The A-Z Club
Chapter Ten
Francis knocked on the door, and Alfred stood a pace behind him.
"Why would Arthur be here?" Alfred said, looking around. The elevator had smelt like urine, the carpet was dirty and the wallpaper was off-yellow and peeling.
"This is where he used to come." Francis said.
"For drugs?"
Francis nodded, and then knocked again.
"Alright, I'm coming, I'm coming." A voice said. A man Alfred didn't know answered, wearing pyjama pants and nothing else.
"Who are you?" He said, taking an unnecessarily long puff on a cigarette.
"I'm looking for Arthur." Francis said, mostly unintimidated by the burly, angry-faced stranger.
"That's not what I asked. Who are you?"
Alfred stepped forward.
"We're his friends. And we know you know who he is we just don't know where he is and we think we know that you know where he is." He said, holding himself taller.
"What?"
"Have you seen him or not?" Francis said.
The man shrugged, and flicked ash at their feet.
"Can't say I have." He said. "Not for at least six months. Can I interest you in any -"
"No." Francis said. "Thank you. If you see Arthur, tell him we're looking for him."
A"I will." The man said, and he closed the door. Francis stared at it for a moment.
"Well, that was my only guess. We could try the library again." Francis said.
"Yeah, I suppose." Alfred said. He felt sick to his stomach.
The man peered through the peephole and watched them walk back down the hall.
"Are they gone?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Thanks."
88
Alfred couldn't concentrate. Not in class, not at practice. When he was walking down the street he almost went straight into a streetlight. He was worried. And it was all his own fault, really. He should have convinced Arthur to stay, he should have made him. Blocked the doorway. Followed him out of the house, or at the very least, he could have tried to not be so mean.
"What's wrong, son?" Alfred's father asked at dinner. Matthew gave him a silent smile and a concerned look from opposite.
"Nothing." Alfred said.
"Are you sure?" His mom chimed in, "You've been a little down lately."
"Everything's fine." Alfred said. "I just had a lot of work at school."
They seemed to accept this, and both fell silent. Twice with Francis he'd snuck out late at night to go to the club Arthur liked, but he was never there, and nobody was talking. Briefly, Alfred almost felt excited the first time, like he should be wearing a trench coat and a hat tilted under his eyes, like a streetwise old-timey detective. It wore off quickly.
"Maybe we should stop looking." Francis said. "He obviously does not want to be found."
"I don't care if he doesn't want to be found. I want to find him."
Francis shrugged, and didn't come looking the next night, or the night.
Alfred felt exhausted, his glasses felt heavy on his face, and he would feel himself slipping into sleep even as he stood on his feet.
What disturbed him the most, however, was that no-one seemed to care. No-one he spoke to at the clubs or bars seemed interested, even the people who Alfred had seen laughing and joking and dancing and drinking with him seemed bored by his questions.
At school nobody even spoke about him any more. There was no point in talking to any teachers, as Arthur had just annoyed them. It was like he never even existed. Even Francis seemed to give up. Alfred wondered if it would be best if he did, too.
88
"Where does Arthur live?" Alfred asked Francis.
"Why?" Francis said. "Of all places, he will not be there."
"He might be." Alfred said. Francis looked at Alfred, whose eyes were bloodshot with concern and sleep deprivation. He looked less tan than before, and his forehead had been frowning for a fortnight now. He wrote the address down on a piece of paper for him.
"Just be careful, Alfred." Francis said, and then went back to trying to ignore his headache.
"I will." Alfred said. "You could always come with me."
"I'm sorry, Alfred." Francis said. "If Arthur comes back and said for my help I will be willing to give it. But, in all honesty, I'm tired of looking for him. You can play a hero all you want."
"Fine. I will." Alfred said. He stormed away, keeping his head up high. Honestly, he didn't want to go there on his own. It was further away than he thought and from what he had heard about Arthur's stepfather didn't exactly boost his confidence. What if he went, and Arthur wasn't there? And Arthur's stepdad got angry and took his frustration out on Alfred? What if Alfred went there and they told him that Arthur wasn't there but he really was, and when Alfred left they got angry with Arthur thinking he'd asked Alfred to come? What if Arthur was there, and had been all along, and just scoffed at Alfred and Francis was right, Arthur didn't want to be found. It was almost enough to make Alfred get off the bus and turn around and forget about looking for Arthur. But he couldn't do that, Alfred F Jones wasn't a coward, he didn't back down and he didn't turn back. Stepfathers didn't scare him. Nothing did.
Arthur's house was right in the middle of the street. The lawn looked slightly overgrown, but for all intents and purposes, it looked like any other house in the street. Small but not tiny. There was nothing scary about it. Alfred felt himself exhaling with relief, already relaxed.
He knocked twice, and the sick feeling began to return to his stomach as bile rose to his mouth. He felt his feet lurch for him to turn away, but before he could make any real movement, the door opened.
"I'm not supposed to answer the door." The boy said. He looked a bit like Arthur, blond with massive eyebrows.
"Oh, uh. Sorry. Is your mom home?" Alfred said.
"Uh-Huh." The boy nodded.
"Can I talk to her?"
"She's asleep." The boy says. "I'm Peter."
"Hi, Peter. I'm Alfred." Alfred said. "I got to school with your brother."
"Arthur?"
"Yeah." Alfred said. "Is he here?"
Peter bit his lip. "Arthur's gone."
"D'you know where?"
"No. Just gone." Peter said. "Mum said he's a useless ungrateful brat and will probably come crawling back soon, so I can tell him you came when he does. Bye!"
Before Alfred could stop him or say anything else, Peter had closed the door.
He began to walk back down the path and decided to skip taking the bye back, and just walk off the feeling of defeat.
A/N: thank you so much to everyone who reviewed/followed/favourited/read