Pride
Page 44
Behind Parker and Dan, the door opened to admit a family of five, as well as a blast of frigid air. Two of the three children—the two big enough to walk—took off immediately for the counter to peer through the glass at an assortment of sugary breakfast treats.
“Because then we can go find Eckard and beat him until he tells us where Marc is,” I said in response to Dan’s question. And I am not playing good cop this time.
Parker and Ethan exchanged a pained look across the table. “Faythe…” Parker began, but I shook my head vehemently, my hair flying out to smack my brother in the face.
“Don’t say it,” I snapped, glaring at him like I could burn the thought from his mind. “He’s not dead, but he might be soon, and we’re not going to sit here all day stuffing our faces, waiting for answers to fall into our laps.”
“Why don’t we just do a thorough search of his house, like you said?” Ethan suggested, appealing to me to be reasonable with one raised eyebrow. “Something in there might tell us where he took Marc.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to get a grip on the rage scalding my insides. “You think he left a big flashing arrow pointing to a filing cabinet labeled ‘Evidence Here!’? He’s a stray, Ethan, not Wile E. Coyote!”
“I don’t know what he left, but there has to be something, ” my brother insisted, standing up to my enraged outburst, the lines around his bright green eyes reminding me I wasn’t the only one scared for Marc. “And if not, we can wait until he comes home, then beat it out of him. See? You still get to beat on him.” He shot me a good-humored smile, trying to placate me, but I only scowled. I didn’t want to be placated.
I wanted Marc back.
“We don’t have time to wait.” I spit the last word like the profanity it tasted like, and this time all three of the guys stared down at their food, refusing to meet my eyes.
I sighed. “Look, I know you think he’s dead. I know Dad probably agrees with you.” His heavy silence during the latest update had spoken volumes. “But I don’t. And your lack of faith doesn’t really change anything. If he’s dead, are we just going to let him rot in the woods somewhere, where any scavenger is free to snatch a bite?”
“Of course not.” Ethan frowned, and I got another glimpse of his own carefully hidden anger and anguish. “We love him, too, you know, and we’ll make sure he gets a proper burial. But…”
But if he’s dead, there’s no real hurry. We could wait until Eckard got home from work. Until the sun went down and we gained the cover of darkness. He didn’t have to say it. I could see it in his eyes.
I took another doughnut hole from the box and made myself chew, though I had no appetite. Eating gave me something to do, other than avoiding thoughts I couldn’t bear to think. When I swallowed, and finally felt calm enough to respond, I looked up. “Fine. If you want to search Eckard’s place, we’ll try that first. That’s probably the easiest way to find out where he works, anyway.”
Ethan sighed and glanced again at Parker, who nodded. We’d reached a compromise.
On the way out of the doughnut shop, I snatched a handful of powdered creamer packets and stuffed them into my pocket for later. Something told me there would be lots more black coffee in my future.
An hour later, Dan, Ethan, and I stood in Adam Eckard’s living room, staring at the mess we’d made ransacking his apartment. We’d snuck in through the back—Ethan broke the doorknob lock with one sharp twist—and had left Parker in the car a block away to cut down on our chances of being spotted breaking and entering in broad daylight.
And so the getaway car would be ready to go, just in case.
We’d searched every drawer and cabinet in the apartment, and though we had found an employee name tag and several check stubs—Eckard sold TVs at a local electronics store chain—we’d found nothing to indicate where he might have taken Marc.
“Okay, back to plan A,” I said, kicking a couch cushion out of my way, as Dan pilfered through a desk drawer. “Let’s go meet Eckard for lunch.”
Ethan picked up a cracked video-game case and turned it over to glance at the title. “I still have doughnut glaze between my teeth, but what the hell. I could eat again.” He snatched a half-eaten bag of Doritos from Eckard’s desk and stuck his nose inside to sniff the contents. Then he considered the scent for a moment, shrugged and shoved a chip into his mouth.
“Eww, Ethan. Is there anything you won’t eat?”
He answered by crunching into a second bite, then turned to follow me out the way we’d come in. But I’d only gone a couple of steps when a shrill telephone ring sliced through the near silence. An actual, plugged-into-the-wall phone; not one of our cells.
I turned, glancing around for the source, and saw Dan rooting through a pile of old newspapers on a table near the door, in search of the phone. Ethan dropped the chip bag to lift a series of dingy pillows, stained couch cushions and unwashed articles of clothing. I found the phone beneath a discarded pair of jeans, on the floor next to the steel-and-glass computer desk—an obvious place to keep one’s phone, right?
“Should I answer it?” I asked, as Ethan retrieved his snack. But before either of the guys could reply, a mechanical voice spoke up from the overturned answering machine next to the phone.
“Eckard?” said an unfamiliar voice after the beep. “Where the hell are you? If you’re not clocked in in twenty minutes, don’t come at all. I’ll put your last check in the mail.” The machine clicked as the caller hung up, and I knelt to turn it over. On the digital display, the number two blinked in bright red.
