Lawrence Looks for Treasure

Part 2 - Chapter 2

2

I arrived at Chris's after twenty minutes or so, my clothes sweaty from the bike ride. It was the driest, hottest summer in Kinnard in sixty years—or so my dad said. Above me the sun glared like it was beamed through a magnifying glass. Below me the concrete felt as soft as soil, and the soil felt as hard and dry as concrete. Even the dogs stayed inside.

For Chris, life was straightforward. Get good grades; become a lawyer; join his dad's firm; and party and date as much as possible in between. Pretty good? Well, not for me. I've always complicated things. It's hard to explain, exactly.

You know when you read a book. At the beginning, the protagonist is often just some guy. After a few chapters, though, he's the only one who can save the day. Like he was meant to do it all along.

I want to find what I'm meant to do. It's funny—I don't even believe there is such a thing. Strictly for bedtime stories. But sometimes I think that people do big things because they feel they're meant to, whether they really are or not. They just work away, minding their own business—because that's what happens when you've found what you're meant to do—and then Bam! They accomplish. Maybe I've read too many stories. Anyway, Chris didn't care about what he was meant to do. I did.

I parked my bike on Chris's lawn, squirmed out of my damp shirt, and spread it over my bike to dry. Only then did I notice two police cars parked in his driveway. Chris's driveway was wide and crescent shaped. Wider still was his house. It was one the biggest, as far as cookie-cutter suburbia goes.

I approached the cars; they were empty. I'd never seen police at Chris's house before. Hoping all was okay, I let myself in. Chris wasn't expecting me, but he never was. I just sort of went over when I felt like it.

The entrance was empty too. Nothing unusual about that, though. Since Chris's room was on the far right of the house, and his parents' was on the far left, the middle part usually stayed empty. The entrance, the foyer, halls, bedrooms, and studies stood silent, save the creaks and groans, which reminded me that the house, though old, was still alive, and coming after me, if I wasn't careful.

I turned right, and walked to Chris's room. I wasn't worried about the police. I imagined that Chris would explain. But when I entered, he wasn't there. Someone else was. 

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