Page 47 of Rogue’s Mark

"Rogue," I say, my voice cracking.

He's at my side in seconds. He reads the line.

"That's him," I say, pointing. "MR. That's my father."

"Could be."

"It's him," I insist.

He looks at me. I look at the page. He photographs it twice.

Armen comes over. He reads it and says nothing.

Sting speaks from the door. "Guys. We need to go."

On the street, I walk while thinking about a neighborhood on the edge of the city and my father’s initials written in a careful hand.

Rogue falls in beside me. He doesn't say anything, just walks close enough that his arm presses against mine and stays there.

I think about Sting.

I've been watching him today, probably more than usual, because there's something that changed in his expression when we passed the old Rothwell Elder Care earlier. The nursing home where his mother once worked is long closed, but the sign still stands. Behind it, the windows are dark and the parking lot is empty, speckled with weeds growing up between the cracks.

He didn't say anything when we passed, but I saw him looking at it, and his face was that of a man walking past something he lost.

I find his hand and squeeze once. He looks at me, and something passes between us that doesn't require words.

"You good?" Rogue says from my other side.

"I will be."

He takes my other hand.

And so I walk back through Rothwell with the terror of actually being close to something I've wanted for so long, I'd almost stopped believing in it.

"Club?" Rogue says.

I look at him. "Did you just read my mind?"

"It’s one of my biggest talents," he says.

"Club," Armen confirms from ahead, without turning around.

Sting squeezes my hand.

Yeah. The club.

27

VI

The club is different at night.

Not surprisingly, the music is louder and the lighting is lower. The shades on two of the “party” rooms are already open and to my delight, I can see right into both of them. I don't look away from the people bumping and grinding, here to forget whatever their life looks like outside the club, in what’s left of Rothwell.

That's one of the things I love about this place. Nobody looks away and nobody apologizes for looking. You come here, you see things, you're seen doing things, and everyone involved has chosen it, not to mention, gets off on it. That's the point.

The first time the guys brought me here, I had no idea where we were going. They didn't tell me and I didn't ask, which in retrospect says something about how far I'd come in trusting them. Then we walked in and the shade on the window of the first room was open, and I saw what was happening in there and something in me went oh.