Junk

10

They ate dinner in silence. Micky hated the silence, he always did. He tried a few times to lighten the air and start up conversation, but every time it went back to silence. It always did.

His eyes drifted back over to the box, now sitting on the coffee table in the living room. Peter smiled slightly when he noticed.

"What's in there?" He asked quietly, and Micky frowned.

"Weird stuff," he muttered.

"Oh?" Peter leaned in, curious. Micky nodded, a smirk growing on his face.

"Yeah, you just have to see it to believe it."

"Well, he was a weird person," Davy said, not looking up from his salad. "It makes sense that his junk be weird."

Micky sighed and shrugged. It was Davy's way of cutting the conversation short, bringing everything back to the silence Micky was beginning to get used to.

After dinner, Peter jumped up from his seat and put his plate in the sink before going into the living room. Micky watched him, a slight frown on his face. Peter had been very nonchalant about the whole thing and it wasn't hard for him to accept Mike being gone. However now, he seemed so desperate for anything. He was already going through the box and pulling out its contents. Their roles had been reversed.

Micky sighed and grabbed his water going into the living room and sitting down beside Peter. He hadn't even bothered to put his dishes away. Davy frowned and put both his and Micky's dishes in the sink before joining the rest of the group.

"Alright, what's in there?" He asked, wiping his hands on his pant legs.

"Weird stuff," Peter said, examining each object closely.

"Told ya," Micky smiled slightly and Peter let out a laugh.

"Yeah, you weren't kidding."

"Oh, gross," Davy crinkled his nose up, pulling out the single boot. "Did he really just put a bloody boot in here?"

"I wonder where the other one is," Peter said, cocking his head slightly to the side. "It wasn't in here."

Davy frowned and brought the shoe closer to his nose, sniffing.

"Are you really smelling it?" Peter asked, cringing slightly.

"It smells weird to me..." Davy muttered, thinking, "can't quite place what it is, though..."

Peter exchanged a look with Micky.

"Gross," Micky said smiling. Davy let out a heavy sigh, setting it down on the ground.

"Alright, whatever," he said, causing Micky and Peter to laugh. He wanted to laugh along with them but he had a strange uneasy feeling about everything and he couldn't understand it. Peter resumed searching through the box and pulled out a pair of broken wire-framed glasses.

"Oh..." he said quietly, resting them on his hand.

Micky had broken off one of the temples, causing it to sit lopsided. One of the lenses was entirely shattered while the other had a few slight cracks. Peter frowned and suddenly brought them up to his eyes. He squinted and blinked a few times, not believing it.

"Oh..." he repeated, unable to think of something better to say.

"What is it?" Davy asked quietly and Peter handed them to him.

"They're just glass," he said.

"Well, yeah," Micky sighed. "Of course they're glass. They're called glasses for a reason."

"No, but-" Peter started and Davy peeked through them.

"He's right," Davy said, bringing them down and putting them back on a few times. "There's no prescription or anything there. It's just glass."

"Oh," Micky frowned, confused.

"Why would Mike have those?" Peter asked, looking between Micky and Davy.

"How should I know?" Micky huffed. "You never know with Mike."

Davy put a hand on his shoulder and shrugged.

"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for it," he explained, looking at Peter. "And like Micky said, you never know with Mike."

"Yeah," Peter agreed, noticing how tense Micky had become. "It could be several different things, right?"

"Such as?" Micky asked, looking up at two worried faces. Davy sighed and sat down beside him.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But it's probably not anything."

"Yeah," Micky sighed, not wanting it to turn into a lecture. Peter set the glasses down on the table with some of the other items.

"Cute chic," Davy declared, pulling out a photograph from the box. Micky peeked over his shoulder and saw that it was the photo of the girl on the boat. He let out a sigh and smiled as Davy "secretly" pushed the photo into his pocket.

"What's this about groceries?" Peter asked, frowning down at the paper in his hands.

"Oh, yeah," Micky said. "I read those earlier. Made no sense to me either."

"Maybe it's like an inside thing," Peter suggested. Micky tried to resist the laugh that came.

"Most definitely, Peter," he smirked. "I'm almost certain of it."

They were beginning to get to the end of the items. They hadn't gone through all of them, mostly just took them out and set them aside to be looked at later.

"Hello," Davy said pulling out a crumpled piece of paper at the very bottom of the stack. "What have we here?"

He opened it up and evened out the wrinkles before looking at it. His eyes widened and his face paled slightly when he saw it.

"What is it?" Peter asked, worried.

"I-it's a flyer," Davy said shakily. "For a sailing competition in Boston, July 19, 1962..."

Micky frowned and looked up at him. Clearly, there was something wrong, something Davy wasn't saying, and he was becoming terrified of what that might be.

"It's covered in blood," Davy said finally.