Part 19

Risa turned to peer down the hallway again towards her mothers room. She subconsciously tapped her left index finger against her thigh before quickly balling up her fist after realizing her nervous tick was activated. She never quite knew how she had developed that strange habit, but she knew that she often tapped her thigh whenever she was nervous.

"Quit being so silly!" She chided herself. "Its probably just an open window." Risa's mother liked to open the windows in what she called "airing out the house". This was a usual occurrence especially during cooler summer nights. However, Risa remembered her mother specifically instructing her not to open the windown in her brother's room. It seemed like her mother had wanted to prevent any breeze or gust to enter the room in order to preserve it in its current state. Her mother seemed to want to mummify Caleb's room, hoping that by leaving the room untouched it would freeze time and bring Caleb back home safely.

Risa rarely entered her brother's room and her mother never did, or at least Risa had never seen her enter since the disappearance. Shaking her head one final time Risa strode confidently towards Caleb's door. Her footfalls made no sounds as she steps lively across the soft carpeted floor. Though she hadn't meant too, Risa was actually tip-toeing across the hallway. Risa felt the gentle strain of her calf muscles and abruptly realized she had been moving on the pads of her feet. When she stopped in front of the door she exhaled and forced her heels to the ground.

She waited. She was expecting to hear the tapping noise noise again but her hesitation was met with only silence. She frowned as she stared at the copper colored door handle. Risa studied Caleb's door with renewed interest, looking at it closely for the first time.

Littered across the door were several stickers and signs Caleb had accumulated through the years. The stickers were of various sizes and random states of decay. There were stickers of skulls and crossbones, relatively common to other boy's room doors she thought. A large sign proclaiming "Do Not Enter" in bold red and white was affixed at an angle across the top of the door. Risa chuckled at the sight of a small sticker of a unicorn still partially stuck behind larger bumper stickers promoting local musical acts.

Some years back Risa had gotten a hold of a small pack of stickers that were geared for young girls. The pack included stickers of rainbows, butterflies and unicorns. Charlene and Risa had come to the conclusion that Caleb's door was severely lacking in these types of stickers then proceeded to enhance the door with these newer, less masculine, stickers. As expected Caleb flew into a rage upon seeing these "girlie" stickers adorning the portal to his room and began to rip frantically at the stickers.

However, Risa had been prepared for this reaction and planned to escalate her mischief. Before placing the final sticker - which happened to be shinny purple unicorn - Risa liberally applied a coat of super glue onto the back of the sticker. No matter how much Caleb scratched and clawed, the majority of that purple unicorn held fast to the door.

Risa smiled sadly, "That feels like an eternity ago," she thought solemnly.

Without any further hesitation Risa reached for door handle and gave it a quick turn. The door knob was cool to her touch and the door swung open easily. Risa pushed the door open and stood beneath the frame of the door wanting to survey the room before taking another step into it.

The light from the hallway sliced into the room creating a narrow path across the floor. She heard the tap, tap, tap and her eyes were immediately drawn to the window at the far end of the room. The hallway light didn't quite penetrate the entirety of the darkness but with the muted glow of the moon seeping through the window, Risa could see what was causing the tapping noise.

The window was open and the wooden ball at the end of the cord for the window blinds was rhythmically hitting the sill.

Risa reached over to her right to flip the light switch. She was forced to squint briefly as the over head lamp flickered on. Her mother had decided to change all of the household light bulbs to a more cost efficient florescent bulbs. Because of this switch Risa always waited an extra second after turning on a light before moving forward to give the bulb that moment to flicker then come to life.

With the overhead lamp fully illuminating the room Risa let her eyes pass over her brother's former den. Much of the room was just as it was when her brother left it months ago.

Several articles of clothing were laid out across the bed. They were piled up neatly in Caleb's signature style. Caleb had developed the compulsive habit of arranging all of his clothing by color and season. By no means would he have been considered stylish or a fashonista, his compulsion was brought on by the desire for order rather than the aesthetic. With the rudimentary knowledge Risa had taken in from her high school psychology class, she guessed this need for order her brother harbors was born from the chaos their father often lived in. Risa thought again for a moment, "chaos" was probably a poor choice of words to describe their interaction with their father. A whirlwind of fun and spontaneity was probably a more apt way of describing it.

