Timmy tosses and rolls in the waves with Vicky. She laughs her heavenly, seductive laugh as he bobs up and down with the setting sun giving her the appearance of a radiant fire spirit. The scene is like out of a cheesy romantic comedy or a hallmark commercial. He knows how absurd it is. How she'll feel embarrassed at how utterly cliché their day is later. And he smiles, knowing she'll love it just the same. She inches closer to him in the waves.
"So, you want to take this fun back to the hotel, my twerp?"
"Yeah." he says, lost in Vicky's blazing eyes. Timmy and Vicky leave the ocean, walking back from the beach. Vicky creeps up and tassels his hair, which has settled into a nice blonde.
"You know, sometimes it sucks not seeing your cute brown hair."
"Same. I miss that fiery red menace." Timmy replies.
"Well, not all of my red hair is dyed." Vicky says suggestively.
Timmy giggles as Vicky drags him closer, snickering as he squirms, attempting not to become erect with so many people around. The two hurry up to the boardwalk and approach one of the few working payphones in the city. They know cellphones can be traced even when they aren't on, providing a nice little map of everywhere Vicky and he have been. Even so, with the quarters in his hand, he hesitates. He hesitates because he knows that tears, shouting, and all sorts of swears could go flying once he makes the call, not mentioning the fact that anyone else might be listening.
"Go for it." Vicky says.
"Wha?" Timmy replies, torn from his thoughts.
"If you don't do this, you'll feel like shit. So go on."
Timmy gulps nervously, takes a deep breath, and then puts the quarters in the machine. He dials the number of the house he grew up in, hoping his parents are still there, and waits. Seconds pass like minutes as Vicky keeps an eye out for any questioning gazes. Soon Timmy hears a familiar voice on the other end.
"Uh… Turner residence." Timmy's father says. Even through the static, Timmy recognizes his father's voice. He sounds like nothing's changed, like he's having the time of the world with Timmy gone.
Maybe I should just hang up… no, he does care. He yelled and screamed and fell apart… But I'm just bringing more pain.
Vicky nudges Timmy to get him to respond.
"Hey, it's me." Timmy says.
"Who is this?" his father asks. He doesn't know my voice. He doesn't even know my own voice anymore.
"It's… it's Timmy." The phone clicks. He hung up on Timmy, his only son, after three years.
"He… he hung up on me." Timmy says, voice trembling. Vicky moves in closer and holds him tight. "He probably thought it was a crank call. I mean, a horrible news story attracts the biggest assholes. Five years ago, I'd do the same thing."
"Christ." Timmy mutters before putting more change in and calling back. No answer. He tries again, and all he receives is silence. He calls one more time and finally his father picks up on the other end.
"Stop bugging me." His father says.
"I'm not. When I was nine, you got me two goldfish for my birthday. Last time I was there they were alive. One with green eyes and one with pink eyes. They never seemed to age, funny enough. When I was ten, you and mom hired Vicky. She got me pizza with anchovies on the first day, and the first time we dated. Now it's one of my favorite toppings."
"Huh… wha?" Timmy's father mumbles on the other end, trying to make sense of what he's being told. Something he's dreamed of both pleasantly and in nightmares is finally happening; his son is calling him.
"Vicky and I got stuck in a cave up at the ski resort almost a year after she showed up. I… I realized she was hiding something. That's… that's when our lives changed."
"Timmy… why… why are you calling now?"
"I… needed to hear your voice."
For a moment both are quiet, save for sniffles and choked sobs. Timmy presses up against the phone, turning to look at the ocean waves. Then father finally speaks again. "She… how did you get away from her?"
"I didn't. We're both at the… we're on vacation. I wanted to call, so I called."
"You… you wanted to call?" his father replies, dumbfounded at how easy Timmy makes everything sound.
"It was me, okay?" Timmy confesses. "Vicky shut me out, but I didn't want her to shut me out. I pushed my way in because I thought… I thought she was beautiful."
The word slipped out and now hung in the air. Beautiful. That cruel smiling monster the Turners turned a blind eye to just because they wanted to get away from their miserable lives. The one that came out as a monster far too late for them to keep away from their son. Beautiful. How could that thing be beautiful?
"What?!" he says with a raised voice. The anger at what Vicky did, and the obliviousness Timmy shows drives into him, makes him question how his son can simply be so casual. Brainwashed? Did he purposefully throw away his life with family just for that monster?
