For the longest time, I just sit there with the Walkman in my hands and stare at it. I mean, hell, I don't know what to do. It could be a clue as to where the heck Rocco is. It could be a trap. It could be a bomb that's about to blow me to smithereens in T minus thirty seconds. My head's in about a million different places; I keep searching for some logical thought, any thought at all, but there's nothing.

Then Midge slaps me.

It seems to wake me up.

"The hell, Grey!" she snaps, no remorse in the urgency of her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know!" I shout back at her. We're still in the middle of the living room, and Mom just looks confused, and the footsteps I hear probably mean Dad and Sybil aren't far from the scene, either. "I don't know what I'm doing and I never do! Do I—do I listen to it?"

"Why would you not?"

I'm about to just suck it up and hit play when Dad bursts in with a loud roar: "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS? GREY MEESANG, I NEED A WORD WITH YOU. RIGHT NOW, SIR."

I sputter, "But—"

"NO BUTS, GREY. IN MY OFFICE!"

It's no use arguing with him anymore; his abysmally dark eyes are regarding me like he'll damn me for eternity if I say another word. So instead, I hand the tape back to Midge. She looks up at me and opens her mouth—probably to protest—but I shake my head at her. "I can't...right now," I murmur, and somehow I know she understands that I mean for reasons besides my dad's chastising. "You listen to it; I'll be back, alright?"

My hands linger on hers just a bit too long past just friends, and I break away, trudging after my dad into his office.

I shut the door behind me, expecting a string of harsh and extremely loud words to come streaming at me the moment we're alone. I'm pleasantly surprised when he starts speaking at a normal volume, but even that doesn't allay the fact that he's quite pissed at me.

His grip on the desk is white-knuckled. "You received fair warning that if you showed an ounce of disrespect to your mother—"

"I know," I interrupt, folding my arms. A black eyebrow shoots upwards at my tone, so I try to make it sound like I'm half as stressed out as I am. "I'm sorry, and I told Mom I'm sorry, and it's...alright between us. I just—nothing I said isn't true."

Dad pauses, then deepens his frown, letting out a guttural huff. "Still, it was undeniably rude—"

"No," I say, shaking my head. I rub my heel on the toe of my other shoe, and the leather squeaks. I don't normally wear leather shoes at all, but I'd been well aware that Sybil would have my head if I showed up to dinner in another stained sweatshirt and chucks. "I'm talking about Rocco, and all that. He really is missing, Dad, which is why I shouldn't be in here. I should be—I should be looking for him."

Dad's expression softens. Not a whole lot, but a little. Mindlessly, he reaches up to stroke one of his horns. "I'm not sure I like you going out and getting involved with all this. Why not get help from the police?"

I shudder—the word brings back memories of that dismal interrogation room, the words the cop had hissed at me. I figure it best to omit the details. "Let's just say they wouldn't be able to do much."

Dad's eyes grow narrow. "Grey..."

I offer him a smile, centering myself away from the wall. "I promise I'll be careful, but you've got to let me go. Can I call you later?"

"I—alright, fine. Sure," Dad lets up with a heavy shake of his head. "But just because we're done here doesn't mean we're done here. Do you understand?"

I think I do. Maybe. "Yes!" I say, already turning for the door. "Yes, I got it! See ya, bye!"

In the living room, Midge is kneeling on the floor, her shoulders slumped, the Walkman cradled in her hands like an ancient artifact. Her back is to me, but I can't imagine what her face looks like. I'd already known I didn't want to hear that tape, but now I'm convinced.

Mom and Sybil have got their hands on Midge's shoulders, every one of them turns and looks at me when I say, "What's going on here?"

And Midge turns.

And there's a smile on her face.

She waves the Walkman at me, her cheeks flushed pink. "He's alive," she says, then laughs elatedly. "He's alive, Grey—Rocco's alive!"

A weight I hadn't known I'd been carrying lifts from my shoulders. A grin on my own face, I rush over to her, and Midge sets the headphones on my ears. I nod at her, and she hits play.

At first, there's nothing but static, the signature buzz of something recording. Then, obvious yet echoey as if he's in some sort of cave, is Rocco's voice. "They didn't give me much time," he says, his voice a hoarse whisper. It sounds sickly, broken, and though I'm holding on to the hope that he's alive, the only thing I keep thinking is for now. "This is all I have, and I can't—they're starting something bad, Grey. And the attacks are just the start of it."
I look up, my eyes meeting Midge's. Just the start of it? What is that supposed to mean? What am I supposed to do with that?

"I've already said more than I'm supposed to," Rocco goes on, and there's a shout somewhere in the background. He starts talking faster. "This is all you need to know. Stop searching. Stop searching or it only gets worse—"

There's a crack like the sound of a whip, and then it resolves into static again. Midge hits the stop button and takes the Walkman from my lap, clenching it tightly between her fingers. She brushes a side of her rose-colored hair behind her ear and asks me, "What now?"

What now?

It's a damn good question, and it could have half a million answers. I sit there and I think for about two seconds, and then I get to my feet. "Mom, Sybil," I say, "I'm sorry to run out on the evening like this, but I've got—I can't wait anymore."

They both blink at me, then at each other.

To Midge, I say, "There's gotta to be a way to reach him. Isn't there?"

She doesn't say anything for a while, just sits there on the rug with her white dress pillowed underneath her like a princess's. In fact, her mouth stays closed long enough that I start to think maybe there isn't a way. That this whole clue is useless.

Then, something in her brown eyes lights like a flame. "You're right," she tells me. "There is a way, but—"

"But what, Midge? Spit it out!"

"You're gonna need to run some errands for me first."