They had made reservations at a nice restaurant… a very nice restaurant. I suddenly felt grateful that Desmond had dressed me or else I would have been stared at by everyone in the restaurant. Lyria sat across from me, a pretty black dress that fit the atmosphere just right, and her parents sat across from one another in between us, looking right at home. The round table brought us all closer, easier to talk that way I suppose.
Her parents talked about her for a few minutes, congratulating her on graduating and holding back the tears that threatened to spill. Lyria laughed and rolled her eyes at their sappiness. I knew she loved it though, how wonderful her parents were. They loved her and she had a good life, who was I to come in and disturb their happiness?
Lyria finally managed to wave off their talk about her and motioned to me, “Why don’t you talk to Julian? You guys ask about him enough.” She grabbed a breadstick from the basket in the middle of the table and bit off a huge piece. She smiled and winked at me, I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at her.
Joan smiled at me, “She’s right, Julian. Tell us a little about yourself.” All three of them leaned in close to listen to me. Lyria only did it to be pesky.
I shifted a bit, never enjoying all the attention being on me, “Well, there isn’t all that much. I work at a pawn shop, have since I was 16. Well, officially, I worked there when I was younger too, but I only really cleaned or put stuff on shelves. I’m 19 now, I didn’t go to college, and… that’s all, I think.” Oh, and I rob houses and pickpocket people professionally. Yeah, right.
Trevor nodded, “What’s your family like?” Lyria went stiff. I had never even spoken to her very much about my family life. Sara was the only one that knew everything…
“Dad…” Lyria said, a quiet reprimand.
I shook my head, “No, it’s okay. Um,” I struggled to get the words out. It wasn’t exactly a good story, “My birth parents died when I was 5. There was a fire and they didn’t get out. I got out though and went back for my sister, she was 4. We were both sent to an orphanage and she was adopted pretty fast. I was there until I turned 8 and my adoptive father, Desmond, got me out. I’ve been with him ever since… at the pawn shop.”
They were silent. I had never told Lyria about the fire, simply that I had been adopted by Desmond and he was the only parent I had ever known. She looked heartbroken, having never realized what put me into the situation I was in. Joan reached forward and put her motherly hand on my arm, rubbing with her thumb in comfort. I smiled back at her, holding back tears that threatened to come. The look on her face made me remember my own mother, no matter how vague the memories were.
“It must have been hard, being separated from your sister like that,” Lyria said, her voice sounded strained like she was a bit choked up. Joan removed her hand and shifted a bit in her seat, looking down at the table. Trevor looked equally uncomfortable. I noted it in my head, how they reacted to her comment. Our food came, mine a simple plate of ravioli. Their own plates became their main focus, not daring to look up.
I gave Lyria a small smile, “It was. I begged the woman that owned the orphanage not to let them take her. She asked them if they were willing to adopt me as well, so we would be together. They refused, I guess they only wanted the one. They didn’t even take any of the stuff from the house that they had gotten out, I have it all now. I missed her. I still do.” Trevor coughed into his food. Another note.
Lyria looked sad now, the last thing she needed to be on such a happy day. I stored away my mental notes and turned the topic away from my life, “So, where are you going to college again?” Joan and Trevor finally looked up from their food, albeit a bit warily, but they finally felt that they could be interested in the conversation again. A bit of the sadness fled from Lyria’s face, excited about the next part of her life. Still, I could see it there in her eyes, that she felt for me. Little orphan Julian, his sister taken away from him.
The rest of dinner passed by smoothly, her parents chiming in sometimes about how much they would miss her and how they had connections and could get me into college. I declined, of course, not wanting to change my decisions in such ways. Lyria rolled her eyes and commented on my pride. I told her she was one to talk. It felt good to joke with her again, nothing in the way. Joan had brought up at one point why I had never asked Lyria out. I nearly spewed my water all over the table. Lyria cackled at the sight of my choking and told them it wasn’t like that, that I was like a brother.
Never before had words made me so happy.
When we had all finished our food, they waved me off with friendly handshake and hug from Trevor and a kiss on the cheek from Joan. They told me how happy they were to have finally met me. Lyria gave me a tight hug around the neck, threatening me to spend time with her over the summer before she left for college. I told her she was crazy to think that I wouldn’t. I kissed the top of her head and they went home, no doubt to have their own small family celebration together. I, on the other hand, would go home to prepare for my other job. The one I could never tell them about.
Desmond welcomed me back with a firm pat on the shoulder. He didn’t spend much time asking about my day before diving into preparations for the night. We went over the plan once… twice… ten times before he was satisfied that I would be okay. I both hated and enjoyed how protective he was being. Maybe I avoided being a son, but he never tried avoiding being a father.
My nice clothes were discarded for my own, far more comfortable clothes. I threw a dark blue jacket on over my white t-shirt, zipping it up high to hide the light-colored shirt. Jeans, boots, and a knife. I was sure I wouldn’t have to use a knife if I played my cards right. Desmond had no interest in me ever having to use the knife, only to pull it out and scare someone. When midnight hit, I left the pawn shop for my targeted house.
