"No," I mumble and shake my head. That is not a path of thoughts I will pursue. He will live, and that is as simple as that. If he dies, then a critical part of me dies with him. And that...that is something I can't live with.
He needs food. And water. And I now have a new reason to live. At least for now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
After making sure the dog is tucked in with blankets and sleeping soundly (I refuse to name him...for now), I step back outside into the welcoming, warm blanket of the night. I feel better than I have in a long time. I have strength. My thirst is gone and has been replaced by an awareness of my surroundings that is so sharp it is disconcerting. More importantly, though, I have a goal. I have a reason to be doing something aside from hiding, pitying myself and wondering about what is happening to me.
Closing my eyes again, I think about what my next step should be. I need food and water, but I doubt just walking into a store and purchasing it is my best bet. I don't trust myself around people. Or anything, really. Even though, I'm not currently afflicted with that thirst, I don't know when it will come back. Or what other new distraction may thwart my plans. Pulling out my wallet (I picked up the habit of keeping a wallet in my pocket years ago from my dad. It comes in handy. Especially when you haven’t changed clothes in a few days.), I see that I have close to fifty dollars in random bills crammed in there. Could be useful. I'd rather not steal if at all possible. I'm not that person. Yet.
But where do I go?
Opening my eyes, I start walking out towards the street and turn north once I hit the road. This part of the city is mostly abandoned, and I haven’t heard people around since I’ve been here. An occasional car has gone by, but its presence has been so faint as to barely even register for me. If my senses hadn’t been hyped up, then I never even would have known I was near civilization.
Within minutes I lay eyes on the first few houses that border the commercial district I've been calling home. They're completely run down and empty and a waste of time, but at least they show more promise than any of the buildings I'd seen previously.
Burning through my excess energy from the rats proved to be an erroneous plan as it only made me thirsty faster. My goal now is to conserve as much energy as possible and see how long I can put off the thirst. If I use my new abilities, it will only be out of necessity and not frivolity.
A quick search of the first few houses on the block proves to be a waste. They are long abandoned with no useable food on the inside. One appeared to recently house a family of bums or street people, but they had moved on and left nothing edible behind.
Pushing further into the domain of the residential zone and leaving the safety and emptiness of the warehouse buildings, I finally arrive at the first houses that have the faint whiffs of people still clinging to them. In the empty houses closer to the warehouse, I could smell people on the buildings, but the scent was stale and unattractive. It was like the dried scent of an old salami sandwich, when you're really hungry for a steak. It was present, but nothing worth paying attention to.
But these houses as I approach this new block smell alive and wonderful. I can hear people moving inside upstairs rooms, and the aroma of healthiness and vibrancy is everywhere. Pausing in the street, I let it waft over me. It’s pleasant, but not overwhelming. Although it is all around me, its presence isn't consuming my conscious. It’s just a reminder that a part of me has been pushed down deep, but the thirst still exists. And that thirst would really love to be set free.
Concentrating on the fullness of my belly, I’m able to push away the surfacing thoughts until they nearly fade from existence. I’m aware of the people around me, and I’m aware of how badly I want to get at one, but it isn't something that will control me. It is more of a nagging sensation.
Although I feel I have it under control, I still don’t want to test my resolve by actually coming into contact with a person. There is a difference between bravery and stupidity.
The delicious pull of people ebbs from every house around me except one - a large, two story brick house with only two lights on: the front porch and an upstairs front room. Erring on the side of caution, I make my way towards the darkened brick house's closed garage door. Ignoring all the sensations pounding me from the surrounding houses, I focus on the domicile in front of me. I hear nothing from the house aside from the faint buzz of electricity. Flaring my nostrils, I inhale deeply several times and taste the air of the house.
The scent is rich but faint. I smile. A family of five lives here (two sons and a daughter), although they aren't currently home. I would guess they have been gone for over forty-eight hours, but I have no way of knowing when they will return. Hoping that fortune is finally smiling on my good intentions (If stealing from people to feed a stray dog can be considered good in the world of intentions, that is.), I decide that this is the house.
Walking around the entirety of the outside of the house, I continue to listen for any noises coming from the inside of it. Or any smells that seem off. After two complete circuits around the property, I decide it’s safe and look for the best entry point.
A quick scan of the side of the house reveals what I am looking for - a bedroom window on the second floor with pink curtains blocking out the view from any neighbors. This would be the daughter's room. Knowing my own predilection for leaving windows unlocked, and my sister's tendency to do the same, I'm hoping these kids follow true to form.
I would prefer to avoid using my strength if possible, as I fear tapping into that side of my abilities might hasten the return of the thirst, but at the same time I don't think I can find a way into the house without them. I'll just go slowly and use as little exertion as possible.