Her father had taken the Peter Pan theory - the idea of never growing up - too much too heart. Risa always remember her father as a kind hearted and loving man. He was quick to tell jokes and could even get the most suspicious stranger to sit enthralled when he would tell a story. He was a musician. An artist. A savant. But his thoughts and attentions often wandered. He picked up and played many different instruments. He would take on various jobs, playing music at different venues at different times and for varying pay. While this may have been an ideal situation for a bachelor roaming the earth, it soon became too trying for her mother.

The weeks and days before her father left seemed like a distant blur in her memory banks. It was as if a fog had settled on those recollections and Risa could never quite piece together what really happened during those days. Her parents had argued to be sure, though towards the end they argued quite frequently. There were never fights, no screaming, but just tense discussions usually ending with her mother leaving in frustration. Her father shied away from confrontation and would never be goaded.

Though Risa was still relatively young, she remember seeing the strain in her father's eyes even when he tried to mask it with his toothy grin. There was no fanfare or much excitement the day her father finally left. Her father would often be gone for a few days on end when he had to travel to another city for work so it seemed to Risa that it was just another one of those trips. Her mother never spoke about it, she had seemed resigned to the inevitable. It wasn't until Risa's Junior year in high school, when the boys began calling her house in earnest, did her mother give her a single piece of advice: "Be careful of those charmers".

Her mother's tone had been so flat and matter-of-fact that Risa took those words to heart. She seemed to raise her guard high whenever a good looking boy came to pay her compliments. She sneered at the romantic attempts made by her male peers. She shielded herself away from the giddiness and puppy love that seemed to plague her friends like a disease.

Risa found herself tapping her thigh again. She tugged at her shorts in frustration. She did not like having this habit, she thought it to be a crutch of her over active mind. She knew her mother, father and brother all showed signs of obsessive compulsive tendencies and she vowed never to develop one.

The breeze must have stopped, Risa thought, since the tapping noise had subsided. She looked over the room again, everything was as it should be. One day, she said to herself, I will clean up this room and put those clothes away. Risa felt that it wasn't good to keep a wound open and festering, she would try and help her mother get through her brother's disappearance.

Part 18

August peered into the screen on his cell phone and reread the text message for the third time.

"Hey, its Augie, can you please give me your friend Sonrisa's cell phone number? I need to let her know something. She stopped by the store earlier. Thanks."

August had revised the message a couple times. During the last revision he decided to add "it's Augie" fearing that Charlene wouldn't have his number and would ignore the text message completely. He also hated the fact that he had to use the name Augie - the nickname his family had bestowed up him - because it might not even to register to her if he simply put August.

"What are you doing? Who are you texting?" Merriam asked him between bites of her scrambled eggs. After closing up the comic store August, Elvis and Merriam had decided to go and get something to eat. They settled on First Stop Cafe. The was a favored local hang out for many of the college students who would often stay into the morning hours with cups of coffee pouring over their notes and text books. Since only the summer session was on going, the First Stop Cafe had less traffic that evening than usual.

August inverted his cell phone subconsciously as if he felt guilty of some crime. Or was it more from embarrassment. It wasn't a big deal, he said to himself, but then why was he afraid to tell his friends what he was up to.

"Oh leave him be," Elvis said before shoveling a triangular stack of pancakes into his mouth. "He's probably trying to get a hold of Sonrisa," a few bits of syrup laden pancake flew out of Elvis's mouth as he spoke with a full mouth. Merriam scruntched her face in disgust but Elvis apparently did not notice her and proceeded to spear a greasy sliver of burnt bacon.

"That's right, I was just sending a text to my cousin Charlene," August admitted, "She's a friend of Sonrisa's".

Merriam shrugged at August's admission and turned her attention back to her eggs. Maybe I'm the only one making this a bigger deal than it is, he pondered. He glanced over to Merriam, the hair from her black bangs had swung to partially cover her left eye which was heavily covered with dark blue eyeliner. She idley swept her hair away with her left hand and tucked it neatly behind her ear. August watched her carefully sweep her fork under a pile of light yellow scrambled eggs, with the fork in place Merriam picked up a ketchup bottle and gently squeezed out a few dallops of the bright red sauce.

"I can't believe you eat ketchup with everything," August said more to himself. Merriam looked up at him and gave a big smile as she heartily ate the ketchup soaked eggs. She let out a contented sigh, knowning that August harbored a distaste of ketchup. August could never pinpoint where his dislike of ketchup had evovled from, he just knew he did not like the normally very popular condiment.

