pity that surged in her. She looked at her mother now. There were definitely more gray strands lost in her sandy colored hair. Her mother had always been pretty, quite the talk of the town some of the older folks would say.

It was a big shock when Leslie Pope announced that she was joining the Army. It just wasn't done too often back then. While there were already many women serving in the ranks, few were probably former county beauty pageant winners. Leslie Pope had decided at a young age and she wanted to see more of the world. She was realistic and knew that while she was savvy, her scholastic achievements wouldn't take her very far. She also vowed never to let her looks determine how far she would go. Most importantly, no man would limit her options.

"Reeces pieces are you home?" A loud high pitched voice came calling from upstairs.

Risa gave a small abashed smile which her mother returned. 'Even her smiles look sad', Risa noted. Risa hefted her backpack to rest more comfortable on her shoulder and turned to leave. She pushed passed the swinging door and moved towards the stairs. As she planted her right foot on the first step she overheard her mother's words that nearly caused her to topple over.

"Is there a time when I should give up hope?"

Part 7

August watched her exit the store with a mixture of relief and sadness. He felt relief that he wouldn't make a fool of himself anymore, and sadness with the realization that he'd probably never talk with her again. He had watched the gently sway of her loose ponytail as it swished from side to side. He had watched the gentle strides she took and with each step away it seemed to hammer home the fact that this chance encounter would not be repeated.

He had his hands in his hair again. But instead of the gentle combing motions, his fingers gripped at his hair roughly. It was if his hand was angry at him for fumbling through most of his exchange with Risa. If any part of his body would have been considered suave, it would have been his hands. Nearly a dozen years of studying and learning to play the piano ensured that.

"Who was that and why was she talking to you?" A loud voice beside him startled him. August realized he was still staring at the now closed front door. August quickly turned to his left so see his friend Elvis standing next to him with a huge smile on his face. Elvis had entered to store with two others, whom August didn't know, and had broken whatever spell that compelled Risa to stay and talk to him. August had to fight down the momentary desire to punch his friend for entering at such an inopportune time.

"I know she's not your girlfriend, that much is certain. I mean, you're August, as-in 'Mr. I-don't-won't-can't ever have a girlfriend'. At least not before good'ole Elvis here". He said while throwing up his two meaty thumbs to point back at himself. Elvis liked to tease August mercilessly, but it wasn't malicious. August gave him a half-hearted smile.

Elvis put his hands to his hips and gave August a studied look. Most people would agree that Elvis was not fat, but would rather use the word 'stout'. Elvis was a thick barrel chested man, but his girth was built more from consuming fast food as opposed to lifting weights. The only factor that was probably keeping Elvis from obesity was his highly active metabolism. Elvis's mother would warn him that his metabolism would someday fail him and that he should alter his diet accordingly. But, Elvis would just laugh and say "well I still have it now, so why waste it?"

Elvis sported a closely cropped sprout of red hair. He combed it straight and kept it short because at any decent length his hair would begin to curl like a frenzied weed. The longer his hair, the more it looked like Ronald McDonald's he would say. Also, an uncountable number of freckles always decorated his ever joyful face. Elvis was always cheerful.

He was also a certified genius. Only a couple years older than August he was already working his PhD in Physics at State. He was a genius, but the lazy kind of genius. Having already finished a Master's degree in Engineering, Elvis decided he wasn't ready to enter to working world to have to fend for himself and decided to go back to school. He even boasted that he would just become a career student. He joked that he wanted to set a world record for attaining the greatest number of Masters degrees and Doctorates.

To date, he was allowed to pursue his dream of this world record since he was able to attend the University on a full scholarship, everything from his books to his laboratory equipment to his apartment were all paid in full. Being a genius does have its benefits.

However, the one benefit being a genius that always seemed to be missing was the power to entice those of the fairer sex. In this case, Elvis suffered right along side the other smart - though not genius level - boys like August.

"That was Risa Pope". August said answering Elvis's question.

"Risa Pope. As-in Sonrisa Pope? As-in the girl who's brother disappeared?" Elvis had the annoying habit of saying "as-in" much too much. When reminded of this unfortunate trait Elvis would blush and vow to not let it happen again. This abstinence from using the phrase would usually last about 10 minutes. After a while his friends just stopped trying to prevent it.

August merely nodded. Everyone in town had seen the news, many even joined search parties. After a while the search parties turned into recovery teams looking for a corpse rather than a living boy.

The boy's disappearance was even bigger news to the patrons of Knights and The Page. They considered Caleb one of their own. A kindred spirit. A fellow brother in the clan of nerds and fellow citizen in the kingdom of dweebs.

