Chapter 20

Psychedelic Hollow

itsmeocean@hotmail.com

"So you don't come in here anymore?" Frank stood in the middle of the garage where Joe found Justin and Colin bewildered in their psychedelic haze. Invisible cobwebs clung onto his skin and tickled his nose, irritating him to no ends. In one corner, a small wreck stripped of its headlights, side mirrors and missing one backdoor lay close to disintegrating. This place reeked of neglect and, probably, it was only utilized for private functions akin to that which Joe intruded into a little too late. Harold Wain, a man floating in another realm altogether, shook his head slowly, his response retarded and careless.

"Do you know of Colin's activities inside here?"

"I don't know… kids… let them do as they please. It's not too good to be too controlling… Colin doesn't like… I think he doesn't like questions… I don't like to ask questions too…" Harold swept his long, sparse fringe out of his eyes and smiled at Frank mildly, "He doesn't bother me."

"You're his dad. Surely you know a little more about what he does?" Frank asked piercingly, becoming increasingly annoyed not only with the garage dilapidated state but also those vapid blue-gray eyes that were unfocused and preoccupied the entire time. Frank had woken up the whole neighborhood with his incessant knockings and hollering, knowing from the moving shadows behind the curtains that Harold Wain was at home. When Harold finally answered the door, Frank was already showered with a variety of curses.

Not too bothered by Frank's none-too-subtle chastising, Harold Wain merely shrugged and smiled.

"Colin's a heavy user of drugs, Harold…" Frank begun slowly, knowing in that short time that the man's mind was like a sieve. Also, he couldn't trust himself to speak quickly lest he work up into a rage, infuriated by the man's cavalier attitude towards parenting, "And now he's might just well go to jail because his best friend, Justin, had died from the pills that Colin might have offered him."

"Oh, what kind?" Harold asked indifferently. Frank stared at him, incredulous.

"What kind of what?"

"Drugs…"

"Club drugs." Frank elaborated. Maybe Harold was finally taking some interest in Colin's predicament, "Drugs like Ecstasy, Ketamine, LSD…"

"Never heard of them…maybe LSD…" Harold scratched the back of his balding head, his confused mien melting into a goofy smile, "I don't really do them anymore… but I used to smoke some weed."

More like barrels of weed!

Frank fumed, unable to hide his blatant disgust for Harold, "They are the reason why Colin, your son, may be put in jail for a very long time! Don't you see? Your son may be charged with manslaughter or even worse if they establish that he gave the drugs to Justin who's dead! The police are having a field day with the charges they can lay on him!"

"Jail? No…" Harold slanted smile grew wider and he patted Frank on the shoulder, "Colin's a good kid. He's very quiet, especially when I have a headache. It's nice to have him around sometimes… though I don't really know if he's at home or not…"

Either the man was brain-damaged or he had some serious issues with denial and fantasy. Whatever it was, Frank had no sympathy. He really wanted to shake the rocks out of the man's head and the only thing stopping him was the knowledge that his energy would be better spent elsewhere.

"Can I look around your house and the garage?"

"Sure, go ahead. Just don't make too much noise… I think I'm going to sleep." Harold yawned, "It's been a long day. Good night…"

Night? It's daytime! Hello! The sun is high up in the sky! It's only slightly past noon!

Swallowing his displeasure, Frank called out after the man who was very languidly making his way out of the garage back to his house just beside it, "Harold? How do I get into your house later?"

The vacant man turned around slowly, furrowing his brows before wincing, as if thinking pained him, "Oh, I figure you can just walk in… no one ever broke in anyway and I can't remember where are my keys… . It is under my carpet? Do I have a carpet?"

"Are you even a car mechanic?" Frank was certain, by the dust collected on all the rusty equipment that this workshop had lost its purpose eons ago. Harold snapped his head up and grinned slowly.

"I think I once was. Then my left hand hurts too much… So I switched to painting. I only need my right hand and not too much strength… Marcie thought it'll be good too. Have you met her? She's really a doll…"

"So you're an artist?"

"Yup… but I don't know where my completed paintings anymore are… I think I lost the key too. They are somewhere in my studio… I don't know. I can't bear to finish those I started nowadays. It's such a shame to finish beautiful things." Harold shook his head sadly before walking away, apparently lost in his own thoughts. Frank shot mental daggers at Harold's back, his patience tested. His life had become a sticky mess with vastly different and important situations clamoring for time and energy he didn't have- the bedlam his love life had suddenly morphed into, his client's death and his client brother's pressure, and now, he just had a pretty mentally exhausting encounter with someone who seemed like he didn't even exist in the real world.

Focus, Hardy.

Surveying the garage quickly, deducing that Colin must have been exploiting his dad's condition to carry out his wayward desires in the garage with no fear of reprimands even if he was caught. Harold would most likely grin at his son vacantly or worse, participate.

He wore his gloves and took out a folded paper bag from his pant's pocket, clucking his tongue at the lingering sentiments after making acquaintance with Harold. The police had pretty much searched through this garage. Nonetheless, one of the lessons learned from his experience was that the first look was almost always not enough.

