Piece by Piece

12. Things in Motion

Karen was not pleased with their treatment of her. Davyn was sure she'd be even less pleased if she figured out it was them who stole her pot and threw her booze out. Even so, she still screeched at him and threatened to call the receptionist as he walked towards the door. He ignored her, hoping he'd never have to see her again. A small part of him also hoped that Millie would be able to handle the onslaught.

The consequences of his incursion into Millie's room was, however, somewhere at the back of his mind, because that evening had exhausted him more than any in which he'd strained himself to breaking point on the basketball court. He'd gone in and faced what he'd been trying to avoid for weeks: someone else's pain.

He hadn't been there for Ron, as he tried his best to act as if everything was normal. And yet, he'd rushed to Millie's aid when he'd thought she'd gone over the edge.

It would've been my fault, though. And he couldn't face it, couldn't have more people dying. It was enough.

His head spun as he finally pulled the car in front of the house. He needed sleep. Maybe it was time to see a doctor about that, pump himself full of pills and numb himself out. His entire being bristled at the idea. It would be cheating. Somehow, he wa sure he'd lose a little piece of himself.

This was better. At least that's what he tried to tell himself as he headed for the front door and inside his house.

"You're home early."

Davyn jumped. For some reason, he'd forgotten why he usually stayed in school later than this. Freider sat on the couch, facing the TV which was turned off. It was obvious he'd been waiting for him to get home.

"Yeah, I feel a bit tired," he answered, making his way towards the stairs.

"Have you seen Ron?"

Davyn froze with his foot on the bottom step. The exhaustion morphed into dread. Even if he was home earlier, it was still almost eleven p.m. "You mean he hasn't come in?" They'd had this conversation before. Freider had no excuse to be so careless again.

"I was sure he was home," he said, sounding a bit worried. "I mean I heard him stomping around upstairs when I got in. But when I called him down for dinner, he didn't show up. Then I tried knocking on his door, but he wouldn't answer and his door is locked."

Davyn angled his entire body towards his older brother's. "His door is locked?"

Fredier nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Do we do that? Put locks on the door? I don't remember it being a thing when I was a kid."

Davyn didn't care. He whipped around and stalked up the stairs. No, it wasn't a thing, because he'd never felt the need to hide from his family. He also seriously doubted that Ron had had a deadbolt on his door before their parents died.

He reached his brother's door and banged his fist against it. "Ron! Ron, come out of there!"

Maybe he really wasn't in. There was no way he could've climbed out the window, though. His room was nowhere near anything that he could grab onto to climb down. And he also seriously doubted the door could be locked from the outside.

"I tried that, too." Freider had skulked his way up the stairs and stopped, leaning his back against the railing.

Cursing under his breath, Davyn pulled back, raised his leg and kicked the door down. There was a mumbled protest from Freider, but Davyn didn't care. He charged inside Ron's dark room and turned on the light.

Ron was there. He lay on the floor, apparently unconscious, a puddle of white sick a few inches from his face.

"Oh, God," Freider breathed.