I would get there, pull my hood over my hide and the face mask up over my mouth and nose. My gloves were already on and hidden by my hands shoved into my pockets. The backdoor would be my point of entry and exit. My bag was big enough for trinkets and smaller items, nothing big or bulky. Jewelry, wallets, purses, those were the items I would be going after. Once I had what I needed, I would leave the way I came, lock the door behind me, and get out as fast as possible. Kara would be waiting with a getaway car a few blocks away so as not to draw attention to herself. She would take us back to the shop and it would be done, job completed, and I got to feel proud. Well, as proud as one could feel stealing for a living.
The house came into view and I pulled my hood up. When I got to the back of the house, I pulled my face mask up and got my lockpick out. The lock on the glass doors in the back was easy to deal with, nothing to complex. I pushed them open, quiet, and put the lockpick away. They opened into the dining room connected to the kitchen. A china cabinet sat against the wall. Desmond’s voice rang in my hand.
“No breakables for now. You see fine china, you take the silverware and move on.”
I took his advice and took the fine spoons, forks, and knives into my bag before moving on to the living room. Nothing spectacular in the living room, I left it alone. The stairs were there, the challenge area. The owners of the house would be asleep up there, stealth was the only option. I stalked up the stairs and went to the first door I came across.
The bathroom. Nothing in there.
The next door was a closet with a vacuum and a few boxes labelled photo albums and memories. My empathetic side got the best of me and would not allow me to even touch those boxes. The next room was a guest room that I emptied of small décor and knickknacks.
The next door was a bedroom, two lumps on the bed told me these were the owners. Their even breathing signaled that they were asleep. I moved centimeters with each step, barely breathing. A jewelry box sat on the dresser. I emptied it of its contents along with a silver watch sitting out in the open. Then something else caught my eye.
A blue, felt box sat next to the jewelry box. I opened it and nearly puked my guts up. There inside sat a beautiful necklace, a silver chain with sapphires hanging from it, a necklace I knew well. It had just been sold at the shop, by me, to a young lady shopping for her mother. Lyria’s mother. I closed the box, looking around for pictures. I had paid no attention to pictures, deeming them mostly useless. Yet there it was on the wall, a family picture of them at the beach, Lyria a couple years younger.
My heart raced. I had chosen the house without any idea of who they were. Only one clear thought came to mind: get the hell out. There was no way I was robbing Lyria. No way in Hell. I would leave the bag outside in the backyard, make it look like a prank. Lyria would never have to know.
I went back downstairs as quickly as I possibly could without making any noise. My steps were light by fast, needing to get out, but when I got to the stairs I stopped in my tracks. A door opened down the hall and the sound of footsteps came ever closer. Panic hit me like a sack of bricks, all logic and thought fleeing from my mind. I ran downstairs and threw myself into the pantry, hoping and praying they were coming for a late-night drink and not a snack.
Cracks in the doors of the pantry allowed me a bit of a view into the kitchen. Her footsteps sounded on the tile floor, bare feet pattering. Lyria opened a cabinet and pulled out a small glass, a Scotch glass. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she yawned and mumbled to herself. She ran water in her glass and stood at the sink drinking it, too slow for my taste.
That was the moment everything went downhill, when everything changed.
The backdoor creaked open, Lyria went still, I went still. Footsteps rang on the wooden floor of the dining room, Lyria turned around from the sink, slight panic beginning to sink into her. She bent down carefully and pulled a cast-iron pan from one of the lower cabinets, holding it tightly in her hands. I watched the area in the direction of the backdoor, waiting for the newcomer to appear.
“Who the hell are you?” Lyria demanded, her voice shook. A cold laugh was the response, a laugh I had heard before. A chill went through me and I went rigid. The white hair coming into view, skin like snow. Had they followed me? Had I put her in danger?
No, they were not after me. The words of the Lord came crashing into my mind.
The girl dies, he had said, find a way and do it.
“Is that your only weapon, child? A pity, we had hoped for a bit of fun,” The man said, his white hair in a braid.
We?
“W-we?” Lyria was no visibly shaking. The Braid laughed a bit louder as another one, Short-Hair, grabbed Lyria from behind. The pan fell out of her hand, the sound no doubt echoing through the whole house. Her parents would come, but would they be able to help?
Lyria started screaming and thrashing in Short-Hair’s grip, bringing smiles to both the men’s faces. “No one outside this house can you hear you scream, little one, and we’ve another keeping your lovely parents at bay,” The Braid said to her. He stepped closer to her and studied all of her, his eyes pried and made me sick. “How’s it going, Naia?” He shouted, never taking his roaming eyes from Lyria.
A female voice replied, “They’re positively terrified, shaking even. It’s delectable!” Tears ran freely down Lyria’s face, the hopelessness of the situation sinking in. Her thrashing stopped and she slumped in Short-Hair’s hands.
Short-Hair laughed, “Looks like she’s getting bored. Shall we remedy that?” The final straw. Consequences be damned, I had to do something.
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