✔️The Greaser and the Skirtchaser [18+]

32. A Little Green Case

It was easier than Vance had ever thought to slip out on his own. Of course, he'd been regularly sneaking out a few times a week, but now he'd been doing this about every night. It was stupid because he was worrying his mother, his cousins, and just about everyone he loved, but he couldn't help it.

Vance swept the flashlight side-to-side across the trail, but of course, there wasn't anything there. He eventually turned off the light, leaving himself to the mercy of the near-dead twilight bruised a deep blue. The stars were coming out, and it was like Vance could hear someone next to him talking about this made-up dog constellation.

There was this phantom warmth in his palm, too.

Vance kept walking up and up, and he was barely thinking about anything but getting there, so when he did come up to that glittering expanse of nighttime Resthaven, he didn't know why he was up here. He even came up to that thick, sagging wooden railing as if he'd remember why, but it didn't come. All the streetlights winking up at Vance weren't the same as they were months ago. There was no feeling of wonder, no thrill, and he looked at the empty space next to him.

There wasn't even a bottle cap here to show that something important happened here, once. Not even a matchstick. Or a shoe print on his carpet. Or even the smell of cigarettes on his jacket.

There was nothing left.

Now, he wanted to see someone all of a sudden. He missed someone. He missed everyone. Danny, Johnny, Vin, Franco, Bianca, Jenny, and—and—

He squeezed the wooden railing, but it didn't groan. Didn't even creak.

Vance didn't wanna feel like this. Didn't wanna have these urges to go somewhere far from home because he didn't wanna go far from home where everyone still loved him. Vance wanted to come home already. But did he belong there? Being what he is?

But Vance couldn't even turn his back on everything that he felt and saw because he refused to believe it could be wrong. It was the best he'd ever felt, not having to hold anything back or act for someone. He didn't want to go back to that.

He had to find him. He had to see him at least one more time. Just once. That was all Vance needed, and he'd go back to being his mother's son, his cousin's best friend, and his family's Romano.

Vance turned and came back down the trail.

#

He raised a hand and knocked. It was late evening. Vance knew that it was late, but it didn't matter if someone was home or not. The crickets were chirping in the yard, singing in what otherwise would've been a silent, cool night. There was no slick blue Buick Riviera in the driveway or sidewalk.

He waited about two minutes longer before trying again and waited another five. Then, he entered.

The mess had only gotten ten times worse since Blake's disappearance. This time, Vance had nearly tripped over the big trash bags of what sounded like beer bottles and plastic piled up right at the front door.

"Hello? Is anyone home?" He called out into the dark house. Well, it wasn't all dark. There was a TV running in the living room but no one to watch it. "I'm coming in!"

Vance stepped over all the bags and passed through the kitchen and into the dining room, or so far as Vance could guess. It was hard to tell, but there was definitely a table and four chairs underneath all the trash and crap. Nowhere had Vance seen any evidence of a family or anything except for the tracks of an alcoholic. There was dark vomit in some corners, some spots sloppily wiped and others just left the way it was.