"So did you text your cousin? I'm sure Sonrisa will want to come by and get that package." Elvis stated, though his attention was clearly more focused on his pancakes. With his two companions busy eating again August turned back to his cell phone. He looked at the message on last time then pressed the send button. He watched the small bar on the screen slide from left to right indicating the progress of his query.

August imagined his words turning into small peices of electronic signals that would quickly be beamed to Charlene's cell phone. Some odd questions rolled through August's mind after the message sent indicator flashed onto the cellphone's screen. Will Charlene think I'm stalking her friend? Will she even give me Risa's number? Why do I even care what Charlene thinks? Will she even reply back to my text?

August pushed a gaunt sausage link across his plate with his fork. He shook his head and sighed. He could not help thinking about the package and the sickening feeling he had after he dropped it and heard the sound of something breaking.

He had wanted to open up the package to see what had broken and to see if he could repair it. Elvis shouted his support of this plan, though his motives were solely based more on the morbid curiosity of the mysterious package addressed to a lost child rather than a desire to correct any damage done. August had begun to reach for a pair of scissors to open the box before he yeilded to Merriam's better reason. She insisted that charge of federal mail fraud probably wasn't worth any amount of yelling Risa may unleash. August wasn't too sure about that.

Nevertheless, he relented and stored the packages under the counter below the cash register and then locked up the store.

The remaineder of their late evening meal proceeded without further incident, mostly conversations about the findings of Merriams latest observational studies. Even efter they finished their food Elvis still had the ability to polish off an entire piece of First Stop Cafe's reknown peach cobbler pie.

It was not until August was well on his drive home that he got what he was waiting for. The cellphone in his pocket vibrated and he took a hand off of the car's steering wheel to take a look. Clicking on the "view message" button he had gotten a reply from his cousin. August shook his head and sighed as he read the message.

It read: "Don't be weird. I can't just give you her number. Call me tomorrow."

Part 17

Risa and Charlene had spoken at length about their encounter with Detective Wardell throughout the afternoon. Both girls had come to the conclusion that Wardell was actually a good man with good intentions. Risa was somewhat amazed that her feelings regarding Wardell had shifted so suddenly after their short talk on the front lawn. However, it was comforting for her that Charlene had felt the same way. Wardell seemed less daunting after speaking with him directly and she silently wished him well on his investigation, even if it uncovered unpleasant scenarios regarding her brother.

As if sensing that Risa needed her company, Charlene had canceled her appointment at the nail salon to spend the day at the Pope residence. Charlene had even stayed to have dinner with Risa and her mother. It was a relatively quiet affair since Risa's mom seemed preoccupied - her mind clearly elsewhere. Risa probably was not a viable sounding board as well, since she often caught herself thinking about her conversation with Wardell. But, being somewhat ignored never deterred Charlene from talking. She easily filled the silent phases during the meal with trivial stories and tales of her adventures at the local mall.

It was nearly 10 pm at night by the time Charlene left Risa's house. That's the latest she had stayed at her friend's home since they were in elementary school. In those years the girls would often spend days on end in each others company. They became closer during long sleep over parties and lock-ins.

As they aged, the appeal of staying late at Risa's home waned. As the girl's relaxation activities changed, they found staying at Risa's less and less desirable. Charlene had often wanted to stay at Risa's home to avoid the fighting and arguing that was a nightly occurrence during her parents divorce. Once her parent's marriage was finally dissolved, it made Charlene's house a more enviable place to be.

Charlene's father, who had gained custody of his three children assumed that the best way to cement the affection of his children - was to purchase it. Since her father had the means to accomplish this goal, he rarely spared any expense.

Risa had given Charlene a long and thankful hug when it was time for her friend to go. Though Charlene was at times spacey and sometimes callous, Risa could definitely count her a friend.

Risa sat at her desk and stared blankly out of her bedroom window. She had watched Risa leave a few hours ago and now she subconsciously tapped a charcoal pencil against her sketch pad. Her inspiration had become a fleeting thing since Caleb's disappearance. She used to fill the pages of her sketchbook with doodles and drawings ranging from everyday items she would spot to random patterns that stenciled in her mind.

She watched a pair of head lights turn onto her street and whip around the cul-de-sac before slipping into one of the neighboring driveways.

"Must be Mr. Sumpter," she figured. Mr. Sumpter and his wife lived a couple houses over from the Pope family. Mr. Sumpter was a pharmacist who owned a small drug store downtown. Though his business had suffered some big blows with the economic downturn and the opening of several large multi-state chain pharmacies, Mr. Sumpter stubbornly held on to his livelihood.

