August 18, 1984

The storm rumbled all around Reese, but it didn’t scare her. She barely noticed it. She was alone and swallowed up by a hollowness; the void between the girl she was three months ago and now was so vast, she would never find the old Reese again. She was transforming into a different person than she would have become, but she was only vaguely aware of the metamorphism.  She was focused. She was determined. She had a goal and all her thoughts zeroed in on that one target. Her brother’s killer was the bull’s eye and she was the aiming arrow.

Reese roamed the town limits without direction, weaving in and out of neighborhoods, waiting for the inspiration she could feel nagging at the base of her skull. She knew she could piece the puzzle together if only she knew where the pieces were hidden. She deliberated her next step. If she was going to find justice for Luke’s murder, she needed to be clever. The police hadn’t found his killer nor did they have a viable suspect. So why did she think she could accomplish what they could not?  With a realization as startling as the zigzag of lightning splitting the sky open, she knew. Luke. Luke was her secret weapon.

He had said he didn’t recall any details of his death, but perhaps there were clues in the days leading up to his disappearance. Maybe he could recount his final few days before he was taken. If there was one thing she knew without a doubt, his death wasn’t random. Someone wanted him dead. She could not even begin to wrap her mind around the possibility that he was some arbitrary victim to a psycho’s game.

Sopping wet, but with purpose, she marched back into town. After more than an hour in the torrential downfalls, her anger and confusion about her dad’s comments was somewhat mollified, as if the rain has washed them away. Reese realized how absurd it had been of her to think their father could have killed Luke so savagely. But she didn’t completely dismiss the hypothesis either. For the moment, he was the closest thing to a suspect. After all, he did openly admit he killed Luke. Her single goal branched into two goals. Find Luke’s killer and prove to herself that her dad was not the killer.

Reese’s next step formulated clearly in her head as if she could suddenly see after hours of being blindfolded. She trudged through running flood waters along the curbsides, making her way back to Two Scoops. It was where her evening had started anyway. She had gone there to discover a clue in the mural and a clue she was going to find.

All the storefronts encircling the quant town common were dark, with the exception of one. Two Scoops was lit up as if for business, but there were no patrons milling about the small outdoor terrace of linked off parlor tables and chairs. Of course the weather would be the culprit if the shop were open.

Reese crossed the street and saw no one working the ice cream counter. As she got closer to the single glass door with double sidelites, she saw movement to the right, by the mural. It took her brain a few seconds to register what she was witnessing.

“NO!” She screamed as loud as her lungs allowed.

Gregory had a paint roller brush coated in bubblegum pink paint attached to a pole wavering in front of the mural. He turned toward the sound of the muffled scream, pole levitating in the air.

She rattled the door and when it wouldn’t open, Reese used both fisted hands to bang on the glass. Gregory squinted at her for a couple of seconds as she continued to yell, “NO! Don’t do that!” He didn’t even let go of the pole as he trotted to the door. He twisted the lock and pushed the door open.

“Reese, what the hell?” He stammered as he let her in like flood waters breaking through a weak dam. She ran to the mural and stared up at the destructive pink roadways marring the original artwork. The sobs rolled from somewhere deep inside of her and expelled in long explosive heaves.

“Reese?” Gregory locked the door and walked to her. “What?” He lightly placed a palm on the middle of her back and leaned toward her. At his touch, her body collapsed like her bones were suddenly snapped in the middle. Gregory dropped the pole, the roller plopping and bouncing off the floor leaving rectangles of pink smudges for him to clean later.

His arms flew open and they quickly overflowed with Reese’s months of sorrow. She was heavy with weakness and handed all of her pain into Gregory’s care.

“Reese, honey,” he said and squeezed her tight. He rocked her as he cradled her and cooed, “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.” He let her cry like that for a few minutes before he pulled her back and placed a hand on either side of her head. He drew her head up so he could see her face.

Before he could say another word, she belted, “Why did you do that?”

“What? Paint over the mural?”

She nodded and swiped her hand across her running nose.

He let go of her and turned toward the wall where Luke’s artwork was disappearing like a magic trick.  He shrugged at it and Reese followed his gaze. “Too much pain in it, I guess. The way you reacted to it earlier, I thought it was the right thing to do.”

Reese walked closer to it and looked at what remained. The centered image of her face was gone but her hand and the ice cream cone peeked out through the pink paint. The right bottom corner still existed and she stepped even closer to examine the details. She swiped at her eyes and sniffed her still running nose. She tried to grasp any hidden meanings in the smaller scenes, but Luke’s handy work had still been too immature for her to distinguish any real details. At the very bottom corner was a depiction of Casey’s Pub. Easy enough to see with the bright red building and Casey’s Pub spelled out across the top, but the man standing on the bottom step could have been Casey or any other man. His features were too muted to define him.

She examined the next image up from Casey’s Pub. It was of the Town Diner. Silver railroad car converted to a diner with a large neon sign blaring “OPEN” at the first window. There were half a dozen other windows with the heads of patrons sitting at the booths. Nothing distinguishable about those people who were painted as mere hair on top of heads.

Reese felt Gregory walk up behind her and placed a hand on either of her shoulders. He just stood there for a moment like that, staring over her at the remainder of the mural. Finally he said, “You’re soaked, Reese.”

She tugged her shoulders away from his touch and inched a fraction closer to the wall. She was lost in the world her brother had created and wanted to be left alone to examine it. She glanced behind her and reached for one of the tables. She dragged it as close to the wall as the rounded edge allowed. She climbed up and sat on it, crossing her legs and leaning forward.

She hadn’t heard Gregory leave the room and barely registered when he returned a moment later and laid a towel over her shoulders. He pulled a chair up to the table and sat, not saying a word. He watched her. She felt his eyes on her back but she ignored it. She was so close to the painting that she could actually see paint brush strokes. She concentrated hard, half expecting there to be a hidden word or name etched into the scenes. A clue so loud and obvious no one would notice unless she was specifically looking for it.

This continued for long minutes until her eyes saw something familiar. It was a scene at the Town Common gazebo. There was one figure in the gazebo, leaning against the railing with her hand outstretched, reaching for a single rose. Although the girl’s face in the gazebo was muddled, her hair could belong to no one other than Heather. Luke’s attempt at making it look like it was blowing in a breeze had exaggerated the length and thickness. Reese followed the rose and saw a man presenting it to the painted Heather.

She squinted her eyes as she moved in even closer, zeroing in on the man’s featureless face. Nothing about him distinguished him from any other depicted townsman except for a flash of pale reddish hair atop his crown.

Reese backed away from the wall and turned to Gregory who was still watching her. “Who is this?” She asked.

He stood and walked over to the right of the table. Her fingertip touched the man at the gazebo. Gregory leaned forward and stared for a few seconds before backing up and saying, “I don’t know.”

Reese looked from the painted red hair to Gregory’s hair. “Is it supposed to be you?”

“Oh good Lord, no. Why would Luke paint me giving a girl a rose?”

She looked back at the painting. It could have been Gregory, but she wasn’t sure.

“Besides he already painted me in front of Two Scoops,” Gregory said, glancing up to where the shop scene had already been marred by the pink paint.

Reese looked back at Gregory. With her sitting on the table, their eyes were level and she saw his expression soften a bit. Gregory reached up and gently pulled her pinned hair out from the towel. He tugged at the towel corners as if that would dry her off more. He didn’t let go and leaned in toward her. She leaned in too and their lips touched. Then he tugged at the towel, drawing her closer to him. Their lips smashed into a hard kiss and Reese thought she would explode with excitement. She had never been kissed before and she liked it.