(Author note -- Okay, I'm figuring there will be heavy use of the lyrics from the song Ruby Tuesday in this story. That's a Rolling Stones song for all you kiddies who didn't know. Not mine. Just wanted to let ya'll know.)

i. Jericho.

Goodbye Ruby Tuesday…who could hang a name on you…

"Turn the fucking thing OFF!" Narrowing my eyes, I took the closest throwable thing, heaving it at the stereo. I couldn't listen to that – especially not that song. Not right now, anyhow. Not when…
Not when it reminded me of Reese...
I'd teased her, called her Reesie Tuesday sometimes...
But now, I couldn't even think about that.

Not when she could be dead.

I closed my eyes, and all I could see were those bright blue green eyes, staring up at me hopefully as she shoved the hair out of her face, wood bead bracelets clacking together, as she let her fingers idly strum against her guitar –
She'd had a fondness for the older songs, for the Stones, especially…

That's when I'd first seen her, actually. Before I knew anything else about her…
I knew she could sing like nothing else I'd ever heard in my life.
A voice like a blues angel, a smile…
But now…she's gone.

They suspected I'd done it. They thought I was the one who had taken her away, done something horrible to her – and I wouldn't do that for a million dollars. Wouldn't do it in a million years.
It's not every day someone like that comes into your life, and doesn't care if she tells you that you're a thousand kinds of crude…

She'd said it in more ways than I could understand, but she'd never once pushed me back –
She was perceptive of a lot of things, and I think she knew that…
Well, I can not be a jerk. Once in a while.

Of course, her guitar's in the corner of the room, neatly placed in the open case, and hasn't been touched in weeks. That stupid shell necklace she liked so much was wrapped around the handle of the open case.
There was still a note taped to my dresser…

Chris –
Hey dorkface, I'll be around later – went shopping, and you know how I get. Out being a trash-bag shopper. Vintage. Mmm.

She'd never showed up.
I'd waited for…hours.

And now – weeks after she'd disappeared, I couldn't get the picture out of my mind. That little hippie jeans wearing, acoustic guitar playing, poetry writing…
Angel.

They thought I'd killed her.
Sons of bitches…
Then again, what would I want with her?

They…didn't know.