A spate of loyal and long time customers kept his business afloat, though Risa always presumed that Mr. Sumpter's near endless optimism was the primary source of his business's survival.

With no children of their own Mr. and Mrs. Sumpter stood steadfast with Risa's mother. They were always willing to lend a hand and always offered their support.

Risa watched as Mr. Sumpter's car plunge into the darkened garage. She noted the red tail lights glaring at her through the growing mist. The steady cascade of the garage door slowly made the tail lights disappear as if a red eyed monster was closing its eyes to go to sleep.

Then something made Risa consciously stop tapping her pencil. She had heard another small tapping sound. She paused for a moment then tapped her pencil against the sketchbook again. She wanted to compare this to the sound she had heard.

Her pencil made a very light thump as it hit the heavy cardboard cover of her sketchbook. It hadn't been the pencil making the tapping sound. Risa paused again and tried to listen for the noise again.

For a moment Risa thought it was odd that such a sound had caught her attention. The Pope residence was an older home and with this age it came with an assortments of creaks and innocent groans as weathered pipes or well worn floor boards gnashed against each other. But this sound was unlike anything she typically heard throughout the house.

Maybe it was her mother doing something in the kitchen? Risa thought, or maybe she was cutting out some coupons from the paper in the family room. Risa quickly dismissed these thoughts since she had watched her mother prepare her nightcap and head off to bed.

Since Caleb's disappearance, Risa's mother had developed the habit of drinking vodka to help her get to sleep. It calmed her nerves, she said. What Risa was not aware of was that her mother had begun to drink this vodka in addition to taking nighttime sleep aids.

Risa leaned back in her chair and strained to hear the noise again.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

There it was again. It was faint and Risa turned her head to try and determine where the sound was coming from. It sounded vaguely like the tap on a key board. It reminded Risa of a person tapping the "spacebar" repeatedly. There was a pause between each tap, though the cadence was fairly even.

Risa stood up and walked away from her desk. She was unsure why she cared about discovering the source of this noise but she felt compelled to find it.

The logical options circulated in her mind. Its probably a small tree branch that stuck in the gutter that's being moved around by the breeze. Or more likely a squirrel on the roof trying to open an acorn. Or maybe a pair of squirrels running back and forth trying to catch each other.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

It sounded again. The rhythm seemed much too uniform for a simple twig being manipulated by a random breeze. The pauses between each tap suggested it wasn't a pair of slow moving squirrels.

Risa moved to her door and slowly edged her head out into the hallway. She looked to her mother's room. The door was ajar and she could see her mother softly sleeping from the light of the lamp on the bedside table. She was comforted by the rattle of her mother's gentle snore. Risa smiled to herself, her mother was always ready to claim that she never snored, and Risa never wanted to correct her.

She turned to her right and looked down the empty hallway. She looked past the metal picture frames that lined the walls, chronicling Caleb's and her childhood. She peered down to the stairwell to the dark first floor entryway.

The sound couldn't have come from downstairs, it couldn't have been loud enough right?

Risa placed her hand against the door frame and waited again for the sound to come.

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound was slightly louder now since she was sticking her head out in the hallway, though it was still quite faint. It was as if the person typing on the keyboard was applying just an ounce more of pressure.

Risa wondered why there had only been three taps instead of the five she had been hearing, but her curiosity was cut short by the realization of where the sound was emanating.

Risa squinted her eyes and shook her head slightly as she forced her mind to reconcile the audio and visual data it had just collected. After another moment's calculation there was no mistaking it. She was sure she knew where the sound was coming from and for some reason her curiosity turned into a sickly sense of foreboding.

She stared hard at the closed door leading into Caleb's room.

Tap, tap, tap.

Part 16

August just stared blankly at Elvis's face. He wasn't sure why he could just answer "yes" but his mouth refused to form the word. Was he afraid of acknowledging what both of them so obviously could see? Why was he treating this package delivery like it was the old "Bloody Mary" urban fable. As if reading the name "Caleb Pope" aloud would usher in some sort of fearsome reckoning. August exhaled then shook his head. He tried to answer Elvis in his most manner-of-fact voice.

"Yeah, it's addressed to Caleb Pope. He probably placed an order a long time ago and it just took a while to get delivered."

