The Break-In (4 page)

Which meant he was all alone with the guy who had broken in.

You’re the man of the house now ...

What choice did he have? He pulled his dad’s revolver out of the holster and crept into the hall. Inching sideways toward the bathroom door.

A clink. The sound of a bottle tipping over. As if someone was putting on makeup or looking for a Band-Aid.

Alex’s hands were so sweaty he nearly dropped the gun again. He took a deep breath and lifted one foot to kick open the bathroom door.

Marcus stared at the mirror, confused. He’d run his hand across the top of the medicine cabinet. He’d searched inside the medicine cabinet. He’d checked the floor under the medicine cabinet. There was no ring anywhere. It was supposed to be lying on top. That’s where Lisa had always kept it.

She wouldn’t believe him. She’d think he didn’t look in the right place. Or that he knocked the ring into the drain. Maybe down between the wall and the cabinet.

But he’d checked everywhere. The cupboard under the sink, the floor, behind the toilet. The bathroom was tiny. There was nowhere else to search. The ring was gone.

He leaned over the sink to drink from the tap. Just as he stood up again, water dripping from his chin, the door burst open. A revolver stared him in the face.

“What the—?” Marcus couldn’t take his eyes off the gun. It wobbled and shook in the hands of a pre-teen boy. “What are you doing?”

The kid—dressed in a huge cop’s shirt and a holster—stood about a head shorter than Marcus. In spite of his height, he still had the round, freckled cheeks of a child much younger. Marcus’s mother would call him “a solid boy”: he blocked the entire doorway. The kid steadied the gun and pointed it at Marcus’s face.

Marcus threw his hands up. “Hey, hey, hey ... let’s take it easy. You just back away from the door real slow, and I’ll be on my way. No one gets hurt.”

The boy shook his head slowly.

“You don’t have to put the gun down. Just back into the hall, and I’ll run out the front door. I won’t hurt you, I swear.” For a moment, Marcus thought of jumping forward to knock the gun out of the kid’s hands. But the little bugger’s fingers were on the trigger. One quick squeeze and Marcus could wind up dead.

The boy said something Marcus couldn’t hear.

“I’m not a burglar,” said Marcus. “I used to live here. We moved out just before you moved in. Me and my girlfriend. Is that thing loaded?”

The kid nodded, aimed the gun straight at Marcus’s chest.

That was that. Marcus was going to die right here in his old bathroom. At the hands of a kid in a Halloween costume. “Please don’t shoot.” The revolver slipped a bit lower, pointed at Marcus’s groin now. Without thinking, Marcus lowered his hands. “Please! Let’s just put the gun down.”

The boy shook his head.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Whatever the child said came out in short, sharp grunts.

“What?” said Marcus.

“A-alex.”

“Alex! Great. Now we’re getting somewhere. I told you, I lived in this house right before you moved in. I don’t want any trouble. I only came back for my girl’s ring.”

Somewhere in the house, a cricket chirped.

Marcus looked past Alex. Wondered if he could run faster than Alex could react. But the kid was
getting fancy with the gun. He now waved it up and down Marcus’s body in the shape of a figure eight.

Marcus backed into the shower and closed the clear glass door. “Please don’t shoot! I swear to God, I only came in for, like, three seconds. To get her back her stupid ring. That’s all. I’m a normal guy just trying to get his girlfriend back.”

Alex stamped his foot for Marcus to be quiet.

There, behind the kid’s right shoe, in the crack where the wall and floor tile met—Lisa’s ring. Marcus tried as hard as he could not to stare. Lisa was right, the boy could easily take it. Keep it. Alex turned his head a little to see what Marcus was so interested in. He grabbed the ring and held it up, his eyes asking if this was it.

“Yes. Please let me have it.”

A slow smile spread across Alex’s face.

“Wait, that’s Lisa’s! You can’t keep it—”

As Alex slid the ring into his pocket, he dropped the gun. It crashed to the tile floor, nearly stopping Marcus’s heart.

“Get rid of that freaking thing before one of us gets killed!” Marcus’s voice echoed off the tile walls. Lisa had been right about the new people in the house keeping the ring. He never should have
mocked her. “What are you doing home, anyway? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Alex said something about insulting a cop.

“Cop. Yeah, right. You’re a child dressed for Halloween. In April!”

Something in the boy snapped. His eyes flashed bloody murder.

“Where did you get it anyway, your daddy’s costume drawer?”

Alex leaped forward in a rage. He grabbed up the gun and shook it at the shower door.

Okay. So the kid was sensitive about his dad. Point to remember in his mission to stay alive. “What is it you want? Want to call 911 on me? Fine. Go ahead. Jail is better than taking a bullet from a ...” He almost said “little freak-child,” but caught himself. “From a young boy.” He pulled out his iPhone and held it out. “Here, use my cell.”

“D-d-drop it!”

“You’re not going to call 911?”

The boy shook his head.

“What? Why not?”

Alex motioned for him to drop the phone. Marcus was done arguing. He tossed it gently to the floor and watched as the glass face shattered. There went about $600. He looked at Alex, tired. “What do you want with me?”

Alex moved further into the room, which meant the revolver moved closer to Marcus. Which moved Marcus closer to death.

Keeping the gun pointed at Marcus, Alex sat on the closed toilet. With one hand, he pulled the ring from his pocket and had a good look. He twisted his mouth to one side, deep in thought, then turned his attention back to Marcus.

“My name’s Marcus Till. I live just a few blocks away, over on—”

Alex stamped his foot.

