Page 12 of Psycho Boys

I drop the pen on the table, my frustration simmering at the surface. The thought of our families being the ‘lord and lady’ ofwhat feels like a cruel chess match twists my stomach into knots. “So, how do we approach this shit? You think they’d just fess the fuck up? Like, ‘Oh, by the way, we’ve got your girl in the basement, no biggie—or some shit like that?’”

Ash shakes his head, exhaling slowly. “No, they’ll fucking deny, deny, deny. We’ll need more than just a fucking hunch. We need evidence—something that shows they’re involved or at least aware of what the fuck's going down. If we don’t have that, shit, they’ll twist everything back on us."

I lean back against the counter, frustration morphing into determination. “Then let’s hit that bar and gather some intel. Maybe someone’s heard something, or shit, maybe we can catch wind of any family business that’s been brewing.”

Five cracks open another beer, his mind racing through possibilities. “It’s a long shot, but it’s better than sitting here staring at a fucking wall, hoping for a goddamn miracle,” he says, the glimmer of solidarity lighting a fire beneath his veneer of indifference.

“I’ll start the list here,” I say, waving the crumpled paper in the air. “Keep including their names, anyone connected, and anyone who has a grudge against us. We’ll go in with a strategy, or else we might not fucking walk back out."

With that, the urgency fills the room, reality crashing down on us like waves from a storm. There’s no time left for wallowing. I can’t let myself spiral any deeper; the gravity of the situation is too heavy. There's more than just one life at risk here, but we're still all willing to put everything on the fucking line.

I grab my coat and pull it on, the fabric soothing against the roughness of my skin. As I do, Ash closes his laptop and stands, the sudden movement drawing my attention.

“Let's get out of here,” he says, his tone steadier now. “We need to find what threads we can pull, and maybe the right people choose to unravel.”

Five drains the last of his beer before following us, the three of us stepping out of the dim light of the apartment and into the cold night air. It’s a brisk reminder of the reality we’re facing, but it feels good to be moving, to take control. We shuffle through the streets, a burden born from mutual desperation, and as the city lights flicker above us, I can’t help but feel the weight of every lost moment, every smile stolen, etched into the very fabric of the asphalt. I think of Cali. We’re running out of time, and with every heartbeat, I sense the clock ticking down.

The bar is just ahead, a soft light beckoning like a faded memory. When we reach the entrance, I take a moment to collect my breath and prepare myself against the chaos inside.

“Remember, we’re here for information. No jumping to conclusions,” Ash warns, his voice firm enough to snap me back to reality.

I nod, even though my gut is knotted with anticipation. “Just eyes and ears,” I agree.

As we push through the door, the raucous sounds of laughter and clinking glasses wash over us, and I step into the fray, ready to sift through the noise for the whispers that could lead us to Cali.

Tonight, we aren’t just looking for her; we’re reclaiming our sense of power, inching closer to the truth buried beneath the chaos—a truth that could either set us free or plunge us deeper into darkness. And despite the ominous journey ahead, that flicker of fucking hope is enough to keep me fighting.

FIVE

GUILT

GARDEN STATEMENT: HIDDEN IN PLAIN VIEW

DOMINIC

Ifeel a gnawing sickness in my stomach—not from the barrage of medications they’ve pumped into me, but because of Cali. I can't shake the feeling that I've let her down. I should have protected her like I promised I would. I should have been tougher—never allowed her to get behind the wheel. I should have...

As guilt suffocates me, doubts swirl chaotically in my mind. I sit here, eyes fixed blankly on the stark white wall before me. A chill hangs in the air, wrapping around me like an unwelcome embrace, making me shiver beneath the flimsy hospital blanket they gave me. I scoff at the absurdity of it all; the beeping machines resonate sharply in my ears.

Feeling dizzy, yet oddly euphoric, I lean back against the thin, feather-light pillow. No matter how I shift, comfort eludes me. I need to escape this place. It's futile to be lying in a hospital bed due to a broken leg from a car accident.

Suddenly, my eyes snap open, scanning the room until they land on a pair of crutches propped against the wall by the door. Next to them, a clean set of gray sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and a hoodie sit neatly folded on a chair in front of the window—Kill must have brought them since my own clothes were a bloody mess, gruesomely cut off me. I glance at my leg, brow furrowed and jaw clenched, wondering how I'm going to manage this with a bulky cast.

I grab my phone and text Kill urgently, pleading for him to come pick me up.

*Come get me, motherfucker. I need to get out of here.*

*Give me ten minutes, and we’ll be there.*

*Did you figure anything out?*

*Not sure. I’ll fill you in when I see you.*

I toss the phone aside, carefully swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Using the safety bars, I pull myself up, adjusting to the awkwardness of standing on one foot, hopping to get from point A to point B. After a struggle, I manage to put on the sweats, tossing the hospital gown into the trash. I yank the IV from my hand and slip on the shirt, tugging the hoodie on for warmth.

With the crutches under my arms, I’m about to turn the doorknob when someone pushes it open from the outside. The nurse’s jaw drops, nearly causing her to drop the clipboard she holds as she takes in my dressed and ready-to-go state.

“Uh, Mr. Gray, what are you doing?” She shrieks, her voice dripping with concern.

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