"I guess she wanted to stop by and see the place," August added. "She wanted to see what Caleb liked to do. Poor girl, you can tell she's still pretty broken up about it."

"Well, you could be that shoulder to cry on," Elvis said enthusiastically.

"Don't be an ass Elvis. Don't even think like that!" August said harshly. He did not remain upset very long however as the same thought did cross his mind. "She doesn't need that right now", August continued more casually, "she just needs answers or closure or something."

Elvis shrugged his broad shoulders. He knew when not to press an issue and decided to change the subject.

"Oh, you haven't met my youngest brother Springfield yet." Elvis waved over to the two boys who were at the back of the store looking through some of the Japanese manga comic books. Elvis had been given that name because he was conceived near the gates of Graceland, or so his parents said. His parents were not really big Elvis Pressley fans, but they were fond of traveling across the country. And apparently, as evident of Elvis's seven younger siblings, his parents were also quite fond of each other.

The two younger boys approached from the back of the store and Elvis introduced them.

"August, this is my brother Springfield," Elvis said pointing to the taller of the two lads. August put them around 10 years old. He was never quite sure how old children were just by looking at them. August momentarily wondered where Springfield was conceived. Elvis had told him that about 70% of the states had a city named Springfield, so even if you excluded Alaska and Hawaii, that still left you with about 35 states to choose from.

Elvis continued, "and that is Joey, his friend from school. I told them I'd bring them down here so they could see what a real comic book shop was like." Springfield stretched out his young hand and August took it and gave him a firm hand shake. Joey followed suit, looking quite pleased with himself at accomplishing an adult task.

"You guys can take a look at anything. But, just please don't take anything out of its plastic baggy. If something is in a plastic bag its usually very expensive so please be careful," August wanted to sound stern but not too overbearing. He needn't worry because Elvis more than compensated.

"Don't touch anything!" Elvis yelled. He playfully pushed his brother aside. Earlier, Elvis had told himself that he wasn't going to push the subject, but his curiosity got the best of him and he couldn't help himself. He knew he had to ask as inconspicuously as possible.

"So, what did Miss Risa really come down here for?"

August turned back to look at the door. In his head he could still picture Risa talking with him, though she was smiling more in his memories. He wished the door bell would ring again triumphantly signaling her return, but there was only the murmurs of the two younger boys talking about a dragon figurine on the shelf.

"She wanted me to help her find her brother."

Part 6

"He did ride the metro bus a lot," Risa finally managed to say. She brought her hand up to dab at the corner of her right eye. It was an odd feeling to cry again. When her father left over 6 years ago she promised herself that she wouldn't cry again. She vowed to adopted her mother's stern resolve and to attack her problems head on.

"There is no backing down Risa," her mother would say, "Your father chose to leave us, so we must make our own way forward."

Her mother was strong and steady, like a bulwark along the shore that protected high priced beach houses. The ocean would come endlessly every day and smash against that bulwark, threatening to destroy the homes, but the bulwark never gave in. It would brace against every storm, every surge and every wave. Her mother had protected and raised Caleb and her with furious determination.

"You must be strong now. For the both of us". Her mother's tone had changed since Caleb's disappearance.

Her mother would not believe that Caleb had run away. Her conviction and absolute certainty that Caleb was abducted had even rubbed off on Risa. This truth, the believe of a kidnapped, was all that may have kept her mother's sanity together. Her mother had survived the exodus of one man she loved, she could not bear another.

Risa exhaled deeply.

"I know I'm being ridiculous," she began, "but Caleb came down here often. As much as he could it seemed." She forced a smile. "I know there isn't much I can do that the police or private investigators haven't already done, but..."

"But what?" Risa thought dejectedly. She looked up at the clerk again. He opened his mouth to say something and then snapped it shut quickly. He looked nervous and unsure, but his eyes seemed to ache with compassion for her situation.

"The reason I came down here," Risa started, "was to see what Caleb really liked to do. I wasn't a very good sister you know," she shook her head sadly, "I didn't look out for him as much as I should have."

"His...disappearance...isn't your fault you know." The clerk said slowly. His words were unsure. He had put the statement together carefully but recited it with trepidation. He said the words gingerly, much like the movements of an injured man who was trying to get out of hospital bed for the first time in weeks. Much like that injured man had to relearn how to gain his balance in order to walk again, the clerk was careful not to make her tear up again.

"I know," she said softly, "I'm just mad that I never even came down here with him before. He had asked me a few times to come with him. But I always said no."

