Author's Note: This is a shorter one, but I wanted to get out a chapter before finals. I hope you guys enjoy! :)

Chapter 3: Genius

"Where are we going?" Teresa whispered as Mihael led her through the never-ending hallways of the abandoned mall.

"To see Cliff."

"Who is Cliff?"

"He was in the Army, too." he explained. "Maybe he'll know where to look to find a full name for your dad." They rounded a corner and treaded through a much thinner, much darker hallway until they reached solid door. It was heavier than the tempered glass doors to their room. Mihael gave three quick raps on the bulky thing, and the sound had dispersed in the solid material so completely that Teresa was sure no one standing on the other side would have heard them knocking. But after only a few seconds, the heavy door opened, and a man stood in front of them. He was tall like her father, seemed about the same age, and was draped in the familiar green and brown camouflage pattern whose colors had diminished in intensity over time. His brown curls spilled out messily from under his tattered patrol cap, and his similarly colored beard was freckled with grey. Teresa only noticed the pale green of his irises when they moved onto her. The heavy wrinkles that seemed to only exist against the lateral corners of his eyes deepened, swelling the already troubled look on his face.

"Who's your friend?" the man asked, stepping aside to let the pair into his dwelling.

"Her name's Teresa." Mihael replied nonchalantly, leading her in. They exchanged a few more lines of conversation, traded some items, and discussed matters that Teresa did not understand. So, she turned her focus to the room. It was nothing like the room Mihael lived in; there were tall metal shelves overflowing and stacked with a variety of objects—most of which looked like junk. It reminded her of the garage in their old home. In the corner there was one sleeping bag and an old beat up pillow. Presumably, this is where Cliff spent his nights. Though the bags under his eyes would have signaled to anyone, no matter their age, that he rarely slept. Teresa suddenly stiffened and began to pay attention to their conversation when she noticed the blonde-haired boy hand over her prized possession to Cliff. She instinctively reached for the nametape, uncomfortable that this strange man was holding it in his hands.

"This was your dad's?" Cliff asked her, handing the item back. She nodded, immediately brining her clutched hand to her chest. It was the one thing she dare not lose. "I don't suppose you know where his duty station was?"

"She doesn't even remember his first name." Mihael corrected the ambitious attempt at information gathering.

"When your mom and dad talked, what did they call each other?" Cliff tried again.

"Um…" Teresa abashedly averted her gaze, "I can't say."

"Why not?" Mihael dug.

"Melissa says it's a bad word." Though the admission was embarrassing for Teresa, Cliff let out a jovial laugh.

"Yea, sounds like an Army marriage." he concurred. "They fight a lot?"

"Ever since he got home." she confirmed.

"What about?"

"What does this have to do with—" Mihael stopped talking when Cliff held up his hand. The young boy crossed his arms in a huff and let the conversation continue.

"Mom said he was sick."

"Sick? Like how?" Cliff asked. She shrugged her tiny shoulders.

"I don't know. She said he needed help because he was sick, and they would fight. I went to the doctor's office with him a few times."

"What doctor?" Mihael suddenly perked up.

"I don't remember." Teresa repeated for what felt like the millionth time since meeting this boy.

"Did the doctor's office have pictures of soldiers on the walls?" Cliff questioned.

"Y-yea!" Teresa responded excitedly, happy to add another clue to their case.

"Was it a big building?" Another enthusiastic nod.

"Sounds like a VA office."

"VA?" Mihael followed the man as he began looking around on the shelves.

"Veterans Affairs—they're special medical centers for…well, veterans." He shifted some items around. "Shit, I think I still have it." Cliff grabbed a thick white binder off a shelf too high for the children to see and set it on the ground.

"What is that?" the blonde raised his brow in surprise at the girth.

"Army handed me this heavy ass binder at my medical out-processing so I could find a place for treatment when I came back home." A cynical snort left the man's nose. "This is the first time it's been useful." He crouched down and began flipping through the pages. "Any of these buildings look familiar, Teresa?" The girl peeked over his shoulder; distress clear on her face when nothing seemed to ring a bell. Cliff was nothing if not perceptive. He noticed her concern immediately and offered a running line of encouragement as he moved through the binder. Teresa took her time with each image, trying to imagine herself with her father in front of the portrayed buildings. Just as the small girl was about to resign herself, Cliff turned to a picture she recognized. The rounded corners of the chalky white building, the red bars outside of the windows, she remembered—she really remembered.

"That one, that one!" Teresa called excitedly, pointing to the page.

"…shit." Cliff grumbled under his breath.

"What?" Mihael asked, turning his head to read the page. "Shit."

"What?" Teresa tilted her head in confusion, left out of whatever discovery they had made.

"This is in Oakland." Cliff clarified for the girl. She blinked unassumingly at him. "We're in Los Angeles." Still nothing. "This is a seven-hour drive." Teresa squinted her eyes, unsure of what information she was supposed to take away from this exchange. "We can't go there."

"O…." she muttered, trying to fight back the tears as she stared at the nametape in her hands. Mihael watched the despondent girl and felt an urge to help her bubble up inside of him. It was overwhelming—like it would tear through his stomach and split him open if he didn't quell it. He sighed and dropped his shoulders, giving into the—what he could only describe as incredibly stupid—compulsion to see this girl not cry.

"If I can get the car, gas, and food, will you drive us?"

"Yea," Cliff snickered dismissively, "you get all that; I'll drive." It had been a sarcastic offer, but Mihael took it completely seriously. Teresa could see the wheels turning behind the piercing gaze of his blue eyes—planning his next move. It was perhaps at this moment that Teresa realized for the first time Mihael Keehl was a genius.