1
Chase
Present
My eyes scan my surroundings, my heart beating in my ear. I inhale the last drag of my cigarette before putting it out near the chain link fence which wrapped around the house I'd been scoping out for the past few days.
No cars.
No sounds.
No movement.
It's a perfect target, made even more perfect by the small gap of the window at the side of the house, close enough to the neighbors that it's hidden, but far enough so I can squeeze between them. I do one more check around me before flipping the collar of my jacket and pulling my beanie further down my head. Then, faking a calmness that doesn't exist, I open the front gate and walk through the overgrown grass of the front yard, my fists balling and straightening at my sides. My breath, ragged, filters through the air, creating a cloud of fog inches from my face.
When I get to the window, I slide my glove-covered finger between the gaps, checking for anything that might get in my way.
It's clear—the window, the space around me—all clear.
For a second, I contemplate having another smoke... maybe just a couple drags... something to take away from the edginess I'm feeling inside me.
"Fuck it," I whisper to myself, gripping the bottom of the window and pushing up. Without another thought, I jump through the opening, landing on all fours with a thud. It's a bedroom—a little boy's room. Quickly, I make my way out into the hallway because I know for sure there's not a goddamn thing in there I need. My footsteps are rushed but quiet, as I open every door in the hall, peeking inside until I find the one I want.
I pause a beat, my hand on the knob of the only room left. The master bedroom—the room in every house which provides me with my only source of income.
I take a breath, and then another, and I shut my eyes, promising myself that it'll be the last time. It's always the last time.
I turn the knob and step inside, ignoring the now painful beating of my heart. My eyes take in everything: the bed sitting in the middle of the room, the half-open closet filled with men's and women's clothes and the pile of laundry pushed against the wall. But I'm not here for clothes, I'm here for— "Bingo," I whisper, shuffling across the room and toward the dresser. Three small wooden boxes catch my eye and I can't help but smile as I flip the lid on the first one.
Nothing.
Not a goddamn thing but bright-colored plastic jewelry—the type little girls use for dress-ups. I shut it quickly and move to the next and when I do, my eyes widen. I bite down on my lip to stop the smile from forming while I pick out a few gold chains, nothing spectacular, but enough to get by for the next few days. Weeks, if I'm lucky.
I don't bother with the last box.
I don't need to.
It's not like I do what I do to rob people of their prized possessions. I do it to survive.
And I do it because it's the only fucking thing I know.
***
"You shouldn't be smoking at the school," Brody says from next to me as I lean back against my car.
I shrug and take another drag.
"You know studies show second-hand smoking is just as harmful if not worse than—"
