The boys waited for Ringo, but Ringo never came. The living room felt too quiet for a house that usually buzzed with laughter and low chatter. Esther had gone silent after Tomas arrived — the last of them to walk in, bruised and battered, his eye swollen shut and the corner of his lips split open. He didn't offer an explanation, and no one asked at first. The air was already thick with tension, with worry, with the unsettling weight of Ringo's absence. It was Samuel who finally broke the silence. He sat beside Tomas and leaned in slightly. "What happened to you, man?" Tomas shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "Fell down the stairs," he muttered. Samuel stared at him for a moment longer. He knew better — everyone did — but no one pressed it. Not then. Tomas's silence screamed louder than words ever could. The group shifted again, their thoughts circling back to the question none of them had dared to say out loud yet — where the hell was Ringo? Esther stood up suddenly, pacing the room. Her worry had evolved into something sharper — irritation born of fear. Her voice trembled when she finally spoke. "He's never been gone this long without calling. He always lets me know, even if he's gonna be late. Even when he's up to something shady, he lets me know." Samuel stood too. "Maybe he's just, you know, laying low. Maybe he crashed somewhere." Esther turned sharply to him, eyes glossed with tears she was too proud to shed. "Then where is he?" The silence answered her
Moments later, she was lacing up her sneakers and grabbing her hoodie. "I'm going to look for him." Samuel moved to stop her. "Esther, wait. Let's give it a little more time. Maybe someone's seen him." "No," her voice cracked. "If I wait here one more minute, I'm going to lose it. If you're scared, then stay. I'm going." That was all it took. One by one, the boys stood up. They didn't say much — there wasn't much to say. They split up to cover more ground. Everyone knew Ringo's spots — the basketball court, the smokehouse lot behind Miss Amara's store, the alley behind the car wash, that little two-room shack by the bridge where he sometimes laid low after a fight. Nothing. Samuel walked for blocks down cracked roads and alleys that smelled like piss and rust. He stopped at a small kiosk near the edge of Ringo's usual territory and asked a couple of guys playing draft if they'd seen him. "Nah," one said. "Ain't seen Ringo since Thursday." That only made the hole in Samuel's chest stretch wider. He kept going. It was already past dusk when he saw Esther again. She was walking up the hill near that old abandoned dry goods store — the one with the busted neon sign and half-collapsed loading dock. She looked tired. Her shoulders slumped, but her pace was quick, determined. Samuel crossed the road to meet her. "Anything?" he asked. She shook her head. "You?" "Nah," he said. Then paused. "There's one spot we didn't check." She turned to him. "You remember that back lot behind the convenience store — the one with the dumpsters and the old loading dock?" "Yeah?" she said. "I don't know... something just told me we should check it." She nodded. They walked in silence for a while — the kind of silence that felt heavy, like it was carrying too much. The sky was dark now, except for the dull orange glow of a streetlight flickering in the distance. The air smelled like diesel — and something else. Something sour. A foul, metallic scent curled into Samuel's nose and clung there. He slowed his steps. That's when he saw it — just past the dumpster, something crumpled. A body. At first, he thought maybe it was just trash, someone passed out. But the moment he got closer, all denial fell away. His feet stopped moving. His chest locked. It was Ringo. Face up. Eyes open — lifeless and glassy. Blood soaked the ground beneath him. His shirt was slashed, torn in wild, angry lines. Thirty, maybe forty stab wounds riddled his chest and stomach — jagged and merciless. His skin had turned pale beneath the blood. A silver crucifix necklace clung to his neck, twisted and stained deep red, as if it had tried to shield him and failed. Samuel didn't scream. He couldn't. He just stood there — lungs frozen, brain refusing to understand what his eyes were seeing. Esther's footsteps caught up behind him. She stopped. Her breath caught in her throat as she followed Samuel's gaze. Her heart broke. She collapsed beside her brother's body, shaking. Sobs racked her small frame. Her cries were lost — wails torn straight from the soul. She clutched Ringo's bloodied hand, whispering his name over and over again, like a prayer, like a curse. Samuel couldn't move. This wasn't supposed to happen. They were just kids. They were just trying to survive