"Well you weren't missing anything exciting!" He said gesturing to the empty store. He was trying to cheer her up again. This time, Risa offered him a smile. He exhaled sharply. He had been holding his breath worrying that he had said the wrong thing again.

"I found the name of this place from his room," she opened up her palm to show the crumpled piece of paper with the store's name on it, "this must have been his favorite place."

"He would browse the shelves for hours," the clerk said as he scanned the wall holding all of the comic books. "Caleb didn't talk much though, he'd ask some questions here and there, but mostly kept to himself. Like most of the guys who come in here."

"He didn't really talk much," Risa agreed. "He was real smart. You could always see that he was thinking about something important, he just never wanted to share it with anyone I guess."

The clerk nodded. Risa could picture her brother walking slowly along the wall shelves, browsing at each comic with a quiet intensity. He would fold his arms across his back to limit the temptation to reach out and leaf through every comic book on the shelf. Occasionally he would need to reach up and push his glasses back into place, squinting as he did so.

"This is a pretty neat place, have you worked here long?" Risa asked, wanting to get the image of her brother out of her mind.

"Um, for a little while," the clerk was ambushed by the sudden turn in the conversation to topics that involved himself, "about a year really. I had a friend who worked here before, and got me the job when he graduated from State."

"Do you like going to State?"

"It's OK," he seemed to be relaxing a bit, "I mean, its here, its close to my family and everything. But I had hoped to go out East for college."

"Me too." Risa added glumly. "What was she doing here?" The question tumbled around again in her head.

DING

The bell to the door rang out like the morning alarm clock waking both of them from a strange dream. The clerk had looked up towards the door and had a telling look of disappointment on his face. Risa turned to look towards the door. Three young men came spiritedly into the store. There pimply face all smiles as if they had just shared a good joke.

The all abruptly stopped near the front when one of them notice Risa and quickly nudged his friends. All five stood transfixed for a moment. The newcomers seemed stunned that a person of the opposite sex was in the store. "It must not happen often" Risa assumed.

The moment passed and the three moved over across the room, still talking but adopting more hushed tones. Risa wasn't sure but it seemed that one of them had winked at the clerk before muttering something to his companions. She turned back to face the clerk. He had his hand in his hair again, slowly moving his fingers to comb at the strands.

"I should go," Risa said. Normally she would have simply turned and walked away, but something held her feet in place. It was as if her body wanted an response before it would let her leave.

"I don't know how I could be of any help," the clerk stammered, "but if you need anything, I...". The clerk didn't finish the sentence. He looked like he wanted to say more but didn't.

Risa was reminded of the last drop of water that would cling to a faucet once you've turned off the water. That last drop of water would hang, suspended on the lip of the faucet defying gravity, refusing to drop into the sink. The clerk wanted to say something but hung onto his words.

"What's your name limo driver?" Risa asked with a smile.

"I'm...my friends call me...I go...I'm" he stuttered then stopped himself. "August. My name is August."

"Thank you for your help August. I'm Risa".

Part 5

August could see a slight shimmer corner of the girl's eyes. He knew that tears were beginning to pool into the soft membranes between her long lashed eyelids. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He lambasted himself. "Are you really this inept at social interactions with a girl?" Calling them 'social interactions' was probably the start of his downfall.

August was unsure of what to do next. He obviously couldn't say the right thing. Whatever statement he thought may be comforting ended up having the opposite reaction. Maybe he should just remain quiet. Stand stoically by, just waiting for her to speak again.

This was typically how he lead his life.

He knew who she was. He had seen her before his embarrassing turn as her limousine driver. Her name was Sonrisa. It was the Spanish word for smile. He had always that that was a clever name.

He definitely knew who she was. He had first seen her at his cousin Charlene's 18th birthday gala last year. Charlene had insisted that her birthday celebration was dubbed a 'gala' because a 'party' just wasn't enough. She had been watching too many TV shows, August mused. Of course her father obliged her extravagant requests. Though his uncle was slow to give his employees pay raises, he was quite quick at showing off his wealth.

August was invited, no doubt solely with a measure of pity and begrudgingly only because Charlene's parents and his shared some DNA. He vowed to make the best of it though, he'd made sure he'd eaten more than his share of the jumbo shrimp cocktail and helped himself liberally to several pieces of the red velvet cake.

He made himself as inconspicuous as possible, trying to stay hidden in the shadows. He wanted to tell himself that he was keeping a low profile because he was already a College Freshman, and that going to a party for a high schooler would diminish his social standing. But he really didn't need to bother with his imaginary charade, no one at the party paid him any attention. That hadn't changed.

