I drove toward Axton’s house, way south of Apple Tree Boulevard. The Boulevard — mysteriously named as it was devoid of apple trees — was the dividing line in Huntingford. To the north, subdivisions with names like Stony Gates, The Cottages, and Crabapple Estates surrounded manicured golf courses or large man-made lakes. South of Apple Tree contained the historic district of Huntingford. Or as most people called it, the crappy side of town.
Axton lived in a tiny, white clapboard two-bedroom, one-bath home with his stoner roommate Joe Fletcher. Joe worked sporadically. Mostly, I think he sponged off Axton.
I pulled into the driveway behind Axton’s blue Honda. A huge sense of relief washed over me at the sight of his car. That phone call really freaked me out. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I wasn’t leaving until he told me everything.
I bounded up the front steps and knocked on the door. After about a minute, Joe answered.
Joe was a little taller than Axton but just as thin. His brown hair was shaggy and greasy and he always wore a purple tuque with strings that fell on either side of his head. Even in the summer.
“Rose, hey man. Like, mi casa es su casa.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm.
I hadn’t been inside Axton’s house very often and frankly it was not an experience I wished to repeat. It was dusty and smelled like old bong water. I stepped in and glanced around. A guy with a long ponytail and chin stubble sat on their old corduroy couch. He was completely engrossed in a video game that involved shooting people. Nazis, by the look of it.
“Where’s Axton?”
“In his room.” He waved toward the hall, his attention fixed on Ponytail and the video game. “Dude, you totally shot the shit out of that dude.”
Ponytail nodded. “Hell yeah I did.”
I walked down the short hall, knocked on Axton’s door and waited. Nothing. I tried the door handle, but it was locked. I jiggled the knob. “Ax, you in there?”
No answer.
“Hey Joe,” I yelled.
Joe shuffled down the hall to stand next to me.
“Axton’s door is locked and he’s not answering.”
Joe shrugged. “Don’t know, dude.”
“Do you have a key?”
He scratched the top of his head. “Um…I don’t think so.”
I pounded on the door and shouted Axton’s name, but still no response.
“Are you going to kick the door in?” Joe asked.
“Not unless I have to.”
“Cuz that would be awesome. But, like, better if you had on a tight leather jumpsuit and boots that came up to your cootchie. All superhero style, you know?”
I walked back down the hall and out the front door. I made my way toward the side of the house until I stood outside of Axton’s room. His light was off but the window stood open, the curtains fluttering inward from the light wind.
Joe followed. “Hey, maybe the Axman escaped.”
I wrapped my hands over the window ledge, and bracing my feet against the house, hoisted myself up. Throwing one leg over the sill, I ducked my head and toppled into Axton’s bedroom, then quickly scrambled to my feet.
With my hands stretched out in front of me, I stumbled around in the dark and stubbed my toe as I searched for the light switch. When I finally found it, I flipped it on and took a good look around. There was an unbelievable amount of crap scattered everywhere, but no Axton.
A knot formed in the pit of my stomach. Where the hell was Ax and why hadn’t he taken his car?
I tromped back to the living room and asked Joe a few simple questions, like ‘When did Axton come home? Was he acting strange? Did he say if he was going out tonight?’ All I got back was, “Dude, I don’t know.” Not terribly helpful, Joe.
I gave Joe and Ponytail specific instructions to call me if Axton called or came home. They nodded as they munched on cold pizza and watched me with glazed eyes. With a sigh, I left the house and got back in my car.
I drove around for hours, stopping at all of Axton’s favorite hangouts: The Burger Barn, The Slaughter House (a local watering hole), Howard’s Hot Dog Stand, The Carp (a bar that featured live music), and even The Sizzler, Axton’s favorite restaurant. He was nowhere to be found and no one had seen him all night. I kept calling him, but he never answered.
I got home close to eleven o’clock. Worry clawed at me as I climbed the two flights of stairs to my studio apartment. Something was wrong with Ax, I felt it in my gut.
I dropped my stuff on the small bistro table in the corner then curled up on my orange futon, but I was too edgy to sit still, so I stood and paced the room. Axton gave me his backpack for safekeeping. Why? He was obviously hiding something, but there was nothing unusual inside of it. Did it have something to do with his computer? And what about the strange man? Did Axton have something that belonged to him? And why did Ax sneak out of his window and not take his car?
My head ached from asking myself the same questions over and over. Should I call the police? Should I wait to see if he showed up tomorrow? I didn’t know what to do.
Axton and I didn’t have much in common on the surface. I vaguely remembered him as a goofy kid from school. We hadn’t been friends, but our parents moved in the same social circles. But five years ago, when we ran into each other at the city college, it was like I saw him, really saw him, for the first time.
I had been feeling so hopeless and isolated after moving out of my parents’ home. All my old friends had gone back to their expensive schools, my sister had newborn Scotty to take care of, and I went to work at Ma’s Diner. I’d gone from country club tennis courts and a Lexus convertible to shopping for food at the dollar store and using a bus pass. I’d never even made my own bed and suddenly I had to figure out how to pay rent on a dump of an apartment. I was completely lost.
Until I met up with Ax.
With his sweet smile and love of Godzilla movie marathons, he kept me going. One day at a time. He held my hand through it all, offered to lend me money — which I could never bring myself to take — and brought me pizza. Lots and lots of pizza.
For a while, he was my only friend. And I would have lost my way without him.
He was an affable, tech-loving doofus who liked to spark up a bit too frequently and I was a rebellious smartass who could barely pay my bills. We were both misfits, not to mention bitter disappointments to our respective parents. I loved him like a brother. And if he was in trouble, I had to help him.
But I couldn’t do anything about it tonight. With a sigh, I took my hair out of its ponytail and massaged my scalp. In my Post-it sized bathroom, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and pulled on a t-shirt my ex-boyfriend, Kevin, left behind. It was puke green and bore the name of his band, TurkeyJerk.
Boyfriends like Kevin might drift in and out of my life, but Ax was my constant, the one man I could count on. And now he was missing.
I blew out a breath. Well, I was just going to have to find him. Whatever trouble he was in, I would help. Maybe it was my turn to save him.