As far as getting to the window ten feet above my head, I see two options ahead of me. I could either leap straight up and grab on or I could slowly climb the side of the house using the finger grips built into the bricks and mortar. Neither method seems any worse than the other so I decide on speed with all other things being equal. Bending my knees, I go into a full squat before straightening them as quickly as possible and launching myself upwards. My hands grab the windowsill as I approach it, and I tighten my grip until my body is supported by just my fingertips. I lightly bring my feet to rest against the side of the house and dig my toes into the bricks to prevent any sliding.
Quick and easy. Resting my weight on my toes, I reach out to the windowsill and gently try to nudge it open. It doesn't move. Pushing harder I can hear the faint "eeeeee” of bending metal, and I stop. After a quick examination of the window, I see an old lock that has latched the bottom window in place. My minimal efforts have already made an impact on it, and it is slightly bent upward and out of place.
Hmmmm…a bit more pressure maybe? I wonder.
Grabbing it again, I firmly push it upwards and listen to the metal sigh in resistance. The age of the lock undermines its efforts and within a few seconds it pops with an audible SPROING. The latch bounces off the window and onto the soft carpet below.
Done.
After that, it’s an easy matter of pushing the window up the rest of the way and climbing inside.
Memories of my sister wash over me as my feet softly touch down on the carpet inside the room. Perfumes, lotions, laundry detergent and the general scent of girliness (Well, young, pre-teen girl, that is. I don’t think I prescribe to silly rituals like this anymore.) is overwhelming in the confined space and images of my sister flood my brain much more strongly than I would have expected.
I miss my annoying sister. I miss my parents. I miss my family. I miss my old life.
Being in this room surrounded by the visual (And nasal? Is that the right word?) reminders of someone so important to me is more than I want to handle right now.
Quickly shutting the window, I double-check for any disturbed stuffed animals (there are a lot) or posters (a frightening number of cartoon bears and boy bands). Finding none, I locate and pick up the warped window lock. Should I
put it back on the frame and let the family find it at some later date and just wonder how it happened? Or should I just throw it in the trash and hope it never gets noticed? Ultimately, not being able to decide between the two, I just drop it in my pocket and put off the decision for later.
Once I’m out of the room the debilitating nostalgia fades, and I'm able to focus on why I originally broke into this house: food.
The kitchen is tidy, well-kept and larger than I expected. Scanning the closed doors coming off the expansive eating area, I locate the pantry and begin digging through their stores in search of food I can easily carry back to the warehouse.
There is a nice pile of paper and plastic grocery sacks in one of the pantry drawers, and I pull out one of each and begin to take dry goods and drop them in the sacks. As much as I would love to have some cold cuts and lunch meat, I know my lack of refrigeration limits what I can store. I do my best to only take a few items that they have several of, and I never finish off any one particular box (I grab fruit snacks, but I don't empty the box. I grab some bags of chips that they have multiples of, etc.). I don't want them to suspect anything was taken, and I'm hoping they'll just assume one of the kids had been snacking.
After ten minutes in the pantry, I have filled both bags...although I have very little that would be considered "healthy". Considering my current "condition" though, I'm doubting healthy food will be a strong worry in the coming days.
I still have to find something the pup can consume before I leave. Even if I can't eat healthily, I'd still like for him to be able to. At least one of us should come out of this ordeal for the better.
Pausing for a few minutes, I breathe deeply and walk around the kitchen trying to get a feel for any pets that might be in the house. Nothing current. Nothing but the smell of human.
Except in one corner of the kitchen, I get the faint scent of something distinctly not human. I crouch down in a recessed area near the cabinets and breathe again (This...ability...is something I'm adapting to incredibly quickly, but it is a very strange sensation to experience. I'm not used to my nose giving me so much information.), and this time I can get a sense of a canine that once ate and slept in this corner. It was a small dog, and it was old when it was here, but I can still get a feel for it. If the dog was here when it was old, then maybe it also passed away here (A macabre thought for sure, but stay with me.). And if it passed away here, then maybe the family never threw away any of the left over dog food they had. It was a stretch, but I was due for some luck.
With an idea of what I'm looking for, I focus my senses on what I assume dog food probably smells like. After a few miscues (Old oatmeal and a bag of really disgusting homemade cookies proved to be surprisingly misleading.), I locate a several pound bag of dog chow in the back of one of the cabinets (Ironically it was in the back of the cabinet right next to where I had started. After searching the room, I should have guessed they would have kept it right next to where they fed the little thing.). The bag and food are old (Does disgusting dog chow even technically "spoil"? I guess we'll soon find out.) but useable, and locating it brings a feeling of closure to the search.
