"What's that about?" he asked.
I looked at them.
"Nothing," I said.
"Most everything is around here," he quipped and his friends laughed.
I backed into my room and closed the door softly. What should I do? I wondered. If I didn't tell Roy about this, he'd be even more angry at me, if that was possible. Yet once he sa
w this, he'd be furious. I sat on my bed and held the envelope in my hands. I might as well have chains wrapped around myself, I thought. That was how helpless and trapped I felt. I remained there, pondering and worrying most of the afternoon until I heard a knock on my door and Roy appeared.
"What's going on?" he asked.
I looked up surprised.
"Ken says some girl came here and you were acting strange and screaming after her. For him to even notice is amazing, so it must be something." His eyes went quickly to my hands. I didn't realize I was still holding the envelope. "Who was the girl who got you so upset?"
"It was Alicia Hanes," I confessed. "She said someone told her to bring this to me. She wouldn't tell me who or even describe him."
"What is it?"
I shook my head and started to cry. He closed the door behind him and approached.
I hesitated and then I handed it to him. He opened the envelope and read the note. Then he looked at the negatives. His face turned ashen.
"You tell anyone else about this?"
"No, not yet. We should call the police," I said. He smirked.
"What for? You think they're going to find Jerad and even if they do, you think there will be enough evidence to convict him of anything? You know how people get away with things around here, Rain. They get away with it because we're only killing our own most of the time," he said bitterly.
"You sound like Ken," I said.
"Yeah, well, sometimes, he isn't wrong."
"What are you going to do about it, then, Roy?" He thought for a moment.
"Come on," he said.
"Where?"
"You need to get out a little anyway. Come on," he urged and started out. I rose and followed.
Ken and his friends had left, but Mama was still talking softly in the living room with some of the other women from the Projects. Roy glanced at the living room and then went to the front door.
"No one's going to miss us. Don't worry," he said.
I followed him out. It did feel strange leaving the apartment. I felt exposed, vulnerable again. While I was surrounded by grief and condolences, I was in a cocoon, wrapped in my own misery, but shut off from the prying eyes of the curious. Sounds of life seemed awkward and incongruous. Why wasn't everyone as sad and gloomy as we were? Why were they all so unaffected by Beni's horrible death? Wasn't it close enough to them? It was painful to be out in traffic and noise, to hear laughter and see people smiling and enjoying themselves.
Roy walked quickly, his shoulders hoisted about his neck as if these sounds and sights stung him as well. We went around the building and then across a street to a vacant lot. It was filled with debris, rusted metal, bags of garbage, old tires, even pieces of old furniture. He stood there for a moment looking over the site like a general inspecting the aftermath of a battle scene. He spotted what he wanted and marched to it.
I watched him set a few pieces of broken furniture in the center of a tire. He added some paper and found a smashed and battered gas can. Apparently, there were a few drops of gasoline left. He let them drip on his little pile and then he dropped the envelope of negatives on top of it.
"You're going to burn them?"
"Damn right, I am," he said.
"Isn't that evidence though, Roy?" I asked. He shook his head.