Frank Obi’s house was a living testament to what is known as a pack rat. As we pulled up into the snow covered driveway, I could see colourful little mounds sticking up out of the snow in the front yard. When James caught me frowning, trying to figure out what they were, he sighed.

“Lawn ornaments.” He said, “Dad is a bit of a collector.”

A bit? There had to be at least sixty of those florescent pink flamingo heads poking up out of the snow. I didn’t even know they still made those things! I thought those died along with the Vietnam War!

But the collection of freaky little plastic animals on the front lawn was nothing to the inside of the house. You know that show about people with OCD, where they take a camera through their houses and all you can see is a small trail in the carpet amongst the mounds of crap they’ve collected? Frank’s house was more than qualified to host that show. Hell, he could’ve been their season finale!

We walked through the front hall, picking our way through what appeared to be hundreds of different baskets, an array of candlestick holders, strings of beer bottle caps, a wall filled with ornately framed Muppet posters, and perhaps the most disturbing of all, a vast display of mannequin hands with different manicures. I was beginning to wonder about my choice of company.

James stepped over things as if it was normal, but the expression on Cal’s face told me that this was completely new to him. James paused and took in Cal’s look before we went into the kitchen.

“After the accident, Dad started to… collect things to distract himself, you know?” He explained.

Cal and I exchanged glances. No, we did not know. I felt like I was walking through some psycho murderer’s house. I expected Buffalo Bill to pop out from around the corner waving a giant moth over his head while wearing nothing but a frilly pink robe. Maybe that’s a bit extreme, but still, it was creepy.

At one point we passed a familiar old geezer dozing heavily in a gray recliner nestled deep within the debris. I noted Grandpa Obi’s cane propped up against the coffee table and suppressed the urge to break it over my knee. My shins barked at the memory of its sting. Why did old people hate me? More importantly, why did old people with blunt objects and the ability to wield them hate me?

Frank was sitting in the kitchen wearing a green robe over boxer shorts and a stained wife-beater. He was rotund guy with hardly any hair left. He was clutching a cup of what I thought was coffee (turns out it was hot chocolate). When we walked into the room, he jumped, startled by the sight of both his sons and some random chick.

Wide, watery blue eyes took in James and Cal’s faces then crinkled at the corners as he grinned. The old man opened his mouth to speak but all that came out were a few hushed squeaks and finally a sigh of happiness.

Cal took two long strides and covered the distance between him and his father, throwing his arms around him in a heavy embrace. Frank was staring at James in utter disbelief. His eyes kept asking one question: Is this for real? I stole a glance at James whose face had grown stony as he resisted the urge to cry. He gave a simple nod.

“Calvin!” The old man gasped finally. I suddenly felt extremely warm and toasty inside and was very aware of the dumb smile that was pulling at my lips. It lingered there for a while but faltered when I caught sight of a framed picture hanging on the wall by the stairs. It failed completely when I took in a ten year old Clayton smiling back at me, tucked under the arm of a radiantly vibrant blond. Rachel.

***

An hour or so later we were all armed with a mug of hot chocolate and Frank was silently processing everything he’d just been told. The quiet that hung in the room was maddening and I couldn’t sit still. I paced across the tiny kitchen, absently taking sips from my mug, only realizing after about the tenth try that it was empty.

Cal had a mildly dazed look on his face, like he could fall asleep at the table. James on the other hand was staring at his father with a strange intensity. I noticed his leg shaking uncontrollably under the table. I raised an eyebrow. Never seen him do that before.

“It’s funny that you would come asking about Clay now.” Frank said thoughtfully.

“Why’s that?” James asked.

“Well, just the other day his birth father of all people showed up on my doorstep looking for him.”

“What?” The sound of my own voice surprised me.

James and Frank both looked up as if they’d forgotten I was there. Frank nodded.

“I don’t know why he figured Clay would still be here, must be some mistake in the kid’s paper trail.” Frank sat in thought for a moment then shook his head as a slight shiver stole over him, “Creepy looking fella’, I’ll tell you that.”

