# Ending 1.5 Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Interlude - The Pieces
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You check your watch for what must be the hundredth time today. The time hasn’t changed since the last time you looked; the ceremonies are still a few minutes away.
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You check your phone for what must be the hundredth time today. The messages haven’t changed since the last time you looked; everything you sent last night is still unread.
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You stow your phone away, scanning the crowds for any people of interest. The air-conditioned gymnasium was packed with parents excited to see their kids move up in the world. You wish you could join them, or at least share their merriment.
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“Cheer up, honey!” A saccharine voice calls from your side. “This is a special day! Don’t look so grumpy.” You glance over to your wife, a dangerously contagious smile on her face. “She’ll show up, I’m sure of it.”
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You hum a non-response and return your gaze forward, doing your best to find a small, comfortable smile. It’s completely fake, but it will do for now.
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The caveman principal gets on stage as a few students and faculty scramble to finish the preparations. You never understood why he wore such fine suits, yet still went barefoot wherever he went.
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He taps the mic, a moment of feedback clouding the room before cutting off. He clears his throat, then goes into a completely generic and forgettable speech. You zone out as soon as it starts, mentally occupied by much more important things.
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She- her- your daughter- no. Do better. Fang. The name is foreign, and your mind attempts to reject it and supplant it with something else. Fang. Fang is nowhere to be seen. Naser hasn’t seen… them. You sigh inwardly, both in frustration and anxiety. Nobody said this was going to be easy, but you need to do it.
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A name catches your attention. The principal is the source, and there’s an uproar from the students in a hallway off to the left. Your son and his girlfriend pass through the doorway and onto the stage. Your wife cheers frantically, and the rest of the audience claps along. You flash a smile towards the stage. While your figure is certainly noticeable at a distance, your expression is less so.
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It doesn’t matter. At least try to enjoy this. Top of his class, star athlete, responsible, punctual… everything you want him to be. Naomi isn’t too bad either.
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Naomi begins a speech, very clearly rehearsed, with a hint of… gloating? You’re not sure if it’s intentional or not. Spears either notices it or is more concerned with time than her moment in the spotlight, and quickly hurries them off stage to announce the second part of the celebrations.
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Having your last name start with an ‘A’ came with some interesting benefits, and this was one of them. One by one, students’ names were called and they hopped onto the stage to accept their diploma, with the occasional burst of cheers. Oleg Antonov, Jonathan Appleseed, Lucy Aron…
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Silence for but a second. Naser Aron. Another round of cheering for the star student. Jeff Aston. Damnit! You had hoped she would at least show up, but a part of you knew this was the likely outcome.
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“I’m sure she’s just sleeping in, dear…” Samantha says in an attempt to reassure you. A sigh escapes you, your facade wiped away by a grim scowl.
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“I’m going to talk to Naser. Maybe he knows something,” you respond. An arm hooks around yours, demanding you stay put.
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“You know it’s not a good idea to force this,” she warns.
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“I won’t do anything crazy. I just… got a bad feeling. Worried.” She sighs, knowing your mind is already made up.
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“She’s going to leave the nest eventually. There’s a whole world out there for her, and she’s ready to make her own decisions.”
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“I know, I know. I’ll be there and back before you know it, with or without.” Her arm retracts without further protest, and you push your way through the bleachers and out through the right side of the gymnasium. There’s a couple of students milling around waiting for something or someone, a few cheering as they sprint down the hallway, and Naser, by himself, with his back to a wall.
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“Hey,” you grunt to him.
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“Hey,” he grunts in response.
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“I’ll save the speech for later, I know there’s still some stuff you need to take care of. You seen your sister?” Sibling.
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“No…” he sighs. “Won’t check their texts either.” You check your phone again. Still unread.
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“Yup. I’m gonna go check up on them, won’t be gone long. Go say ‘hi’ to your mom when you get a minute.”
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“Yeah, just, don’t…” He trails off. He doesn’t know the details, but he’s not clueless.
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“I know. Getting cursed out doesn’t sound that bad right about now,” you respond. He nods, then heads back into the gymnasium. You exit the school and head to the parking lot, clambering into your car and turning the ignition. You resist the urge to slam on the gas and peel out of the parking lot, electing for a more well-reasoned drive. At least, as well-reasoned as any trip to Skin Row can be.
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A few minutes later, your car is parked next to their apartment building. You make your way up the stairs and to their front door. You hesitate, feeling the knot in your stomach tightening before you even raise your fist to knock.
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Fear. Physical and mental. You became well acquainted with it over the last few weeks, far more than you thought possible. You attempt to rationalize away some of the fear. You checked the gun this morning, and it was still where it belonged.
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You check your phone again, subconsciously hoping for an excuse away from this. Still unread.
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It’s now or never. Just say hello, that you’re glad they’re okay, that you want to make things right, for real. It’s the least you can do, even if you don’t get everything you want today. It’s as simple as that. Simple as that. Simple as that.
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The mantra doesn’t slow your racing heart any. Nor does it stop it from speeding up as you prepare to knock. You realize you haven’t heard anything from inside the apartment yet. The quiet din of the run-down housing hadn’t changed, and no familiar voices made themselves heard. Chances are they’re still asleep. You hope.
