The Break-In Read Free Page B

neighbours. Everyone’s too busy with their own crap. Come on, Marcus. Life is messy. You have to deal.”
    Life is messy. Just like Dr. Ling said. Marcus reached for the key and stood up. “All right. I’ll go get your ring back.” He closed his eyes as she kissed his cheek.
    Maybe, just maybe, he’d get his life back, too.
    An hour later, Marcus brought his rusted black Civic to a stop on Poplar Avenue. He’d been calm the whole way over. His mother had left him a grocery list, and he’d been clear-headed enough to stop at the store. But now, with the front door of the house so close, panic rose up his throat.
    What if someone saw him? What if Mr. Morrison, across the street, was looking out his window right now? What if he called the police? The guy was crazy. Let the air out of all four of Lisa’s tires one morning because she’d parked too close to his driveway. And when Marcus had called him on it, the old guy had laughed. “When you’re at work,” he said, “your girlfriend entertains other fellas. All of ’em better looking than you.” Lisa denied this,of course. Marcus had wished Morrison dead ever since.
    A school bus full of children crept past. All the kids had their faces pressed against the window. Staring at him. Probably memorizing the colour of his hair, the space between his eyes, the make of his car. All so they could describe everything to the police, the newspapers. The judge.
    Marcus’s heart hammered. Then it seemed to skip a beat—held still for a moment, then beat twice. Could a twenty-seven-year-old have a heart attack? He climbed out of the car and leaned against the door. Bent over to slow his breathing. Calm the hell down.
    Lisa and Dr. Ling were right. Life was itchy and scratchy. And you didn’t get anywhere by hiding from it.
    Marcus stood up straight. That was that. He’d forget about neighbours and heart attacks and jail time, and get on with living. He started up the driveway to get the ring.
    He’d win his girlfriend back if it killed him.

Chapter Five

    Standing in front of his parents’ closet, Alex pulled on his dad’s police shirt. Way too big, but who cared? As he buttoned it, he found himself staring at the big, silver safe on the closet floor. He wasn’t allowed to touch it. When there was a gun in the house, there were extra rules. But those rules didn’t apply today. His dad was dead and his mom wasn’t home.
    No one was around to stop him.
    The numbers went 71-11-26. His mother’s birthday and the combination of the safe. He wasn’t supposed to know it, but he did. He’d been reading in his own room, next to theirs, when they brought the safe home from Staples. They hadn’t exactly whispered it.
    With a few turns of the dial, the safe door swung open. There, under the box of his father’s work things that the sergeant had given to Alex, was the gun. And holster.
    Never before had he touched them.
    He buckled the holster around his waist. Slipped the gun into it. His dad’s pilot-style sunglasses winked at him from the dresser. He slid them into his shirt pocket and looked in the mirror. Even with the holster belting it tight, the shirt came almost to his knees. But still. He raised the gun to chest height, pointed it to the ceiling. He squinted as if staring down a bad guy.
    He looked awesome. The way he would when he himself was a cop one day.
    The ringing phone startled him. With the gun tucked under his arm, he answered without saying hello.
    “Alex? How are you doing?” It was his mother.
    “F-f-f ...” The gun started to slip and he squeezed his arm tighter to his body. “F-f-f ...”
    “You doing okay, little man?”
    He nodded.
    “I can’t hear you. Tap the phone once if you’re okay. Twice if you’re not.”
    Tap. The revolver slipped further down his ribs. The gun now pointed at his face. Looking into the barrel was like staring down the black hole of death. He shifted it to point it toward the wall.
    “Okay. I was thinking of