I was straining to remember if Clayton had told me anything about his father. I was drawing a complete blank. This served as another reminder: How much did I really know about Clayton? I quickly shoved the thought away. I knew enough to know I loved him and by some crazy, wonderful twist of luck, he loved me too.

“All wiry with dark sunken eyes,” Frank was saying, his hands out in a spider-like fashion, “Freakiest voice I’ve ever heard; scratchy thing that never really got over a whisper. I don’t know why, but that man gave me the willies.”

“Do you know what he wanted?” I asked.

Frank shook his head.

“I just assumed he was looking to meet his boy finally.”

“What did you tell him exactly, Pop?” James cut in.

“That he’d gone back into the system after the accident and that we hadn’t heard anything else from or about him since.”

I glared at the linoleum floor, my fingers tightening around the mug’s fat slippery frame. What did this mean? What did any of this have to do with Clayton? A white spot of pain was forming behind my eyes. Great. My body was rejecting me again, this time with a stress-induced headache. I guess that’s what I get for trying to exercise those few precious remaining brain cells.

“Well, sort of. I told him about how the nurses mentioned him coming to visit Rachel a few times but I don’t think he really-

“Clay went and saw Rachel?” I asked in surprise.

Frank offered up a sad smile.

“He meant the world to her and her to him. It was hard not to adore Rachel.”

Something flickered across James’ face at that moment and his hand closed into a fist on the kitchen table’s surface.

“Don’t talk about her like that.” He hissed.

“Like what?” Frank asked, looking completely taken aback.

“Like she’s gone, damn it! Rachel still is, so stop saying was.”

James was fuming. Cal, completely awake now, had resumed his usual terrified deer about to dart off look. Frank was still staring at James, not sure how to continue.

“James, I’m sorry… I… I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant…”

Before I realized it, I was standing behind James with one hand gently resting on his broad shoulder. He stiffened for a moment under my touch, then with a shudder, relaxed.

“Do you have any idea where Clayton is?” I asked Frank, my voice so hushed I was surprised he heard me.

“I’m sorry, Marilyn. I wish I knew.” He said gifting me with a look filled with sorrow.

I forced a smile on my face.

“No worries Mr. Obi. We’ll find him.” I heard my voice saying. The truth of the matter was I couldn’t stop myself from doing anything but worrying.

***

Understanding swallowed me like a wave when I finally laid eyes on the famed Rachel Obi. The bright smiling girl from the pictures was not who lay in the hospital bed in front of me. Tubes ran every which way from her like a strange sea creature, plugging her into countless machines. I could only guess at their purposes. The thick corn silk blond hair had faded into wispy strands that fanned out on the white pillow in a half assed halo. The rosy cheeks and smiling face had hollowed out and grown purple in the eyes and waxy in the skin. Her hands were knotted with cords of veins like an old lady’s, not at all like the young woman who was asleep inside was supposed to look like.

James’ bottom lip trembled at first when we walked in, but he quickly tucked it away. I could see the muscles in his jaw working as he bit back resentment. I felt a part of me drop away inside like a heavy blanket. I really hadn’t had the slightest clue.

Cal stood in the doorway talking intently with a nurse. I was proud of him for only stealing a glance at her monstrous chest once.

“Oh yes, they were here.” I heard her say over the beeps and hum of the machines. I spun around and hurried to join their huddle.

“You saw Clayton?” I cried too loudly. James flexed his fists. I cleared my throat apologetically and turned back to the nurse.

“Such a nice boy. Came in here with a man earlier. Well… late last night I guess really. It was after visiting hours but he said that it was the last chance he’d have to see her before leaving. Broke my heart, that little cutie! They were only here for a short while. It’s going to be sad to see him go. He was one of her regular visitors.”

I stared at her, feeling the crazed animalistic look in my eyes grow stronger. She took in my face and smiled nervously before hurrying away.

Clayton was a regular visitor? Marilyn you dumbass! Of course he was! How could you not have been sensitive to that before?

