My first stop was my place. Change out of my work clothes and into comfy shoes, jeans and a t-shirt. A quick look around to make sure they hadn't been there. I kept a spare key to my place in the bag that I kept at the flat, if they had needed to hide out, but no they hadn't been. I grabbed my extra key ring, stuck it in my pocket and took off.

Next stop was Rocco's, mostly because it was on the way, I knew he hadn't been home earlier, but who knows? I took the stairs up and knocked on Rocco's door. No answer. On an impulse I tried the knob and it turned. Pushing inside, I called out, "Roc?"

A gray and white furball with a bell attached to it's neck shot out from behind the couch and tried to get past me out the door. I knelt and scooped it up, soothing, "Hey, you. Is your daddy home? Huh? Is he?" I wandered into the kitchen and noticed that not only was no one here, but the cat's bowls were both empty. Kneeling, I dropped the cat, grabbed the bowls, filled one with water and the other with dry food from a bag nearby. Putting it back down I noticed a name scrawled on the side in black magic marker. Skippy. "Oh," I said petting his head as I put the food down allowing him to dive in, "You're Skippy?"

Getting back to my feet, I grabbed an old pizza coupon and scrawled on the back with a pen that was running out of ink:

Rocco~

Saw the news. Are the boys in some kind of shit? Where are they? Getting worried. I'll be at Doc's if I can't find them.

Let me know?

I left my home number and my name, turned and walked out.

My next stop was the flat, and it was a disaster area. The door that had barely closed as it was had been kicked open and across the open doorway yellow crime scene tape had been strung with just enough space between the strands for me to fit through. I wasn't worried about leaving traces of me. If a crime scene tech had worked the room they would have found me everywhere, anyway.

The boys' rosaries were gone from the nails where they hung by the door and I didn't see their coats. Their boots were also missing but considering that their feet never hit the floor barefoot that really didn't mean much. I also didn't see their robes.

Taking another step, my shoe splashed in something. Looking down I was standing in a puddle, and following the puddle it actually turned out to be more like a lake, originating from the toilet that was no longer there. Sloshing through, I could see faint tinges of pink in the water.

Blood.

Oh God.

Calm down. Not all that much blood. Could have just cut themselves shaving.

I arched an eyebrow at myself. Sure,dumbass,rightbeforetheyIncredibleHulkedthetoiletoutofthefloor.

My head was starting to hurt. There wasn't anything here that was gonna help me. I needed to get out. I needed a drink. I stumbled out through the tape, catching the toe of my shoe on it as I stepped out. I completely lost my balance and would have face-planted onto the floor if I hadn't fallen onto the chest of someone standing in the hallway. His hands went under my elbows, straightening me out. Glancing up from a solid body I saw green eyes and black hair. Broad shoulders matched the chest I balanced myself against until I noticed the badge sticking out of his suit jacket pocket and I tried to pull back. A cop. Oh, fuck.

"You okay?" he asked, holding me at arm's length.

I nodded.

"Detective Phil O'Malley, Mrs?" he let the question hang and my brain started spinning.

"O'Reilly," I said in the closest I could come to a brogue picked up from listening to Connor and Murphy. "Brenda O'Reilly." Holy fuck. I was giving a fake name and accent to a cop.

"Mrs. O'Reilly," he repeated snapping open a notebook.

"Ms," I corrected.

"You live around here, miss?"

"No. My gran lives down below and she heard the ruckus of the police in and out. Asked me to pop up and see what's what. She gets nervous, you understand? She's old." Jesus. I'm a psychotic criminal…not too bad on the spur of the moment, if I had to say so myself. I was almost proud.

"Oh? I could go talk to her, then."

Fuck.

My pride bubble just burst all to hell. "That's not really necessary. She just wanted me to check on the boys."

"The boys?"

Double fuck.

I'm a lousy criminal.

"Aye, the lads that live here. Two of them. Never saw them close myself, but Gran says they're good boys. Don't suppose you could tell me what happened? That would ease her mind a bit, I'm sure."

"Sorry." Yeah, right. "It's still a crime scene. You could be arrested."

I didn't know what to say about that, so I just shut up.

"Did one of 'the boys' have a girlfriend?"

He was watching my face for a reaction, so I didn't give him one. "Not that I know of, but like I said –"

"You're not from around here," he finished. "The only reason I ask is that we found a bag with women's clothes and necessities in it. She could be able to give us an idea of what happened here."

She doesn't have a clue what happened here I wanted to scream, but I didn't. Point for me. "I don't remember seeing any one girl in particular."

"Hmm," he said, tucking the notebook into a pocket, he took my elbow in his hand and led me away. "Let's go see your gran."

Oh, hell.