They drove in silence. Eventually, Griffin pulled up in front of an apartment complex not far from his grandmother's shop. "We're here," he said, stepping out of the car. Mrs. Dara followed without hesitation, her eyes burning with worry. They ascended a flight of stairs, Griffin leading the way. At the top, he turned left and stopped at a door marked 003. He knocked. A voice, annoyed and raspy, answered from inside.
"Who is it?"
"We're looking for Mr. Lamar," Griffin said firmly.
The door cracked open. On the other side stood a man with a swollen face, bandages wrapped around his head. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice sharp. "What do you want?"
"I'm Vinny's mother," Mrs. Dara blurted, her words tumbling over each other. "You were the last person seen with him after he left the house on Saturday. He never came home. Is he here?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Lamar snapped, already trying to shut the door.
It didn't close. He looked down. Griffin's shoe.
"What the hell?!" Lamar barked.
"We just want to talk," Griffin said calmly, then shoved the door open, sending Lamar stumbling backward.
"I said I don't know anything! Get out before I call the police!"
"Please do," Griffin replied, his voice suddenly cold. "I'm sure they'd be very interested to hear how you were the last person seen with Vinny before he mysteriously vanished."
Lamar lunged at Griffin with a roar, attempting a punch. But before his fist could connect, Griffin had him slammed against the wall, one hand locked tightly around his neck, not choking, just holding. No warmth. No expression. Lamar struggled. Clawed. But the hand didn't move.
"Get the fuck off me!" he screamed, finally landing a punch.
Griffin's head jerked slightly, but he calmly turned it back and stared. Then Lamar swung again. And again. Nothing. No flinch. No reaction. Just silence.
Griffin looked over at Mrs. Dara. "Please, get your phone's voice recorder ready."
Confused, she obeyed. Then Griffin turned back to Lamar. "What happened with you and Vinny last night? Where is he?"
"I said I don't fucking know what you're talking about!" Lamar screamed, throwing another hit.
This time, Griffin let out a low groan. "You hit me," he muttered. "Don't blame me for defending myself."
Then his fist flew. BAM! Blood. Lamar's nose cracked visibly under the first blow. He tried to cry out, to plead, but another punch cut him off. And another. And another.
Griffin entered a trance. No sound. No words. Just him, his fists, and Lamar's face.
Mrs. Dara rushed forward, grabbing Griffin's raised arm, sobbing. "Please, he already spoke. He said it. He admitted it!"
Griffin blinked, like waking from a dream. He looked down at his blood-soaked hand, then at Lamar, collapsed, gasping, whispering apologies through split lips.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... sor... ry…"
Griffin released him, letting his body fall with a heavy thud. Then, crouching, he turned Lamar onto his back.
"So. What happened?"
"We just... had some drinks," Lamar panted. "He seemed out of it... so I took him to a room... in the back of the bar."
Griffin scoffed. "You mean you got him drunk, then dragged him to the back to take advantage of him. Right? The bartender told us how you kept forcing drinks on him."
Lamar bit his lip hard. No answer.
Griffin's voice darkened. "So I was right."
That was it. Lamar snapped. "Fuck off! Why are you even involved? None of this would've happened if he'd just listened to me! I loved him! I still love him! He should've just gone with it!"
The room went still.
Mrs. Dara walked slowly toward him. Her eyes hollow, her mouth trembling. SLAP. Lamar's head snapped to the side. SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.
"What did he ever do to you?! Why would you do that to him?! WHY?!"
She hit him again and again, her tears mixing with the blood splattered around them.
Griffin gently pulled her away, wrapping his arms around her. She crumpled into him, crying into his chest. He looked down at Lamar, eyes dead cold.
"Where is he?"
"I... I don't know. Before anything could happen, someone hit me from behind. I blacked out. When I woke up... he was gone. I was in a pool of blood, my face, my head—"
Mrs. Dara stopped crying. She looked up at him slowly, a storm in her eyes. "So you tried to force yourself on my son... and then you lost him?!"
She tried to pounce again. Griffin held her back. "It's okay, ma'am. Let's call the police. We'll find him. I promise."
The police arrived 30 minutes after Griffin made the call. By then, Lamar had been locked inside the apartment. Griffin had secured both exits, calmly leading Mrs. Dara outside to wait.
While they waited, she called Liz. She arrived just as the officers began questioning her mother. When Liz saw the man they were dragging out of the apartment, she froze. Then she charged.
"You did this to him? You?!"
Officers restrained her just in time as she screamed and flailed, her rage uncontainable. "I'll tear you apart! I'll kill you!"
The police finally got Lamar into the back of their car and drove off. Griffin, Mrs. Dara, and Liz followed closely behind.
Vinny stared at the computer screen, eyes blank, confused. Folder after folder. Image after image. All of him. All of it. All him. He slowly knocked his head to the side, confused.
"It's me," he whispered. "They're all me."
His eyes remained locked on the screen. Lost in thought as he stared at the screen.