He definitely remembered her. They had even talked that night. Well, to say they talked would be a bit of a stretch. By definition a conversation usually requires communication between both parties, unfortunately August wasn't really able to fulfill his end of the bargain with Risa that night.

He had been standing by himself in the rear sunroom of his uncle's house holding a plateful of nachos that he recently looted from the snack table. Carefully taking five large triangular shaped tortilla chips he wanted to see how much cheese he could pile onto his man-made quintuple stacked nacho saucer.

To August's amazement, he was able to corral a golfball sized mound of cheese onto the nachos, which now made a sturdy and very tasty spoon. He eyed the cheese mound thoughtfully. He could make out the faint tint of greens and reds, signifying spicy morsels of green and red pepper. He wasn't a big fan of spicy food, but this cheese was right below his tolerance limit, making it very appealing.

He was so engrossed with his carefully constructed nacho masterpiece - admiring the rigid strength the tortilla chips displayed even under such cheesy stress - that he didn't hear the building commotion behind him.

As he raised the nacho tower towards his salivating mouth a large figure burst out of the screen door of house and nearly knocked him off his feet. The figure crashed into his left shoulder causing August to spin round so that he was facing back to the house. The figure that had spun him so effortlessly lumbered past him off of the deck and into the lawn. From there he could hear the tell-tale lurch and heave as a party goer's stomach decided to turn inside out and empty it's contents onto his uncle's finely manicured grass. August's instincts forbade him to turn around and look. After all, his mouth was now completely stuffed with cheese and tortilla chips that had been shoveled in accidentally during the collision.

The door to the house exploded out again. This time, like a careening banshee, his cousin Charlene came tumbling out. This had to mean that the gorilla that had nearly trampled him was Charlene's boyfriend Mason. In a cruel twist of fate, Mason was actually going to attend the University out east that August had longed to attend.

August had worked hard to a make sure his grades were top notch and that his entrance exam scores more than exceed the required or preferred standards. On one glorious afternoon he received the packet he'd been longing for.

His acceptance packet had arrived.

But it unfortunately came down to an issue of money. Though he was accepted, the financial package he was offered would have been barely able to cover the tuition. The cost of the books and the lodging alone sent his budget ledger spiraling into the red, taking his dreams of attending that University down the drain. Mason on the other hand, whom it appeared could not read past a fifth grade level, was offered a full scholarship, thanks to his girth and apparent willingness to smash his head as forcibly as he could into other football frenzied behemoths.

Mouth still brimming with warm nacho cheese August merely shot up a thumb, pointing over his shoulder to direct Charlene over to Mason's huddled figure. From the sound of it, it seemed Mason was able to expel most of whatever was bothering him, vodka or tequila or some other spirit they weren't legally able to imbibe yet.

August had planned to forget the entire incident, chalking it up to another botched moment in his already pathetic social life when Risa had exited the house. She came striding out, with one hand holding a roll of paper towels and the other hand a bottle of water. August was caught in a daze.

Maybe the extra large cheese ball he had eaten contained more spices than he anticipated. Maybe he had suffered a concussion from Mason's sudden impact against his shoulder. Maybe some alcoholic fumes had wafted up from the newly fertilized grass giving him a strange drunken euphoria.

Whatever it was, August was transfixed. Then, this water bottle wielding, paper towel holding, angel faced goddess before spoke.

"I'm sorry about that. Mason can be such an ass sometimes." Her voice was clear and strong. It didn't hold any edge of sarcasm, and August had developed a strong nose to sniff out sarcasm. She was being sincere. He wanted to charm her. He wanted to show that even with Mason's size it was only a glancing blow and he was no worse for wear. He could take hits like that all day and not even feel a thing. He wanted to prove that he was just as tough as any of these cretins at the party.

"Pffffttt"

That was the sound that escaped his mouth when he tried to speak. Horribly, it was accompanied by a a few particles of cheese and tortilla chips. The mass of nachos in his mouth had congealed into a sticky yellow mush that held his tongue captive. Whatever poetic words he wanted to recite were murdered by the cheese stuffing his mouth.

The girl offered him a strange look of amusement, she raised a carefully sculpted brown eyebrow. August tried to smile without opening his mouth, lest any more cheesy clumps fall out. He lifted his hands into a casual shrug then pretended to give a bow. Oddly, it was the only thing that occurred to him to do. The girl gave a small, yet very charming, chuckle as she stepped past him to help Charlene tend to the troll in obvious distress in the lawn.

A sniffle brought August back to reality.

Here he was, face to face with that girl again, and still, he was at a loss for the right words to say.