AN- Yay! New chapter! More angst! Woohoo! Don't forget to review, por favor! It would totally make my day. =] Funfact: Song that I listened to a lot while writing this was Armor For Sleep's 'Vanished." So good.

I was going to kill Connor the next time I saw him. Not hurt, not maim, not seriously injure- no, he was a dead man walking.

We had slept on the couch…again. Ericka hadn't slept in her own bed in weeks, and her episodes were getting worse and worse. It was frustrating watching her toss and turn night after night, knowing she was reliving whatever hell she had been through. This time, she fell asleep in my arms. I felt guilty; the guilt was lessened when I remembered the fact Connor wasn't around to actually comfort her. Honest to God, I never knew where he went. As Ericka said, he was avoiding us, and was doing a damn good job of it too.

I woke to the sound of breaking ceramic. I jerked awake and stumbled into the kitchen instinctively, adrenaline pumping. Ericka stared at a piece of paper on the counter. My eyes went from her to the broken glass on the floor- apparently she had thrown it.

I hurried over to her. "Ericka, hey, hey now, what is it? What's-"

"Nothing, apparently." she said bitterly. She brushed past me, hurrying to pick up the broken dish. "So you throw dishes across the room over nothing now?" I asked dumbly.

She swept up the shards almost feverishly. "He left. In the middle of the night. All he left was a note and a large wad of cash on the kitchen counter. Guess that's better than nothing…" She dumped out the dustpan and practically ran past me. I heard the front door open and then an engine start. I had half a mind to stop her from leaving, but something told me to just let her go for the moment.

The piece of paper on the counter was the cheap yellow kind you find on legal pads. I picked it up and read through Connor's neat handwriting: It's better this way. Watch yourselves. Please. I turned it over- nothing on the back of it.

That's it?

No explanation, no nothing? A fucking seven word note?

There was no justifying that.

I crumbled up the paper and threw it onto the counter and started combing the house for his stuff. Ericka was right; he had taken most of his belongings- which admittedly, wasn't much. His duffel was gone too. I grabbed mine from my closet and checked it- to my surprise, everything was still there. Actually, there was more ammo than before, and an extra .09 millimeter. I tried to figure out how the bullets and gun had spawned in my bag, but came up empty on solutions. Maybe Connor put it there. It made the most sense anyway. I rolled with it. I wanted to believe my brother still had a shred of decency.

I glanced at the clock on my dresser. 9 am? Fuck…. .It's going to be a long day. I rubbed my eyes, and wandered around the house, more out of needing something to do keep myself busy. The house was in disarray. Ericka had pretty much given up trying to keep everything in order, and instead just let everything pile up. Dirty dishes from the past couple days laid in the sink, crusted pasta noodles still stuck on a pan. The trash was beginning to overflow. Newspapers and mail were tossed on top of the microwave without much thought. I felt a twinge of guilt upon realizing that neither Connor or I had ever helped much in keeping up the house.

I moved onto the living room. Clothes (namely socks) were strewn all over the place, coffee cups and glasses here and there. Dust had accumulated on the shelf Ericka had insisted on putting up, just for photos. I smiled to myself as I looked over the memories of better times. There was one of Rocco wearing his shades, beer bottle in hand, in all his drunk Italian glory. Cheeky bastard. Could use his humor right now. One of me and Connor after we got our first tattoos, proudly showing them off and grinning like idiots. One of Ericka and her brother, Erik, both in military class A's, side by side standing at whatever they called it- the one stance where the hands are behind the back. They looked alike; there was denying that they were related. One of Ericka and Conn, about a week after we told her that we were the Saints- One of us- I think it had actually been Roc- who had gone camera happy and bought a cheap disposable camera. The film had been used up in one drunken night, and most of the pictures were blurry or of random things, like the wall or ceiling fans. This was one of few that had actually turned out. I squinted at it. They looked…happy. Ericka's eyes never lit up the way anymore. My mind made itself up as I looked at that photo.

I'd bring that light back to her eyes one way or another. Connor might have jumped shipped, but I wouldn't.

Guilty feelings gone, motherfucker.