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I skipped going to The Strip with Sadie after work. She offered to pick me up from Waffle House since we no longer worked together, but I told her I had promised Gracie a movie night at home. However, instead of taking the bus home to my apartment, I took the bus toward Koah’s house.
I probably could have just asked him for my mother’s ring, but I didn’t want to talk to him, which was why I was hoping they would be too trashed to even notice me by the time I got to their house. I had gone to The Strip enough to know what time things wrapped up, and I knew as I looked down at my watch that it was well past that time.
The bus stop was half a mile from their neighborhood, meaning I had to walk the rest of the way to their house. It was chilly out, so I was wearing my hoodie. I pulled it over my head as I approached their place, hoping no one would recognize me.
The house was one story, with a two-car garage on the side. One garage door was open, allowing me to see a weight bench and tools, and the other was closed with wood over one of the windows. The beige siding needed to be pressure washed, and the wood trim around the windows had seen better days. It was chipped with peeling white paint. The large front porch was full of partygoers, and their smoke drifted up into the air around the front of the house.
When I walked up the driveway, the bass of their blaring music thumped in my chest. People danced on the front lawn, their shoes digging into the grass from yesterday’s rain. I pulled my hood tighter as I walked through the front door, and the smell of dope and alcohol rushed up to my nose as I breathed in.
The place was packed, and I slid through the crowd toward Koah’s bedroom, careful not to bump into anyone or call attention to myself. As I passed, I peeked into the living room, only to see Koah holding a bottle of tequila while a blond dry-humped and danced all over him. A slash of pain rushed over my chest, and I shook it off. I couldn’t let myself get upset that he was already messing with another woman. He was Koah Saint, and I knew what he was before allowing myself a taste of him.
I spun around and pushed the strange feeling of jealousy away as I headed toward his room. His door was closed, and I was relieved to find it unlocked when I turned the knob. Quickly, I dipped inside and closed the door behind me. I was in his room the weekend before, but the space felt different without him.
His room was just as tidy and organized as the previous weekend. His bed was made, and even his pillows were flattened perfectly. His room felt like it didn’t belong in the house. The rest of the place was chaotic and messy, but not Koah’s room. It smelled clean and like him—fresh laundry and something sweet and spicy.
I scanned his room as I had before, taking in the posters of motorcycles and half-naked women, but this time, I also noticed the pictures of what looked like Hawaiian white sand beaches and hand-drawn tribal signs. Then my eyes dipped, and there it was. The light from the corner lamp was shining on my ring. It was almost as if it were calling to me from beneath the bed. Koah was a clean and organized guy. I was thankful he hadn’t managed to vacuum up my ring during the week.
Moving across the room, I bent down and plucked the gold band from his floor before sliding it onto my finger. But instead of leaving immediately as I should have, I found myself staring down at his bed and remembering the magnificent things he had done to me.
Again, guilt rushed through me. How could I have allowed the man who ruined my life to touch me? And why did I want him to do it again so badly?
I sat on the edge of the bed when I felt tears form in my eyes. My father was dead and had spent the last years of his life locked behind bars because of Koah’s lies. Gracie and I had lost our lives, as well. He had taken everything away from me with his lies and deception, and even though it wouldn’t matter now, I still found myself wanting proof that my father was an innocent man.
It was sudden and irrational, but I moved toward Koah’s dresser, searching for anything that proved what I already knew. My father hadn’t killed Joker’s father. He was with me that night, and no one believed me. Why hadn’t they believed me?
I wanted to find something—anything—and throw it in Joker and Saint’s face. I wanted to see them suffer as I had suffered. I didn’t care what it was as long as it put them behind bars. Maybe if I could somehow prove my father was innocent, they would be jailed for lying—for interfering with an investigation. It was only fair since my father had died behind bars, serving time for something he didn’t do.
I went to the dresser and started going through the first drawer. His boxers and socks were all neatly folded and lined up by color, and I pulled them out, tossing them to the floor before I slammed the drawer closed and moved to the second one. I was greeted with perfectly folded and pressed T-shirts, and once again, I found myself destroying his perfection and tossing his shirts to the floor.
