The Mysterious Case of Beverly O'Sullivan

August 13, 2011, 1:35 P.M.

Robbie drove us to a smaller part of town with much larger homes that looked to be where all the wealthy residents lived. But as she drove into that area, we came to a sign that said, "Rosanna St." and Robbie gritted her snow white teeth as she pulled into the small, two-way street. She then looked at all the nicer homes, nicer cars, nicer people, and nicer yards and said, "I despise this part of town." "How come? It's just a suburb," I asked as the Low Hum CD played in the car. Robbie turned a street corner and said, as she drove slower, "All the Soc's and wealthy Catholics live here. All of them either loved or hated Beverly for hanging out with the skaters and Greasers like me, Brady, Indy, and Rosalyn. The hippies would always side with her because she was one of them, and they were all like a huge family. Like the Greaser gang, I'm in. Our leader, David, is like all the teenagers older brother. He's a really sweet guy, tall, black-haired and black-eyed. He's covered in tats that I always wanted but couldn't afford, he smells like every one favorite smell, menthol. And his smile is a greasy as his hair. He's different but in a good way. He's taken a few of my closest friends under his wing, and he's one of the main reason as to why I wanted to ask out Bev so bad, because he said, "Robbie, you're still young and have time to be in as many relationships as you want, and if you choose Beverly, go for her." And I've lived by that ever since. But the goddamn Soc's and rich kids that live here always judged her for dating a Greaser, and because she dated me, a lesbian. And for Steele, he's in the middle. He's better off more than me, has Soc friends but he's also our friend, but if he knows what happened to Bev, he can help us." I understood and sat to myself and looked out the window. 

Robbie parked her old, beat up black Volvo in front of a small, two-story home. It had white painted vinyl that was aged about twenty years, the front porch was small and could only fit two lawn chairs and a small patio table. The lawn was covered in weeds, wildflowers, and tall grass, the driveway was cracked in the center, the roofing was a dark blue and the gutters were sprinkled with leaves. The front door was a faded black and the window sills were painted an off-white, but they clearly needed to be redone because of the amount of chipped paint and weathered boards. Robbie and I stepped out of the car and I followed her to the front door, I just observed the neighborhood and thought to myself, "How could such a nice place be filled with such horrid people?" but I felt a light shove on my shoulder and I lost my train of thought. Robbie then looked at me and said, "Alright, Krissy, Steele's a bit of a hard ass so he might not know what to think of you. Plus he hates guys that are hotter than him. You're an exception because, well, you're hot as fuck and you might not be the most fun-looking person, but you got them cheekbones and curly hair." I just rolled my eyes and said, "Robbie, can we just get this over with and move on, I'm tired, hungry, and pissed off at the fact that I didn't use the bathroom while we were at Rosalyn's flat." Robbie nodded her head and put an arm around my shoulders and said, "Hey, you can piss here, because the house is a complete shit storm on the inside. Like if the yard was even worse than it already is." I shrugged and shoved my hands in the jacket's pockets as Robbie aggressively knocked on the front door with white knuckles. 

The front door swung open and behind it showed a shirtless guy, around twenty-one or twenty-two, holding a beer bottle in his left hand and a button up shirt in the other. He looked rough, he had messy black hair, silver eyes like a cobra, tan skin, and a sleeve tattoo of thorns and eyes on his right arm. He had on a pair of black distressed jeans with his boxers showing the waistband, his belt was a simple black belt with a beaded design on the buckle, and his shoes were just a pair of old red Vans. His left hand was covered in graduate rings and his right was covered in woven bracelets, beaded bracelets, and dangling "gold" coins on the last one. He smelled like beer, apple cider, and fresh magazine paper. He just looked at Robbie in a daze, then he looked at me and asked, "Who's the guy?" "Uh, Rodney, this is a new friend of mine. Kristofferson, this is Rodney, Steele's older brother by like a year," Robbie explained as she messed up my hair. I just waved and said, "Hey." as Rodney glared at me and took a sip from his beer bottle. "Why are you guys here? You know that people hate it when you visit. Then again, I don't care when you visit, but if it's about Beverly I can't fucking help you because I wasn't there that night," Rodney asked as he blocked the entrance of the doorway with his burly arms. I then stepped in front of him and said with a straight face, "We're here to ask Steele a few questions. You might not know Rosalyn, but she said that she found one of Beverly's peace sign earrings outside your neighborhood, right in front of the fucking street label. And since your little brother was the last person to be in contact with her, I think he'll be answering a few of our burning questions." "My brother isn't a goddamn killer or kidnapper, plus he swore he saw her go inside," Rodney snapped. I then cocked an eyebrow as I took out the small bag that had her earring inside it, and showed it to him. Rodney immediately let us inside.