Beck Monologue

Saxton gives me a strained look. “Your brother went missing and you never bothered to call his cell phone?”
“No, I called him at least a dozen times. He never picked up.” I tell him.
“So what about his cell phone then?” He asks.
“Im not sure why I didn’t realize it before,” I begin to explain, dragging Saxton towards Beck’s room. “Beck never brings his phone to school. He always forgets it.”
How I hadn’t thought of it before bewilders me. Maybe in the rush of it all, it had just slipped my mind. Together we enter Beck’s tidy, little room. His is about the same as mine, with the grey walls and the dresser. Beck’s room does have a proper bed though, and he has a stack of books in one corner of the room, and his jar of marbles sits on the top

I never saw his cell phone,” Saxton protests.
I just shake my head, and open up the very top drawer of Beck’s dresser. My hand dives into a sea of socks and little boy’s underwear. After a few moments, I feel something smooth and cold. My hand resurfaces, holding Beck’s little flip phone that Chris insisted Beck get when we moved here. Beck doesnt want to loose it, so he keeps it in his dresser, which sort of ruins the point of him even having it.
“Tessa,” Saxton groans behind me, “no offence, but this is pointless. We really should go scope out Mr.Burton's house before sundown. Anyways what good is his phone to us if he doesn’t have it with him?”
I pull up the recent calls on Becks phone, pretending I can’t hear Saxton’s bellyaching. I cross my fingers that this will grant us information that will lead us to Beck. Sure enough, when the recent calls comes up, there are dozens of calls from a number not entered in Beck’s phone. I show Saxton the screen.
“Well, that’s, um, suspicious?" Saxton stutters. The confussion is obvious in his eyes. In a flash, he pulls out his phone, and begins typing in a frenzy. "Read off the number," he

"I suppose we could knock."
I'm about to protest, when I realize that I have no better ideas. Its begining to get cold outside, and the sun is already going down. We have to do something and Saxton is right. We cant just break into his house. "Okay," I murmer, my breath creating a fog as it exits my mouth.
Side by side we walk up the concreate steps that lead to the front door. The house is so American that I can almost smell the apple pie. It has white shutters, a white picket fence, and little flower boxes under the window. The late fall air had already nipped the flowers though, and most of them are wilting and loosing petals.
Saxton glances over at me and nods. Slowly, I lift my hand up to the door, and then I knock. Once, twice, three times, each time my knuckles hit the wood, I feel my heartbeat quicken. There's a few moments of silence. Soon a minute has crawled by. I begin to think no one will answer, but then the door is opened.
Inside stands a very ill looking man. His nose is red, his eyes look heavy as if we had just awaken him, and his skin is paler then usual. It's Mr. Burton, but he definatly doesnt look