Page 15 of Psycho Boys

But anger is all I feel—a suffocating, roiling tempest that makes my blood boil. I run my hand through my hair, frustration bubbling close to the surface. “I’m not going to sit by and wait for someone else to step in. We fight for her now or we risk losing her forever.”

“Then let’s set a time to start,” Ash suggests, frowning. “We need to organize and hit each lead, but we can’t spread ourselves too thin. We’re already down a leg,” he adds, nodding slightly toward my crutches.

Ignoring the slight jab, I lift my chin high and take a deep, steady breath. “We head for Gunnar first. If he’s involved, he knows something. I'd rather face him directly.”

“Are you sure about that?” Kill questions, his tone cautious. “He’s not someone you want to take lightly.”

“I know Gunnar. I know how he thinks. It’s what got Cali into this mess,” I growl, gripping the chair as memories of past encounters flood back. “And if he knows anything about her whereabouts, then this is our only shot.”

“Fine,” Kill relents, his voice firm but understanding. “Just don't do anything reckless.”

I nod, the plan settling within my mind like a needed balm amidst the chaos. Ruthlessly, I focus on the task ahead—following every flicker of hope, every lead like a hawk on the hunt.

We get as high as we can, just wanting to feel numb so the pain inside doesn't bother us nearly as much as if we were sober. Ignoring her parents and our fathers names on the list, everyone is assigned a name: Five gets Mitchell, Killian gets Rhodes, and me and Ash get Gunnar, hoping at least one of us will have some luck on getting a lead to where Cali is and who has her.

As twilight descends, I glance outside; the dusky sky mirrors in my turbulent thoughts. One way or another, this shit is going to end soon. I won't rest until the noise in my heart quiets down. No more regrets. No more hesitation. We dive into predicted dangers armed with nothing but relentless love—for Cali, for the life we had, and for the hope of bringing her back.

SIX

RUMORS

GOSSIP: SKITZ KRAVEN

ASH

The biting chill of the early morning air seems to have no effect on either Dom or me—not with the potent cocktail of drugs coursing through our veins. We swore we’d strive for sobriety—for Cali’s sake—but with her disappearance hanging over us and everyone on edge, uncertain of what the dawn might bring, that promise feels like a distant memory.

As we drive toward Calista’s parents' house, we light up another laced blunt. The cocaine tingles on my tongue and lips with every inhalation. Well past two a.m., the dark streets of Boston are alive with drunken revelers stumbling between bars, weaving in and out of the road, turning our drive into a perilous game of chicken. We swerve to avoid them, the tension ramping up with each close call.

Occasionally, I hear Dom let out a frustrated huff from the passenger seat, his gaze locked on the passing scenery as if he hopes to catch a glimpse of Cali at every corner. But deep down, we both know that finding her won’t be easy—it’s like searchingfor a needle in a fucking haystack, and our hope fades with each passing moment.

“How do you know Gunnar will be at her parents’ place?” I ask, trying to break the heavy silence that envelops us, the roar of the engine nearly drowning out my voice.

He shrugs, still staring out the window. “I don’t, Ash, but we’ve got to fucking start somewhere. If he’s not there, we can swing by his place. I know where he lives—thanks to Cali letting slip more than she should after a few drinks.” He offers a smile, but I see the pain flickering behind it, and it breaks my heart all over again.

Just the sound of her name twists my stomach, and I can feel Dom’s discomfort resonating with mine; his body language betrays the fear his lips won’t voice—that we might be too late. We don’t want to entertain that possibility, but given how everything unraveled before tonight, it feels achingly inevitable.

I take another drag from the blunt, feeling the potent mix of drugs wash over me in an ecstatic rush. They do their job, numbing my thoughts—my heart encased in a shield of ice. I pass the blunt to Dom, watching as the thick smoke coils around us, shrouding the car in a hazy fog while I squint through the windshield, trying to steer clear of the inebriated figures still dotting the streets.

“Just run them the hell over,” Dom snaps, rolling down the window and letting the smoke escape, giving me a clearer view ahead.

“I wish I could,” I reply with a chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. “But what good would it do if we end up in jail for murder?”

I hope to coax a smile from him, but his expression remains stoic. Guilt gnaws at him; despite our repeated reassurances that none of this is his fault, he won’t let it go. That’s just Dom—he wears his heart on his sleeve, clings to grudges like a lifeline, andtakes everything to heart, no matter how trivial it may seem. You can’t change someone so deeply entrenched in their own pain.

As we plunge deeper into the city, the flickering streetlights resemble fading stars—a testament to the unraveling night. I feel the weight of our decisions pressing down on me relentlessly. Dom and I share a history etched in pain, triumph, and a roster of mistakes—ours among many crafted for love, sanity, and the struggle against our demons. Cali was the one bright light in that chaos, and without her, the shadows loom larger, creeping back like unwelcome friends.

In an attempt to ease the tension, I turn up the music, letting the distorted melodies envelop us. It’s loud, aggressive, and visceral—the bass vibrating through every inch of the car. I glance at Dom; his foot taps restlessly against the floor, caught in a rhythm only he can hear—a beat of regret.

“Hey, man,” I venture softly, “remember when we stashed that beer in the park after school? We thought we were so fucking slick.”

A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Yeah, until your dad drove by and you nearly shit your pants.”

We share a laugh, a momentary flash of our childhood, but it quickly dims as the weight of Cali’s absence constricts around us. She would have laughed too, her radiant smile lighting up our mischief. Thoughts of her swirl, constricting my breath.

As we near the affluent neighborhood where Cali’s parents live, a lump forms in my throat. It’s surreal how familiar streets can suddenly feel alien, like a cherished painting marred by careless strokes. I pull into a spot just a few houses down from her childhood home, the copper gutters glinting in the streetlights—reminders of summer nights spent counting stars and sharing secrets beneath this very sky.

Dom exhales slowly, pulling the blunt roach from his lips as he gazes at the house ahead. “You ready?”

---