All the Missing Pieces (UNDER REVISION)

Fifteen

                 413 Maple Street; I plug it into my phone. It's pretty much a straight shot down the intersection that Whole Foods is on. When I get there, there's a car in the driveway. A man is sitting on the porch sitting in a rocking chair. I was gonna sneak in through a window, but the man sees me before I can get to the side of the house. "Hey you!" He says, "Who are you?" Oh shit. "I'm a friend of James."
"A friend of James," He repeats, "I didn't know he had any. Anyways come here, boy." Hesitantly, I do as he asks and walk up to the front porch. When I can see him in his entirety, I realize that he has been crying. I wonder if James even thought about how many people would be crying over this. "What's your name?" He asks, folding up a pamphlet he has in his hand. "I'm Peyton."
"Peyton. Ah. I'm Charles O'Connor," he says, "Well, come in." He opens the door to the familiar house. As I walk through the door, I almost trip because Waffles dashes in front of me in order to curl up against my leg. "Hey there, buddy." Waffles runs off into the kitchen, but not, of course, without saying his battle cry first: "Mrowww!" I smile. "He's James' cat. James takes care of 'em. I've never been shit at carin' for animals, or my own fuckin' son for that matter. He ran away, you know." He looks upset, his eyebrows furrowing together and the creases on his forehead deepening. "That's sort of why I came," I explain, "Mr. O'Connor, do you know anything about where James might be?" He looks at me with his saddened eyes. "I haven't known a thing that goes on in that kids head since he was five and his mama was still around. Anyways, why do you want to know?"
"Mr. O'Connor, I'm in love with your son and I want to bring him home." He stares at me for a second with his deep eyes, they're the same blue as James' and just as pretty. "I'm glad he has people like you," he states, "I fucked up big time, you know? Sheila was my whole world, and when she died I just couldn't handle a son so I took it out on him. How fucked up is that? I've hurt a lotta people in my life, including my own damn son. It's too late for him now. He's given up on me and damn it if he doesn't have every reason. When he told me he's gay, my first reaction was to drink until I was wasted enough to beat him up. I don't believe in no God so what's there gotta be to make me hurt my son for that? Anyways, It's too late to get him to forgive me, but I'ma start goin' to these AA meetings," He uncrinkles the pamphlet that he had shoved into his pocket on the front porch and holds it out for me to see. "I hurt my son for years before this whole incident. I ain't a hitter. Never touched him before that day, but I don't deserve his forgiveness. At least this way I can make sure that I don't hurt nobody else." I slide the pamphlet back to him. "Would you mind if I looked through James' room? Just to see if I can find a clue or something?"
"Be my guest, but that boy is damn good at hiding shit." I smirk. "I'd be the first to know." He points the way because he thinks I have no idea where I am. "He keeps everything in here. If you find anything it'll be around here somewhere." I check every surface and drawer for some kind of address. Anything felt like it would be enough. His room looks exactly how it was when I left: neat but with paintings on every surface. I found it hard to believe that he left it all behind.

              After I've been searching for ten minutes, I turn to his desktop computer. Password for James O'Connor: it asks. What on earth would James use as a password
wafflesandcheckers
incorrect
WafflesandCheckers
incorrect
CheckersandWaffles
incorrect. I slam my head on his desk, but I don't give up.
Artist
incorrect
checkersandwaffles
incorrect
Iloveart
incorrect
artboy2000
incorrect. There're a billion possible passwords that James could have used. I hit the "Give me a hint" button. The hint is literally just: Demetri Martin. Who the fuck is Demetri Martin? I google it on my phone. He's, a comedian? I'm more confused than ever right now. I open his Wikipedia page. He's a comedian that can play the guitar and likes to doodle and talk about art. What could there possibly be from that? His drawings are pretty funny, albeit not all that great. I look through the suggested searches:

Demetri Martin Drawings

Demetri Martin Quotes

Demetri Martin Book

Demetri Martin Wife

Demetri Martin Overthinker

I click on quotes and scroll through. He's actually pretty funny for a comedian that I've never heard of, but I can't find anything that would make even an okay password. I think for a minute. If James likes this guy, it's probably not because he's a comedian but because he's an artistic comedian. Maybe he has funny quotes about art or something. I put the word "art" after quotes.
"I'm a genius!" I shout. The same quote pops up over and over again. The earth without art is just eh. That is so totally James that I can't even believe it. I type it into his computer: The earth without art is just eh.
Spaces are not permitted in a password. 
Theearthwithoutartisjusteh
Incorrect
theearthwithoutartisjusteh. And, because of my pure genius, his computer unlocks. I throw my hands in the air. "Haha, yes!"

              From there, it's easy. I open James' emails, which he hasn't logged out of, and scroll through. He has a really long chain with someone named Samuel Mendoza. I search the name in his inbox and find an email titled "Boarding" The email reads:

Sam,
I need a place to stay for a while. I wanna lay low in SC before I go to California to have a little down time. Maybe two weeks? Anyways, I'll help with rent or whatever. Just let me know.

Sam replied:

James,
Dude you're totally welcome. Don't even worry about paying rent, my mom covers most of it anyways. Lila and I are more than happy for you to stay with us over the summer. Do you need an address?

To which James replied:

Yes.

And, of course, Sam sent him the address.

2811 Springford Road, Charleston South Carolina 18433

So I guess that's it. We're going to Charleston.