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“Syd… come back to bed.” Nate is at the balcony door, in a pair of loose sweats, a hand in his ruffled dark hair. The faint light from the street below gilds the hard planes of his bare chest. West appears behind him. He leans against the open door.
“Someone took him.” God, I’m so pissed at the world. So frigging flaming pissed. Incensed. Furious.
My heart’s in pieces on the floor.
“That guy’s high most of the time on the same junk he’s selling,” West says. “You can’t trust what he says.”
“But what if he’s right, and we’re leaving Kash to die? What if his uncle is lying? What if it’s all a lie?” My voice catches. I swallow down a sob. “What if Kash is in danger?”
“Conspiracy theories?” Nate sighs. He pads over to me, leans on the rail. “You realize that if Kash was kidnapped, the chances of him being still alive are slim.”
“Okay, Mr. Criminologist. You don’t know that.”
He shakes his head, huffs. “I’m only saying it’s been months, Syd. And even if we accept that all this is true, that Kash was kidnapped then…” His voice cracks. “Who took him? We have no suspects, no descriptions of the kidnappers.”
West comes to join us, looking down at the street. “We’re in the dark just like before.”
I swallow hard. How can I accept he isn’t coming back? “We have to tell the police about this, even if they laugh in our faces.”
“We will,” Nate says, and West nods.
Good. And I’m reading Kash’s journal all the way to the end, starting right now. If there is a clue, any clue at all of who took him… then I’ll find it.
Chapter Forty-Five
From Kash’s Journal
April 17 - Three years ago
Dear Journal,
I’m so fucking tired of running. Running from home, from my uncle, from my past. It keeps catching up on me in my sleep, in these panic attacks that twist me up and won’t let go. At least I have my faithful pouch. Smoking is the only thing that helps. Or maybe it’s all in my mind.
Maybe all addicts think the same before their world comes crashing down. Then again, my world crashed down long ago. Might as well walk its ruins with a joint in my hand.
But Philly is getting complicated. And I thought someone was following me yesterday, so… Time to move on.
June 3 - Three years ago
Made it to St. Louis. Still don’t know where I’m staying, or where I could work. I’ve had jobs in a couple of food joints and restaurants, so I’ll probably start with that. I’m running low on money, though. Thinking to sell one of my last expensive things. My dad’s watch, maybe. Though I don’t want to.
Not sure why I cling to these things. Dad is gone. It has sunk in, even if in my dreams he’s sometimes there, with Mom and sis.
Maybe I won’t need to sell it yet… I just need to find a cheap room and land a job quickly. I’m saving the watch and a couple more things for rougher times. Experience tells me that sooner or later, they’ll come.
I’m seventeen now. In next year I’ll inherit my dad’s money. What will Uncle A. do then?
Nothing good, I bet.
June 23 - Two years ago
Dear Journal, you’re useless, you know that? You never ask how I am. For being my only friend, you sure aren’t earning any brownie points right now, because guess what? I got a room. And a job.
The job is in a Greek restaurant. Pay is decent. And the room is cheap. So all good. We’re set for now. I should be relaxed. But something’s stressing me—well, more than normal. Probably the new place. The owner’s son is nice, and he’s friends with the girl living right across from his apartment, and another guy living below. They’re good friends. I like them.
But it feels like they’re hiding secrets, and I’ve got enough of my own.
September 30 - Two years ago
