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Dear Harmony,

Your bedroom is a torture cell, yet I keep returning like a dog to its own vomit. There's nothing new to find and I know it. But still I rummage, and stare at your photos and belongings and dig up memories of how happy we were. How happy you were. Or at least, how happy you seemed to be. Were you really that good at hiding your pain, if you had any? Did someone hurt you? Are you ashamed? Don't you understand that I meant it when I said I would never leave you? Did you understand but it scared you? Are you afraid of commitment?

   I think it's about time I took to searching on my own two feet. The search party has disbanded, despite your parents' desperation. People are spreading more lies, turning up false reports and even more counterfeit evidence. If this is what you had in mind when you skipped out, I can't believe you had the nerve to do it.

   This Thursday we went to Grandma's funeral, and Marvin's just a few days later. Poor boy looked so tormented, pallid and still. Anyone with eyes can see that he died in agony. Forensics have ruled out suicide, so that's relieving. They detected traces of another human that weren't potent enough to yield any information. They'll have more conclusive evidence sometime soon, I'm sure.

   Sooner than I ever will.