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EXACTLY A WEEK LATER, as Josephine had diagnosed, went by slowly if you asked any one of the survivors; perhaps it was the hot autumn nights, or maybe it was the knife hanging above them on a thin fishing wire that was named Randall. Rick and Shane (who had a sneaking suspicion Josephine added extra days so Randall's fate would be prolonged) didn't wait a second longer before binding Randall into the back of the green Hyundai to leave him (for dead, Shane hoped) eighteen miles away from home. Once he is squirming in the trunk with both his hands and legs tied, they obscure his eyes with a black cloth bag. When he starts begging, and rambling to please not take him away yet, the duo share a look and turn around to find some duck tape, for his mouth and maybe for his ears too.
One way or another, Rick finds himself asking for the lovely doctor's help again. Technically it was Beth's help since she is the one who owns the iPod Rick needed. Incapable of retrieving it herself, since she still hadn't recovered from her grief, Josephine ventures to search for it herself.
Josephine leads Rick upstairs into Beth's room: the walls are plastered with both Girl and Boy bands, and various celebrities from the 90s and 2000s, along with Polaroid photos of Beth and, what he assumes, friends and extended family. Josephine makes a beeline to the teenage girl's messy desk where Maggie suggested it might be. Opening and shuffling through her things, Josephine doesn't notice Rick lingering by the doorway, not permitting himself from violating Beth's space.
Instead, he finds himself wandering across, with big lime-colored wooden letters that read 'JO'S PARADISE' on the white, open door. He leans on the doorframe, so, if need be, he would quickly turn his head around and make it seem like he wasn't snooping. The first thing he notices is the mahogany bookshelf, with intricate carvings and precise craftsmanship, beside the window that is perfectly placed in the center of the wall with the spines of the books facing him. There are thin white lines, like flowing rivers, across the spines of most of the books making them look worn out and heavily read. If that didn't convince him she was a passionate reader, the pile of books, extending about four feet forward and towering upward like a staircase three feet high, lying flat on their backs next to, and underneath the window, the bookshelf sure did. It didn't surprise him; however, the collection of vinyl records that are organized perfectly in handmade wall shelves at the sides of her dresser that rest on the wall that is shared with the hallway, certainly did. He can't stop himself from observing her collection and pulling out the most worn out record.
He grabs it with his right hand and turns it around to face the cover: KISS's 1979 album DYNASTY. To say he is more than caught off guard is an understatement; he is physically taken aback: he raises both eyebrows and holds the album further away as if he inspects it further it would change into something more fitting to Josephine's personality. There are questions now bouncing around his head that he knows are too personal to ask, and decides he would be left with only curiosities.
