The Iron Quill Read Online Free Page A

more courage I built up. I could do it. Find out where he is, talk to him, promise him what he wants in return for making sure Wes comes home. What could he do to me? I doubted he would kill me on the spot.
    It was decided. I perked up a little and began making my plans. As I forced my brain into overdrive, a headache began to brew. Then, my stomach growled and for the first time since Wes was taken, I wanted to eat.
    I went into the kitchen and everything reminded me of him. Yes, it was his house, but the kitchen conjured up the strongest memories. So many times I’d watched him walk around this room making something as simple as a sandwich, with chopped veggies on the side. I used to roll my eyes at his health kicks, but now, I only wished to hug him from behind while he chopped away. I’d even eat the broccoli.
    I stood there, looking at the cherry cabinets and black countertops. It was so clean and uncluttered. It almost didn’t look lived in, and staring at it in its emptiness made it feel so cold. I was so used to Wes, always dressed warmly, and always giving me that perfect half smile. His presence alone heated up the space.
    Trying to keep it together, I fixed myself a sandwich and lemonade, eating it by myself in the dining room. The same room where Wes had first told me his secret.
    I was alone, but felt whole somehow. As if everything we’d gone through boiled down to this moment. This place and time, where I decided not to let fate win. The first time I had been in this room was on the tour of the house. I had noticed that huge painting hanging on the wall. Vibrant, in every color imaginable, depicting the image of a couple with outstretched arms. When I first saw it, I tried to decide whether the arms were reaching for each other or being pulled apart.
    The second time I saw it, I decided they were being pulled apart and thinking that way brought me sadness. This time, eating alone, I studied the image and decided they were being brought back together.
    The tension the image gave off was, in my mind, symbolic of trying times, but that didn’t mean it had to end in separation. Not this picture. This picture was the snapshot of the two hands making their way back to each other. Just like Wes and me.
That
was what I saw, and
that
is what I believed as I drank the last of my lemonade.
    Leaving Wes’, my mind constantly turned over ideas. Choosing not to call the police, wanting instead to give Dr. Lyon a chance to work his leads, didn’t mean I was going to stand idle.
    After fifteen minutes of brainstorming, I reached my house. My mother was inside and already cooking dinner. That was odd.
    I peeked my head into the kitchen. “Hey Mom, what’s up?”
    Her back was to me and she didn’t reply.
    “Mom?” Her hips were moving slightly. I noticed her head bobbing back and forth and realized she was listening to music. The sight was so strange, I laughed for the first time since Wes was taken.
    “Mom!” I shouted, moving further into the kitchen.
    She turned and jumped back, snatching the buds from her ears. “Oh, hi honey.”
    She looked embarrassed. “Mom . . . what is that?” I moved to inspect the source of the wires. “Did you get an iPod?”
    “Um, yes,” she said straightening up. “Why, does that surprise you?”
    I was smiling, shaking my head. “No, not at all. Well, maybe a little. Since when do you know how to work an iPod?”
    “Well, Tom bought it for me and set it up this weekend.”
    She was holding back a guilty smile. I got the feeling she and Tom had been playing house while I was away. I assessed the joy beaming from her eyes and couldn’t help but smile too.
    “Can I see it?”
    “Sure.”
    After a few minutes of unraveling herself from the wires, she handed it over. I scrolled through her songs and immediately felt like I was in the eighties. Duran Duran, U2, Bruce Springsteen. I smiled and handed it back.
    She stuck it in her pocket while I diverted my gaze over to the