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Your fist lands on the door once, twice, thrice. Three acoustic clicks echo through the hallway and you wait with bated breath for a response.
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Nothing. You wait a few seconds more, just in case. Still nothing. You clear your throat and knock three more times.
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“Lu- Fang?” you call into the door. The name is foreign on your tongue, just as it was in your mind, muscle memory attempting to supplant the name. Overcoming it is a small victory, dwarfed by the silence still emanating from the apartment. “You don’t have to come out or anything… just let me know you’re there…”
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Nothing. Chances are they’re out shopping, or on a date, or just giving you the cold shoulder. You’ll get another opportunity at some point. Should get back to Volcano High.
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The doorknob turns. You glance down at your hand, clasped around it. You might not have noticed the cold brass against your scales, but the knob offering no resistance was alarming. Why was the door unlocked? Fear pours into you. You almost died the last time this door opened, but an unlocked door in this part of the city is a terrible sign. You brace yourself and push. The door swings open, lightly bouncing off of a doorstop. The hallway in front of you is empty.
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“Hello?” you call again. Silence greets you once more. By the time you finish considering the technicalities of breaking and entering, you’ve automatically stepped through the doorway and into the kitchen. Your eyes dart around, drinking in every detail. A few dirty dishes in the sink. A key on the countertop. A pantry door slightly ajar.
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You double back to the key, picking it up. It’s a standard door key, as unremarkable as can be. You step back towards the door and slot the key into the keyhole. It’s a perfect fit and turns the bolt easily.
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You dash forward, around the corner and into the main room. It’s almost completely barren. You take stock of what’s still left. An entertainment center with no television. An empty desk and chair. A small, unkempt bed with a pair of phones on it, and a pair of plates on the floor.
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Every potential justification you’ve presented to yourself up to this point falls apart.
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They’re gone. They’re fucking gone, and you never got a chance.
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You take an uneasy step forward and get a closer look. One phone is definitely Lucy’s, so the other must be Anon’s. There’s probably something useful on them, privacy rights be damned. You take a step towards the entertainment center, yanking open its drawers and cabinet doors. Empty, empty, junk, junk… you hear something rolling along the bottom of one of the drawers.
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The culprit is a brass cylinder, unmistakably belonging to you. Right next to it is the last piece of your missing property. The testaments to your failures, staring you in the face. The reality you desperately tried to ignore, openly mocking you. What could have been. What almost was.
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You stare at the bullet. It makes its way into your hand, then clenched in your palm.
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Fix this. You need to fix this. You need to fix this before something happens. Something bad. Before it’s too late.
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What else is there? The desk? There’s something on it. Two pieces of paper, lying face down. Any doubts of this not being deliberate vacate your mind. They’re not just gone. They left. When, where? Even if they left just hours ago, they could be headed towards anywhere in the country by now, and it’s been almost a week since anyone has seen them.
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Focus. The papers. If there’s even a chance of a lead, you need it. You flip over the left paper. The handwriting is unknown, rough, and difficult to read. Anon’s, surely.
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‘We’re leaving Volcaldera,’ the first sentence reads. Your eyes clench shut, unwilling to continue. You were sure that this was the case, but to read it so plainly hurts more than you could have imagined. They don’t want to be here. You’re a liability. A threat.
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‘The reasons are many and deep,’ it continues. ‘Fang and I no longer feel safe after everything that’s happened this month. Too many attacks and betrayals from too many people. We decided it was in everyone’s interests for us to leave. Please don’t come looking for us, as that will only make things worse. If we want to come back, we will do it on our own terms.’
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‘Goodbye.’
‘Anon’
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The last word is punctuated with a heavy sigh escaping you. Do you respect their wishes and hope they come back one day? A heartfelt reunion where all can be laid bare and forgiven? You doubt it. There’s still one paper left to read. You flip it over, and Lucy’s handwriting is immediately apparent.
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‘I’m finally leaving this shithole city. Year after fucking year, I was shit on by almost every person I knew, constantly, because I wasn’t good enough for them. No matter what I did, it was always something else that I lacked, or something else that they turned their snouts up at. Worst of all was that fucking whore Naomi, whose only claim to fame is getting in everyone’s business, including mine.’
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‘Through all of it, I always had one person there for me. At the first sign of disloyalty, she put a fucking knife in my back. Fuck you, Trish. You called me a friend, then tried to use our friendship as leverage to get me away from someone I love. If you ever see me again, I’ll be in front of millions, without you.’
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‘Mom and dad, you are two sides of the same coin. One oblivious, the other angry, both ignorant. You never even fucking tried, instead just hoping you could ignore or shout me into being whatever you think I should be. Well, I’m out of your hair now, aren’t I? Just what you wanted.’
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‘Fuck off and stay fucked off.’
‘Fang’
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Your eyes stick to the last word, unable to move. Every sentence you read made that terrible feeling in your chest worse. Emotions cry out to be catastrophically released, kept down only by the desire to keep focus. Keep it together. You have to. You need to act. Pick up the pieces of what they left behind. Make things right. Before you’re just a painful memory to her.