Cal had moved to stand next to Rachel’s bedside, leaving me to mentally beat myself up. Someone that meant so much to him and I hadn’t even acknowledged the thought. Who the hell was this guy with him though? His father. Clayton hadn’t said anything about him. How had he gotten to Clayton? And what exactly did he mean when he told the nurse it was the last chance he’d have to see Rachel before leaving? Leaving where?

I continued to berate myself in silence for a few minutes while James stood broodingly looking out the window and Cal stroked Rachel’s hair. I watched as Cal’s hand, having come to rest just under her pillow suddenly drew out a colourful piece of card. He stared down at it in confusion for a moment before something registered in his eyes and he gasped. Acting on reflexes I didn’t think I possessed I rushed over to him as he stumbled backwards slightly.

“Cal!” I cried gripping his upper arm to study him, “Cal what is it?”

He looked up at me, jaw opening and closing repeatedly but only issuing a string of stuttered syllables. I glared at him. James was already being a severe downer; I did not need Cal cracking up over some… whatever the hell was that thing anyways? I slapped him once smartly across the cheek and he seemed to spiral back into consciousness.

“What?” I practically spat in his face.

“This… I just…” He swallowed heavily and regained himself before continuing, “This bumper sticker! The truck that hit us the night of… the night of the accident… it had the same one! I remember it now.”

I took the shiny piece of card from his hand. A grotesquely animated French maid with full out blow-job lips and tits the size of melons was suggestively bending over and looking over her shoulder back at me, her frilly fanny a ridiculous size in ratio to her waist. Next to her long sleepy eyelashes grotesquely glaring letters told me to VISIT THE FRENCH MAID! CUM ON IN!

Gag me. They couldn’t come up with anything more original than that? I turned to glance up at Cal. This is what he remembered from the accident?

“I don’t get it.” I said bluntly.

Cal took the card back, his face growing more excited by the minute. I felt my earlier sense of pride in him evaporate.

He flipped it over and held the back up to me. A message was scrawled across the back in thick black ink.

“Cal, take care of Illy.” I read aloud. My heart and stomach felt like they were having a wrestling match in my chest. Clayton.

“What does this mean?” I stammered, choking back the tears that threatened.

“I’m not sure. But I remember this damn sticker and Clay’s writing.” Cal said, examining it closely. Suddenly James was beside us and snatched it out of Cal’s hand.

“I know this place.” He said simply.

Figured...

“It shut down a few years ago. It’s in the basement of this old hotel down town. The Regional. Been abandoned for a while now.”

I couldn’t read the expression on James’ face nor could I pinpoint the tone that had crept into his voice.

“Do you think that’s where Clayton is?” I asked. I cringed as I realized how my words practically dripped with a pathetic sense of hope.

“I don’t know.” Cal said excitedly, “But it’s all we’ve got right now. Let’s go!”

I was already skipping towards the door, Cal close on my heels. I turned at the threshold and caught James standing over Rachel. He stroked her hair once before leaning over and softly planting a kiss on her forehead. He turned and caught me watching before I had a chance to look away. A blush heated its way steadily up my neck. He smiled sadly down at me for a moment. I could hear Cal scuffling his way up the hall, unaware we weren’t behind him.

I opened my mouth to apologize, “James I –

His hand suddenly shot out and was tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His thumb paused and gently caressed the side of my cheek. He was staring into my eyes with a strange fierceness I’d never seen before. It looked almost pained. Before I could completely analyze the situation, James’ lips were pressed against mine. There was none of the original wanting in me anymore, but I could feel the heat from James. A dark electricity hung there as he pulled me near in a move that could only be described as desperate. It was like he was reaching for something, grasping. What was he trying to hold onto?

When he pulled away he rested his forehead against mine, eyes still shut. We stood that way for a breathless moment. Then his eyes flashed open and looked into mine.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. I could tell he didn’t really mean it.

Before I could respond he had jerked away and was striding up the hallway, leaving me to follow shakily behind.