Checking through the cabinets, cupboards and drawers of rotting workbenches, the only fruits of his labor were clouds of dust mushrooming in his face. Grimy walls, cool to the touch, didn't reveal loose bricks or hollow, concealed niches. The concrete floor was solid every available inch he could search and, climbing the table so he could reach the overhead light, he uncapped it to see if Colin had hidden anything inside- efforts which were in vain. A good couple of hours later drenched in sweat, his eyes tearing and his nose running, Frank cracked his muscles and gave the garage another once over, unwilling to give up. This was most probably Colin's favorite hang-out and a hunch told Frank that the garage was important.

"Thanks for being here, Frank. But I can handle things from here now on. You just do your job."

"If you need help with the funeral… you know…"

"I'm okay. I just need to be alone for a while."

Frank sighed, a migraine pounding at his temples. Conrad had no idea just how much pressure he was putting on him. He had multiplied the number days he had expected Frank would be working on the case with the highest daily rates and left a note in the envelope saying that the extras would be established at the end, regardless of success or failures, more importantly, in Conrad's own words, 'Despite the nature of the truth."

Not wanting to leave and leave the niggling hunch hanging, and also having no confidence in depending on solely Nancy and Joe's progress in the case, Frank inhaled in deeply, regretting immediately when he was hit by a series of dry sneezes. He scanned the garage once again and his gaze drifted to the collapsing wreck. The rectangular hollows left behind by the missing headlights and its pathetic condition reminded him once again of Justin. Drugs and reckless youth had taken away too much life such that when he looked into Justin's eyes, he often felt like he was looking into an emptiness so horrifying depressing.

Hollows…

His heart pounded with a new adrenaline. Striding purposefully towards the wreck, he knelt down and fished around the inside of the right socket. Not disheartened after the search proved futile, he did the same for the left. Smiling with a quiet satisfaction, he retrieved a small key stuck inside on the top part of the crevice together with a small piece of paper which had a set of numbers scrawled on it with distracted, sloppy handwriting.

"Yup… but I don't know where my completed paintings anymore are… I think I lost the key too. They are somewhere in my studio..."

The grim smile stretched into a thin, tight line.

***

"A new partner, Agent Drew? It doesn't pay to be fickle." Marcie Brown's stern voice filled the room with detestable authority. Joe, wary of his duties, smiled widely and drew out his name card, handing it to Marcie from across the coffee table.

"I'm sorry. Maybe we are not properly introduced in the hospital. Nancy's not changing partners. Frank's my brother and partner. We cover each other when the other is occupied. Nancy's collaborating with our firm, not the firm's individuals."

Marcie took his card, glimpsed through it casually before setting it down on the low table, "Hmm, I didn't know the FBI takes kindly to private investigators nowadays."

"If it works to both our advantage, why not?" Joe countered, keeping that friendly smile he didn't feel switched on, "We're here to have a chat with Colin and the police told us you bailed him out."

"Yes, I did. But he's not here."

Nancy spoke up in all seriousness, "You know something, Mrs. Brown? Colin will better serve himself if he co-operates. The odds stacked against him don't look very good. No amount of money or pressure is going to get him out of trouble. We're asking you to be fair to your son. Maybe it's good for him, in another manner all together, that he tells us everything he can to help his friend."

"Who's dead. What good can Colin do now for his dead friend?"

"You cannot stop us from speaking with Colin, Mrs. Brown."

"Yes, I can. He will not speak to anyone but his lawyer." Marcie eyed Nancy lethally, "And Colin himself subscribe to that notion. The drugs are definitely from Justin. Colin told me that himself."

"He did?" Joe asked, the disbelief in his tone resonated with a clarity no one could miss, "And did you volunteer this information to the police?"

"No. Not yet." Marcie replied steadily, "Because Colin just told me. When trouble strikes, everyone goes back to their mothers."

"Nice to hear the both of you are on speaking terms again. The episode at the hospital had me worried for a moment." Nancy remarked cynically. Marcie smiled at her coldly, gesturing to her cup of tea which had turned cold.

"Do you want a fresh cup of tea? Or can I tell my servants to clear the table?"

"Marcie, maybe you can set another place for me." Frank strode into the lounge and sat down beside Joe. Joe shifted to one side closer to Nancy, allowing his brother more space on the couch, and arched a curious brow at his brother who had so suddenly and suavely barged into the meeting. Frank merely kept his eyes gravely trained at Marcie.

 "It's not your maid's fault too," Frank added and Joe quickly glanced at the door to find another stressed-out servant imploring her mistress apologetically, "I barged my way in."

"Yes, he did, Madam. I couldn't stop him…"

"Don't worry, Lisa. Go back to your duties." Marcie waved the servant away, taking a new interest in Frank, "I hope you have more to offer than your friends, Frank Hardy. I'm getting very bored by these visits. As it is, I have to schedule my trip to visit Colin's brother at a later date."

"Oh yes, I have, Marcie. But I will urge Colin to come down here and explain some very intriguing findings…" Frank reached into a brown paper bag he was carrying and scattered a few packets of assorted, unmarked pills onto the table, "I believe these are his."

Joe could hardly stifle a chuckle at Marcie's dumbfounded expression but the triumphant was fleeting as his heart twisted when he noticed Nancy throwing Frank an intensely admiring look.