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on. “Where are Oliver and David?” he demanded.
Mrs. Martin was quite the actress, Frank decided, when she appeared to be o
utraged through the thin crack in the door she was standing behind. “They’r
e sleeping, and you should be, too. Obviously your mother has no idea you’r
e out at all hours of the night or I’m sure...”
“I just got a phone call from David,” Frank cut her off. “He’s not sleeping.
Get him.”
Mrs. Martin narrowed the one eye that Frank could see on him. “Go home, or I’
ll call the police.” She started to slam the door, but this time Frank was qu
ick to get a foot in.
“And I’m sure that’ll do you a whole lot of good,” he said sarcastically. “W
here is David?”
When Mrs. Martin didn’t answer and attempted to shove her door closed on F
rank’s foot instead, he’d finally had enough. With both hands on the door
he pushed his way by it and Mary Martin, into the house.
“That’s it!” Mary huffed, stepping back. “I’m calling the police!”
“Go ahead,” Frank replied as he looked over the perfectly normal living ro
om for anything not-so-normal. “I was gonna get to that, anyway.” He glanc
ed challengingly towards Mrs. Martin, and as he’d suspected, she stopped s
hort of picking up the phone. But what he hadn’t expected, was the swollen
purple blemish marring her left eye. That definitely hadn’t happened from
being clumsy, which is exactly the explanation Frank thought he’d get if
he asked. “Where’s your husband?” he asked, finally recalling that forcing
his way into someone else’s house wasn’t the safest scenario in the world
. Mary must have seen that the idea of running into Mr. Martin made Frank
nervous.
“He had to run out for a minute. You better not be here when he comes hom
e. I’m warning you...”
“Ran out at three in the morning?” Frank mumbled skeptically under his brea
th before he decided to focus on the task at hand. If Brian Martin was gone
for the time being, then he thought it was best to hurry. “David?” he call
ed, moving further into the house, cautiously making sure that the door sta
yed wide open behind him. “David!” He raised his voice as he neared the hal
lway and Mary stepped into his path.
“I told you, he’s sleeping!”
Frank ignored her and brushed by, opening the doors of two rooms, an offic
e and a master bedroom before he found the one he was looking for. He paus
ed in the doorway for a long moment, taking in the simple space. Tidy, but
cluttered. And, there might as well have been a taped line down the middl
e of it.
There were two twin beds, one on each side of the room. One was neatly made,
looking like it hadn’t been slept in tonight. There was an old car magazine a
t the foot of it, right next to a red lighter. On that side of the room there
were photos tacked over the walls, mostly of objects that most might find me
aningless. A wilted leaf, a fish on the end of a fishing line looking rather
unhappy to be there, the shadow of a tree and a bird guarding over its fallen
nest. The effect seemed dark to Frank. Angry and sad all at the same time. A
nd all of it, the pictures, the bed, the worn black sweater on the floor--it
wasn’t Oliver’s. That was easy enough to see.
The other side of the room was much more chaotic. But it seemed comfortable
. The bed was a pile of tangled sheets, clothes were folded on a chair, wai
ting to be hung. There were a few aquariums full of caught crickets and fro
gs, and a wedding photo of the elder Martins right next to a framed poster
of a cartoon chicken that was smiling unnaturally. There were old action-fi
gure toys arranged over a dresser and a World’s Greatest Son trophy, likely
purchased in a dollar store. But none of that was what Frank focused on as
he moved to the unmade bed and lifted up a familiar picture of himself on
a bicycle that had been partially tucked beneath the pillow. He stared at i
t for a long moment before placing it back where it had been, and when he l
ooked up to face Mrs. Martin, she looked like an animal who’d been suddenly
caught in the sight of a predator.
Frank simply felt stunned. It occurred to him that before walking into this
bedroom, he’d actually expected to find at least Oliver in it. At this hour,
someone should have been sleeping in those beds. It was possible that since
Mr. Martin wasn’t there, he could have taken them somewhere; but if he had,
Frank doubted that it was your average father-son outing, otherwise, Mary w
ould have simply told him. Instead, she’d chosen to lie, and every warning b
ell Frank had seemed to be going off in his ears.
“Where are they?” he asked again, but the question seemed rhetorical when
he didn’t bother waiting for an answer. This time as he pushed past Mary t
o get out of the room, he was calling more than David’s name, his voice so
unding slightly panicked in his own ears. “Oliver? Oliver? Oliver!”
“That’s enough!” Mary shouted as she followed after him, making a grab fo
r Frank’s arm only to have him shake her off. “I want you out of my house
! Now!”
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