After a few moments of silence, Alex stood. Slipped the ring back into his pocket. Using the revolver, he waved Marcus out of the shower. Then, with the barrel nearly pressed into Marcus’s back, he forced Marcus down the hall. Into a newly painted bedroom with endangered animal posters on the walls and, in a tank—

“A tarantula? You keep a tarantula?” Marcus didn’t know what was worse, the spider or the gun. “You keep a poisonous spider beside your bed?”

“P-pick up B-Boris.”

What? “What? I’m not picking up.”

The revolver returned to Marcus’s face.

“Will you give me back the ring if I pick him up? Will you let me go?”

Alex nodded.

Finally. A sign that Marcus would live through the afternoon. He rolled up his sleeves and moved closer to the tank. Even to save his life, Marcus didn’t know if he could touch the spider. He needed to play for time. Think. “Can you at least tell me why I’m picking him up?”

The kid, and the gun, took a step toward Marcus. “P-p-pocket him.”

What could he do? Marcus sucked in a breath and wrapped his fingers around the furry creature. Held it as gently as he would hold a ticking bomb. Slid it into his jacket pocket. Then closed the zipper, leaving it open enough to allow for breathing. “Okay. I did what you said. Now can I have the ring?”

A look of disgust crossed Alex’s face. Marcus might as well have suggested eating the spider for lunch with ice cream. Alex jabbed the gun toward him, then waved toward the door. What could a kidnapping victim do? Marcus did as he was jabbed. He walked out of the house with a gun
kissing his back and a spider doing what felt like push-ups in his pocket.

The Morrisons’ car wasn’t in the driveway. Mrs. Morrison had some sort of sickness, like diabetes or kidney trouble—Alex wasn’t quite sure. What he did know was that most afternoons, Mr. Morrison drove her to the hospital for care.

The thing about Mr. Morrison was that he was scared to death of spiders. All the kids in the neighbourhood knew the story. Last fall, he had found a big spider tucked right between his trash cans in the garage. The story changed depending upon who told it. Some said it was a deadly brown recluse spider. Others said it was nothing but a harmless daddy longlegs. Either way, everyone said the spider was as big as a man’s hand. Morrison himself claimed it was the size of a catcher’s mitt. Didn’t really matter. The point was that the spider had scared him into a heart attack. He got better in the hospital, but his heart was badly damaged. The doctors let him out with a warning: no more stress.

Alex made Marcus cross the street. He had tucked the gun under his dad’s shirt, but he was still plenty able to poke Marcus with it.

“Are we setting Boris loose now?” asked Marcus. He walked as slowly as he possibly could. When he realized whose driveway they were headed toward, he stopped. “Morrison’s place? The guy’s a total nut.”

The boy grunted his agreement.

“That’s what this is about? We’re giving the old boy a spider?”

Alex answered with a shrug.

“So this is some kind of revenge.” Marcus stared at the Morrison house. Slowly, he started to nod. “I can actually get behind that.”

Alex poked him, and they walked through the side gate. The backyard looked different today. Last time Alex had been running flat out. This time he had a chance to really look around. What he saw creeped him out. Patio furniture made of sticks so sharp they could make your eyes bleed from looking at them. A small rubber duck bobbing
its beak against a pool’s edge, trying to escape. The hedge that had been carved into a snowman family, now had pictures of sad faces hung on each of the tall bushes.

“It’s like a horror movie back here,” said Marcus. “All we need is scary music.”

Alex lifted his eyebrows in agreement and kept Marcus moving toward the house. Marcus didn’t need much pushing.

“He’s terrified of spiders,” Marcus said. “You do know that?”

The kid said nothing.

“He must’ve done something real bad to you,” Marcus went on.

Alex shot him a look that said,
Shut up.
With the gun, he moved Marcus up the steps. At the door, Marcus paused. “Want to see her?”

“Wh-who?”

“Lisa. Can I show you a picture?” When the boy didn’t object, Marcus dug into his pocket and pulled out a wallet-sized photo. Held it up.

Alex looked at it a moment too long. Marcus ducked to one side and grabbed for the Smith & Wesson, but Alex was too quick. He jumped back
and aimed the gun with two hands. He shook his head angrily, his heart pounding.

“Sorry, sorry!” Marcus held his hands up, backing away. “I won’t do it again, okay? I’ll help you with the spider. Deal? I help you, you help me. And then we separate. Deal?”

Alex said nothing while he caught his breath. He didn’t care that much about Marcus escaping and ratting on him. He could get sent to some kind of kid jail. Didn’t really matter. But he would never, ever let Morrison get away with killing his father.

Just as Alex had hoped, the back door was unlocked. Made it nice and easy—no need to break a window to get inside. The kitchen was straight out of the 1950s. Yellow checked curtains, fake marble table with chrome legs, plastic fake-lace place mats. An Elvis Presley clock hung on a wall. Elvis’s bent legs danced back and forth with each second. A tin sign said this kitchen was, in fact, “Mom’s Diner.” But as ugly as the room was, Alex liked it. It had a cozy, grandma appeal.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus said, leaning against a bright green fridge. “About before.”

Alex shrugged.

“Did you think she was pretty?” Marcus’s eyes were bright with hope. Hope that this eleven-year-old kid would agree with what he wanted so badly to believe. “Lisa. She’s pretty, right?”

Somehow Marcus looked sadder in this house than he did at Alex’s place. His chubby face joined his body with no sign of a neck. The beard looked out of place, that was for sure. Poor guy. In love with a girl so selfish she asked him to commit a crime.
After
she had already walked out on him. Alex smiled. He lowered the gun. “B-beautiful.”

Marcus sighed, satisfied. He reached for a banana on the counter and peeled it. Took a bite. “So where do we leave spidey?”