It was more the tone of August's voice rather than the name he uttered that grabbed Merriam's attention. She peaked up from the middle of her text message and looked over to her two friends still fussing over some box that August had dropped. She shut her cell phone allowing the unsent message to be automatically stored into her drafts folder. "I gotta remember to send that later", she thought absently before walking up to the boys.

"What are you two idiots doing? Are you trying to break the box some more? What is it anyways? Are that some of those nudie comics that you both love so much?"

"No, it's nothing like that", August blushed slightly remembering that Merriam had caught him reading a particularly salacious comic book once. He couldn't really remember the plot, but then again that comic was about a young bikini clad demon hunter who often walked around with a sword a little else.

"Look at the addressee Merriam!" Elvis could hardly contain his excitement, "It's addressed to Caleb Pope! As-in the boy who disappeared! As-in the boy that ran away."

"May have run away," August corrected. He felt the need to defend Caleb's honor, even though he did not know him. It was more of an instinctual action on Risa's behalf no doubt.

"So," if Merriam was intrigued - she did not show it, "who cares? Like Augie said, that Caleb guy probably ordered it a long time ago". August hated the nickname 'Augie' and armed with this knowledge, Merriam vowed to call him that as much as possible. She sauntered over and picked up the box. Under August and Elvis' shocked eyes, Merriam gave the box a quick shake back and forth. A terrible crackling noise came from the box - the sound of shifting glass pieces.

"Yep," Merriam said nodding, "you definitely broke something Augie."

"Put it down! Don't make it worse!" August did not mean to snap and sound extremely upset, but in reality he was angry. Not really angry at Merriam for her continual prodding, but more so at himself for his earlier bout of clumsiness. Merriam hastily put the box back down on the corner and raised her arms in mock surrender.

"Okay, okay! There it's back safely on the counter."

"So what are you gonna do?" Elvis said putting a hand on August's shoulder. "Isn't it strange that on the very day Sonrisa, as-in the sister of the said missing boy, pays you a visit then you receive a package meant for that same boy? You gotta admit, that's kinda freaky!"

"It's just coincidence," August said waving a hand dismissively, "the only strange thing is that the delivery happened so late. I was just about to close up."

"If science teaches us anything," Elvis said unabated, "it's that there are no coincidences."

"Oh stop, no more of your off-the-wall theories. I'm sure you're going to say that this is the 'universe' trying to get August together with his school boy crush," Merriam added while rolling her eyes.

August flinched. He had forgotten that he had told Merriam about his passing infatuation with Risa. His unrequited affection for a younger girl was not something he wanted to share too often. Especially since his chances of landing such a girl on his arm were slim to none. He had been hoping that Merriam would not have made that connection, but with a unique name like 'Sonrisa' and with Merriam's research sharpened mind, that mystery was solved quite quickly.

"Well, she is quite fetching" Elvis said grinning, "and if the 'universe' wants August to hook up with a girl as cute as that, well, who are we to question the 'universe'?"

"I'm pretty sure that whatever powers that be drives this universe," Merriam quipped, "be it some all powerful deity or blind random fate, that it has much more important things to take care of rather than August's love life. You know like storms or preventing nuclear wars, no offense Augie."

"None taken," August shrugged then began to tune out his companion's dialogue. Elvis and Merriam continued on into an animated conversation regarding the possibilities of either an omnipotent god or random predetermined fate.

August looked at the box again and was filled with remorse. "Here might be the very last thing Risa and her mom could have to remember Caleb by, and I broke it. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"So what are you going to do with it?" Merriam's question thankfully broke August's moment of self reproach.

"Well, I have to call Risa and let her know a package arrived for her brother." August answered.

"Wait, but you said she didn't leave a number when she dropped by - so you said," Elvis began, "and I know they aren't listed anymore, they had to taken the number off of public records after the press came and kept trying to ask all of those questions. How will you get a hold of Risa?"

"Wait Elvis, shouldn't the 'universe' just magically teleport a cell phone with Risa's phone number already programed in it?" Once Merriam found something to tease them about it took her a while to relent. Elvis pretended to swing an elbow towards Merriam's head. She in-turn playfully dodged before launching a fake kick towards Elvis's shin.

August smiled broadly. His friend's thought he was being entertained by their impromptu kung-fu theater performance but August was actually please with himself by thinking of a way to get a hold of Risa quickly. His cousin Charlene would know Risa's number. Yes, definitely Charlene, she could give him the information he needed.

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.