“Because then we can go find Eckard and beat him until he tells us where Marc is,” I said in response to Dan’s question. And I am not playing good cop this time.
Parker and Ethan exchanged a pained look across the table. “Faythe…” Parker began, but I shook my head vehemently, my hair flying out to smack my brother in the face.
“Don’t say it,” I snapped, glaring at him like I could burn the thought from his mind. “He’s not dead, but he might be soon, and we’re not going to sit here all day stuffing our faces, waiting for answers to fall into our laps.”
“Why don’t we just do a thorough search of his house, like you said?” Ethan suggested, appealing to me to be reasonable with one raised eyebrow. “Something in there might tell us where he took Marc.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to get a grip on the rage scalding my insides. “You think he left a big flashing arrow pointing to a filing cabinet labeled ‘Evidence Here!’? He’s a stray, Ethan, not Wile E. Coyote!”
“I don’t know what he left, but there has to be something, ” my brother insisted, standing up to my enraged outburst, the lines around his bright green eyes reminding me I wasn’t the only one scared for Marc. “And if not, we can wait until he comes home, then beat it out of him. See? You still get to beat on him.” He shot me a good-humored smile, trying to placate me, but I only scowled. I didn’t want to be placated.
I wanted Marc back.
“We don’t have time to wait.” I spit the last word like the profanity it tasted like, and this time all three of the guys stared down at their food, refusing to meet my eyes.
I sighed. “Look, I know you think he’s dead. I know Dad probably agrees with you.” His heavy silence during the latest update had spoken volumes. “But I don’t. And your lack of faith doesn’t really change anything. If he’s dead, are we just going to let him rot in the woods somewhere, where any scavenger is free to snatch a bite?”
“Of course not.” Ethan frowned, and I got another glimpse of his own carefully hidden anger and anguish. “We love him, too, you know, and we’ll make sure he gets a proper burial. But…”
But if he’s dead, there’s no real hurry. We could wait until Eckard got home from work. Until the sun went down and we gained the cover of darkness. He didn’t have to say it. I could see it in his eyes.
I took another doughnut hole from the box and made myself chew, though I had no appetite. Eating gave me something to do, other than avoiding thoughts I couldn’t bear to think. When I swallowed, and finally felt calm enough to respond, I looked up. “Fine. If you want to search Eckard’s place, we’ll try that first. That’s probably the easiest way to find out where he works, anyway.”
Ethan sighed and glanced again at Parker, who nodded. We’d reached a compromise.
On the way out of the doughnut shop, I snatched a handful of powdered creamer packets and stuffed them into my pocket for later. Something told me there would be lots more black coffee in my future.
An hour later, Dan, Ethan, and I stood in Adam Eckard’s living room, staring at the mess we’d made ransacking his apartment. We’d snuck in through the back—Ethan broke the doorknob lock with one sharp twist—and had left Parker in the car a block away to cut down on our chances of being spotted breaking and entering in broad daylight.
And so the getaway car would be ready to go, just in case.
We’d searched every drawer and cabinet in the apartment, and though we had found an employee name tag and several check stubs—Eckard sold TVs at a local electronics store chain—we’d found nothing to indicate where he might have taken Marc.
“Okay, back to plan A,” I said, kicking a couch cushion out of my way, as Dan pilfered through a desk drawer. “Let’s go meet Eckard for lunch.”
Ethan picked up a cracked video-game case and turned it over to glance at the title. “I still have doughnut glaze between my teeth, but what the hell. I could eat again.” He snatched a half-eaten bag of Doritos from Eckard’s desk and stuck his nose inside to sniff the contents. Then he considered the scent for a moment, shrugged and shoved a chip into his mouth.
“Eww, Ethan. Is there anything you won’t eat?”
He answered by crunching into a second bite, then turned to follow me out the way we’d come in. But I’d only gone a couple of steps when a shrill telephone ring sliced through the near silence. An actual, plugged-into-the-wall phone; not one of our cells.
I turned, glancing around for the source, and saw Dan rooting through a pile of old newspapers on a table near the door, in search of the phone. Ethan dropped the chip bag to lift a series of dingy pillows, stained couch cushions and unwashed articles of clothing. I found the phone beneath a discarded pair of jeans, on the floor next to the steel-and-glass computer desk—an obvious place to keep one’s phone, right?
“Should I answer it?” I asked, as Ethan retrieved his snack. But before either of the guys could reply, a mechanical voice spoke up from the overturned answering machine next to the phone.
“Eckard?” said an unfamiliar voice after the beep. “Where the hell are you? If you’re not clocked in in twenty minutes, don’t come at all. I’ll put your last check in the mail.” The machine clicked as the caller hung up, and I knelt to turn it over. On the digital display, the number two blinked in bright red.
