Lost and Found [Harvest Moon: A New Beginning]

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The next morning, Rio dragged herself out of bed just as the darkness outside was beginning to fade before the coming dawn, her head pounding after so much crying and so little sleep. She shuffled slowly out to the kitchen, still wearing the clothes she'd had on last night. No one was there to see her, anyway, and she wasn't sure if she'd care even if anyone was. She started the coffee maker, opened the refrigerator door and peered in, then groaned and closed the door again. As soon as the coffee finished brewing, she poured a cup and gulped it down along with a couple of aspirin, ignoring the pain as she scalded her tongue. Then she tied her hair back into a messy ponytail, pulled on her boots, and headed out the door.

It was a short walk to Neil's house, just up her long driveway, cross the street to Hana's, and there it was, right next door to the store. So even stumbling along as slowly as she was, it only took her fifteen minutes to get from her door to his. The old brick house was dark and silent in the twilight stillness of the pre-dawn, and she hesitated before softly rapping on his door. There was no sound from within, though, so after a moment she knocked a little louder, then once more even louder still. Nothing. Not a sound came from within. She tried the door; it swung open, and she stepped in.

The dimly lit house was eerily still. Neil's bed was empty and unmade, dirty dishes were still piled in the sink, and a basket of dirty laundry waited by the back door. She wondered where he could have gone so early, and that's when she noticed—his guitar was gone.

At first she thought maybe he'd just taken it somewhere, maybe to play it out in the woods or to his special spot near the waterfall. But when she realized that his portable stereo and his music collection were also missing, it hit her—he was gone. Actually, really, truly gone.

She looked around frantically for something—anything—a note, or a map, or some clue as to where he'd gone and when he'd be back. But the house gave up none of his secrets, and with a sob, she turned and fled back to her farmhouse.

Shaking and crying, she poured herself another cup of coffee, but her hands were trembling so hard that she couldn't even lift the cup to her lips. She dumped it out into the sink, and turned to one of the cabinets. Pulling out a half-empty bottle, she clumsily, frantically, twisted the cap off and held it over the mug. But then she paused before pouring, and suddenly the memories washed over her all in a wave... getting drunk at Julia's wedding and how she supposedly came on to Vaughn, mistaking him for Neil. Getting tanked up on the anniversary of her parents' deaths every single year since they died, including that first year, when she kissed Vaughn. She thought of all the times she'd been told afterwards about scenes she'd made while three sheets to the wind, both on the islands and there in the village. And she pulled that bottle back and glared at it.

"You've brought me nothing but trouble," she muttered under her breath to it, tears flowing down her cheeks. Then she set it down and began to pull other bottles out of the same cupboard. "You're liars, all of you! You make me feel better, make me think everything is okay—but only for a while. You make me forget one set of troubles, but then you bring me a bunch of new problems in addition to the old. Well, you and I are through!" And she unscrewed the caps off each of them, pouring the contents down the drain and hurling them into the bin with such force that several of them shattered, sending a few shards of glass flying out and onto the floor.

When she was done, she bent down and picked up the pieces of broken glass from the floor, dropping them into the bin. After she picked up the last shard, she noticed a red line trickling down her wrist. Turning her hand over, she saw that she'd somehow cut her hand on one of the pieces of glass. She hadn't even felt it—would never even have noticed if she hadn't seen the blood.

She stood there, staring as the fine rivulet ran down, scarlet droplets slowly gathering at her wrist bone and falling to the floor. It was surprising to her how painless it had been, not at all like the times she'd cut herself with a knife while cooking or with her razor in the shower or gotten a paper cut. She looked at the shallow wound near the base of her thumb, then she lifted up the shard to examine it. It had a smudge of blood on it, and one of its edges was stained with crimson. Bringing it closer, she turned it over and over in her fingers, staring at the shiny, smooth edges.