I didn’t worry about making too much noise. I didn’t even consider getting caught as I tore through Koah’s organized life, destroying his as he demolished mine in search of anything that would exonerate my father. Drawer after drawer, I tossed his things until a pile formed at my feet.
Finding nothing inside his dresser, I moved to the top, sorting through his lotions and deodorants until I accidentally knocked over a small bottle of cologne. Instantly, the room filled with its scent, reminding me of the night I had tasted him. Again, tears filled my eyes, except I let them fall before swiping them angrily away this time.
I went to his bookshelves, backhanding his books and littering his floor with literature I hadn’t expected Koah to be interested in. I kept going until the shelves were empty, and then I turned, ready to trash something else in his room. I wasn’t sure if I was still searching for something to clear my father’s name or if I enjoyed trashing his space. Either way, I scanned the area, ready for more.
Then I saw it.
A small brown box poked out from under the dresser I had ransacked first. I hadn’t noticed the box before, but perhaps I had shifted the dresser in my rush to ruin his room. I moved across the room and pried the box from under the dresser.
It was wooden with a small lock on it. I ran my palm over the dust-covered top and coughed when the dust tickled my nose. Koah’s room was spotless, yet the box was filthy. It hadn’t been touched in a long time.
I hadn’t learned much from being bounced around foster homes, but picking locks was one of them. Pulling a pin from my hair, I went to work on the lock. I worked the pin inside the tiny hole until it clicked, and then I removed the lock and set it beside me on the floor. Thank God for drunk foster parents who locked you out before passing out.
My heart pounded so hard that it drowned out the music outside the room and echoed in my ears. I felt whatever was in the box was affiliated with my father, and my fingers shook as I opened it. Sitting inside was a simple white envelope stained from age.
I pulled the envelope out and set the box on the floor beside the lock. Then I peeled the envelope's flap back with shaking fingers and gasped.
Eyes that looked exactly like mine stared back at me. My father. He grinned at the camera, a happy expression that made my heart feel lighter. I smiled, swiping at a lone tear that dripped onto my chin. I ran my finger across the image and let a fresh set of tears roll down my cheeks. I studied his face, missing him so badly it hurt. Koah had taken my father away from me, and seeing my father’s face only fueled the anger churning in my stomach.
I pressed the picture of my dad against my chest and replayed my favorite memories of him through my mind. He and I made gingerbread houses at Christmas. He taught me to ride my bike, then held me close when I fell and scraped my knee. His laughter and the way his body would shake with his amusement. The way he tried to style my hair when I would go to school and how badly it looked. He was everything.
He had been great—caring and strong—always willing to listen and ready with the correct answers. I missed that about him … his stability. When my father was around, I knew I would always be taken care of, and the minute he was taken away, I found myself floating freely in the world without answers or anything steady to hold me to the earth.
I set the picture of my father to the side and scanned the next photo. The background was familiar as I took in the gray bricks of our old basement and the ugly rug in what my father liked to call his man cave. A young Koah Saint stared back at me, his eyes wide and his complexion pale. I had never seen such an expression on Koah’s face, but I could feel his fear radiating from the photo.
The basement had been my father’s getaway. He spent many hours down there watching TV as he lounged on the faded leather couch and sipped his favorite whiskey. I had been down there a handful of times but usually wasn’t ever allowed in the basement. So it made no sense for Koah to be in there.
I set the photo of Koah to the side, careful not to hide the picture of my father. I wanted to still be able to see his face. I reached for the third photo, and when I did, every ounce of oxygen in my lungs was forced out. A vacuum sucked the room clean of air and sound, and I gasped as if I were being suffocated. At first, my mind refused to process what I was looking at; the shapes and colors felt distorted—the view blurry as my eyes filled to the brim. Once I blinked and refocused my eyes, my brain screamed in protest at the scene before me.