"Just… how? How can you be so easy with this?"
"Easy? You think this is easy?" Timmy says, disbelief plain in his voice. He chuckles slightly as he sniffles.
"I didn't think 'hey, let's run away and start a life with nothing to our name, it'll be fun!' It hurt. It hurt fucking bad. But I had to choose. And I chose Vicky."
"You… you chose?!"
"Yes, okay." Timmy states firmly. "She didn't kidnap me or whatever the hell the news said. She threw a rock through my window with a note to meet up. I could have given it to you, or the police, or that dumb therapist, but I didn't. I ripped the note up and met where Vicky said she'd be. I chose her over everything else."
"How… just… fuck…"
The two become silent again, neither sure how to proceed. Timmy's father wonders if he should call the police, or maybe that detective, or one of Timmy's old friends. To try and get him to come to his senses. He was abused, wasn't he? His skin was all marked up because Vicky dug her nails into Timmy's skin, shredding apart his innocence piece by piece. And he sounds like what happened was perfectly normal.
"How can you love her?" his father asks. Vicky grunts, apparently having heard his remark or simply getting slightly bored. A seagull screeches overhead before coming into a landing. As the bird starts picking through an open garbage can, Timmy tries to explain the only way he can. Explain exactly why he loves the person most everyone else in his life hated. "I love her because she's Vicky. Same reasons everyone else is afraid of her."
His father releases a low whimper, growling slightly as hate mixes with fear and confusion. He's entirely in disbelief that his son could defend Vicky. But he still tries to persuade his son. "You have to come home, Timmy. You… you have to."
"I can't. They'd… they'd lock her up, treat her like shit."
"She deserves it! How are you defending her?!" he shouts suddenly.
"I told you before, I ain't leaving." Timmy says calmly. "Maybe… in a couple of years we'll meet up again. But not now. Please don't call the cops. They'd just fuck everything up."
"She hurt you! How… god damn it."
Timmy begins crying again as he hangs the phone up. "You done?" Vicky asks. Timmy nods, and the pair begin to leave. His father, though, is panicked and rushing to call his ex-wife. But before he hits send, he instead remembers that one detective. The trace ran cold about a year ago, but now he has something that the private eye likely doesn't know. After the phone rings three times, he picks up. The gruff detective's voice answers "Hey, Detective Frank Johnson here."
"It's me. Timmy called."
There is silence for several seconds before Frank can register what he's heard. "Wait, Mr. Turner?"
"Yes."
"Timmy called? Where?"
"I don't know. He-he just wanted to talk, he said. Just wanted to hear my voice. Christ."
"Did he give you any hints as to where he was?"
"No… just, I heard a seagull, if that helps."
"Not really. Stupid birds are everywhere. Parking lots, cities, almost everywhere but the sea."
"Shit…" he sputters, clenching his fists and ready to punch the wall.
"Hey, this still gives us something to work with… did you call the cops?"
"I… no. I don't want them involved. I don't want them ripping this family apart more than it already is… I just… I just want Timmy back home and safe."
"I do too… has he called any of his friends?"
"I don't think so. Shit, how would I even know? They don't know me, their parents barely tell me anything anymore. They've all moved on. Last I checked, his friends planning to go on vacation to Timmy's favorite beach."
"Favorite?"
"Yeah. He liked this arcade over there with all the old video games. Him and his video games."
Mr. Turner feels a smidge of nostalgia amidst the sorrow, remembering how they would go every summer to that one special beach once a month. Sometimes more. In the end, the Turners used vacations as a way to escape from their issues, figured that if they simply relaxed everything would magically fix itself. And the last few times, Vicky would be there with them. "Vicky." he says to himself, coming to a realization. The thing both her and Timmy seemed to enjoy the most was that absurd money wasting arcade. And judging by Timmy's words, he wasn't as much of a prisoner as everyone thought.
"I… I think Timmy might be there." Timmy's dad says. "Vicky always enjoyed the beach too… and that arcade. The last time when Timmy was thirteen they spent nearly the entire time there…"
"… You know, they might just be there." Detective Johnson replies. He remembers Tootie's behavior. She seemed to be involved, yet nothing came of his suspicions before. But now, it seems, the trail has been picked up again. I've been thinking so much about what to do to Vicky. I've practiced on plenty more assholes in the meantime. Maybe it's finally time to lay this one to rest.