Chapter 33

I’m calm, and patient. I don’t lose my composure or freak out regarding his whereabouts. I’m strong enough to keep my mental faculties in line, and try to deal with his unannounced departure.

I make the two-mile walk to Ripley Road from my house. The first thing I see is BOY-FUCKER in white paint, slapped across his mailbox. FAGGOT in thick black paint is diagonally slashed over his front door, which is locked.

I walk around the premises and devise a plan to find my way inside. I cock my head against the windowpanes. Again, I am not at all surprised to learn that all of the rooms are empty. There are no paintings on the walls. No knickknacks. No furniture. No dishes in the open kitchen closets. No hardware next to the hearth. The house is completely empty. Any sign of Mr. Mann living in the house is unfound…like Mr. Mann himself.

* * * *