Dwayne and Peter looked at each other before proceeding to enter Rowan's bed area. They searched under the bed, the drawers, looking for clues on where Rowan went. Peter rummaged through Rowan's dresser until his fingers hit something hard, hidden within the neatly folded dark clothes. He pulled out a small wooden box about 6 inches long by 5 inches with a cover that slid on and off. The wood was stained with small dark splotches that Peter had a feeling was dried blood. The various nicks and scratches had been worn smooth by numerous holdings. Peter called Dwayne over and they slowly opened the box.

It contained a lighter, a small penknife, a few oil pastels in a rainbow of colors, 3 crumpled newspapers articles, a small gift tag and 2 photos carefully folded. Dwayne slowly uncrumbled the newspaper articles. One, the most faded, simply stated, "Traveling Circus Woos Dublin Audience, Including Antics of 6-Year Old Knife Thrower". The second was an obituary, the headline and first few lines remarking, "Sara Douglas, 16, will be sorely missed. She was found dead Saturday, from a self inflicted gunshot wound." The last was a longish article beginning with the lines, "8 years old Rowan Douglas was found unconscious in his apartment. The boy is believed to have been put in the coma by his father, Grant Douglas. Grant is now wanted by the police. A reward of…" The article went onto describe that Rowan had lay there for at least 2 days, near death and pinned there by a knife through his hand. Custody of Rowan went to the state.

"He was in that coma for a month and a half," remarked Dwayne. "They still haven't found his father. Finding him would result in a very nice vacation."

"How nice?"

"3 journeys by cruise ships to the Bahamas. I also thought he knew where his father was and refused to tell." Wordlessly Peter picked up the first picture and unfolded it. It portrayed three laughing people: a teenage girl with copper hair that fell gently down in waves with bright green eyes, a very young boy with black and blond streaked hair, and a man in his early 20s with shiny black hair. Dwayne traced their faces with his finger. "Rowan, Jasper and Sara," he said softly.

"That's-" trailed Peter. "God he looks so innocent, so happy. Laughing? I can count on one hand with plenty of fingers left the number of times I've seen him laughing." He unfolded the other picture. It was a picture of a baby girl with bright red hair done up in ponytails and green eyes.

"Sara?" said Dwayne with a note of question in his voice. The two split again to continue going through Rowan's things.

(Dwayne's POV)

Dwayne stuck his head underneath the bed but couldn't find anything. He wasn't surprised. This was the kid who managed to sneak a carton of cigarettes into JuV 3 times. He remembered something one of Rowan's dorm mates had told him and cautiously felt the underside of the bed. Score! His mind screamed as his hand touched a binder. He pulled it out and called Peter over. He opened it to see the poetry notebook Peter had given everyone and a sketchpad. He opened the notebook to see words that were dancing across the page to his tired eyes. He rubbed his eyes and asked, "I thought he didn't keep a notebook?"

"Guess I was wrong." Dwayne cleared his throat and began to read aloud the words.