He’d *gone* somewhere. He’d joined a band. But why hadn’t he told me? Why the silence? A wave of nausea washed over me. The old man, the jacket… he must know something. I pushed past the shock and stepped closer to the doorway, trying to see inside. A young man, no older than twenty, noticed me. He had a wary look in his eyes. “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked, his voice rough. “I… I was just looking for someone,” I stammered, my voice trembling. “Have you seen an older gentleman around here? He was wearing a blue jacket…”
A Web of Secrets
The young man’s face clouded over. "Old Man Tiber? Yeah, he comes by sometimes. Mostly keeps to himself. Why?" I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "I believe he may have… a jacket that belongs to my son. My son is missing." The young man’s eyes widened slightly. “Missing? Wow. Tiber found that jacket a while back. Said some kid just left it with him. He’s… a bit of a collector of lost things, Old Man Tiber is. He doesn’t ask questions.” He paused, then added quietly, “He mostly hangs out with the band. The Static Waves.
They practice in the basement.” The Static Waves. That photograph. It was all starting to come together, a tangled web of secrets. “Do you… do you know where I can find them? The band?” The young man pointed towards a dilapidated shed in the backyard. “They’re probably down there. But… be warned. They’re a pretty closed-off group. They don't like outsiders." I thanked him and, steeling my nerves, walked towards the shed. As I approached, I could hear the muffled sound of music – a raw, energetic sound, full of youthful passion. It was Ethan's kind of music. But the closer I got, the heavier my heart became. What if he didn't *want* to be found? What if he'd built a new life here, a life he didn't want me to disrupt?
The Basement Studio
The shed door was unlocked, swinging inward with a protesting groan. I stepped inside, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The space had been converted into a makeshift recording studio – soundproofing foam plastered on the walls, a tangle of wires and instruments, a mixing board dominating one corner. The band was mid-song, Ethan on lead guitar, his fingers flying across the fretboard. He looked… different. Thinner, more intense, his hair longer. But it was undeniably him. He hadn’t seen me yet. I stood frozen, watching him play, a torrent of emotions washing over me – relief, joy, but also a deep, aching sadness. He finished the song, and the other band members – two boys and a girl – erupted in applause. Ethan looked up, and his eyes met mine. For a moment, he just stared, his expression unreadable.
Then, his face crumpled. “Mom?” he whispered, his voice hoarse. The music stopped abruptly. The other band members turned to look at me, their faces filled with confusion and apprehension. “Ethan,” I said, my voice trembling. “What… what’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me?” He didn’t answer, just continued to stare at me, his eyes brimming with tears. A girl with bright pink hair stepped forward. “Look, lady, you need to leave. This is a private rehearsal space.”
The truth was finally coming out — and there was no turning back now… (Continue to Part 3 →)