Guilt at taking the family's supplies bubbles up in me as I prepare to leave (My parents never raised me to lie, cheat on tests or break laws, so this is a pretty big moral step I'm taking...even if I do feel like I can justify it.), and ultimately stealing their food is just not something I'm prepared to do.
After all this work, here I am standing in the kitchen with my arms full of supplies, and I can't take the next step and actually walk out the door. I just can't handle what that will do my psyche.
"Ahh, crap!" I mumble out loud with one of my vilest curses (I know, I know. That one will get me placed in the Fuddy Duddy hall of fame.). I have money on me, but I'm too scared to go into a store and purchase things legally. That's not my fault. I want to pay, but that option isn't available to me.
Then the simplicity of the solution comes to me. If I can't pay a store, at least I can pay these people. They aren't technically a store, but the process works the same way. Take stuff away. Leave money for said items. Morality issues absolved.
Scanning my bags, I come up with a rough estimate of around twenty-five dollars (Better to overpay in this situation than underpay. Morals and guilt and all.). Setting the bags down, I pull out my wallet and pluck out a couple tens and a five.
"Hmmmm," I growl lightly to myself. "Now where do I leave it?" It has to be somewhere they'll find it, but at the same time not arouse suspicion about why it's there. I want the parents to find it, and not the kids (I figure the parents bought the food, so they should get the money. But, says another part of my brain, the kids will be getting the blame for the missing food, so shouldn't they be recompensed for it. Oh. Good point, says the first part of my brain.). Eventually I just tuck the three bills into different locations around the kitchen and decide to let fate make the decision instead.
Picking up the bags (The three bags-plastic, paper and dog food-are not heavy to me at all, but they are awkward to shift around.), I turn towards the back door to make my exit.
"No point going out a window if I don't have to," I decide out loud. "Let's make this easy." I just have to lock the door behind me, and no one will ever be the wiser.
But fate has a sense of irony for tonight, I realize. While I was distracted with hiding the bills, some unannounced guests have arrived to my former one-person party.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
No audible warning has been given, nor have they announced their arrival, but I sense a vehicle in the driveway that wasn't there before (The soft purr of a running engine crawls into the back of my ears to tickle me.). I hear the footsteps of two men (Or rather large women. Whoever it is weighs well over two hundred pounds.) as they move slowly through the lawn. Scooping up my bags I scurry over to the back door and hunch against it straining my ears for a hint of who my new guests might be.
I get nothing for nearly a minute as they walk around the house shining flashlights through the windows and never saying a word. Then a soft crackle from the car alerts me to their identity as I hear a radio dispatcher ask for an update.
"The police!" I hiss and look around the kitchen for any alarms I might have set off. Nothing catches my attention as I look around at the doors and windows for the tell-tale magnetic alarm boxes. Must have been a neighbor, I realize and hope that they didn't see how I got into the place.
Should I try to flee and run past them? I wonder. Or would staying put and waiting them out work best? What if they find me and I have to fight my way free? I pause to consider that. Do I hurt them? Can I afford to not hurt them? As the questions skip across my frontal cortex, I can feel my body reacting to the stress of the situation.
It's a pleasant reaction.
My heart is slowing down and my muscles are relaxing. Instead of quickening, my breathing decelerates into long, slow inhales that flood my brain with information about my surroundings. Unconsciously, I find myself leaning towards the crack between the door and the frame so as to take in as much of the outside air as possible with each breath. The house has gone silent around me except for whatever I can hear from the other side of the door. My body has become completely relaxed and ready to move at a moment's notice, and the worry has left my body. I am ready for whatever I need to do. For whatever the situation will call for. Not only am I ready, but I am anticipating it.
I want to do this. I need to do this.
Shifting the bags slowly until most of the awkward weight is in my left arm, I set the lone bag of dog food gently onto the ground with my right. Reaching up, I slowly unlock the deadbolt and twist the handle until I can feel its resistance give and I know the door is ready to be opened. As I crack the door slightly, I inhale deeply and taste the air. They aren't close. One of them has moved by here recently, but neither is on the back side of the house with me now. Grabbing the dog food again, I ease the door the rest of the way open. I don't even look around once ou
tside as I’ve come to trust my nose and my instincts. I turn, set the dog food down, reach inside and lock the door behind me, then pull it shut all in one move.
I'm now outside-with the cops-with nothing to shelter me aside from the dark and a few trees. The energy pulsing through me is exhilarating and far more enjoyable than it has any right to be. I am not a thrill-seeker. I don't like most roller coasters (I can do wooden ones, but as soon as they go upside down I'm ready to jump out of my skin. That's just not a natural thing for a vehicle to do.). Evading police isn't something that should make me this happy.
But it does.
Picking the bag back up, I turn and silently lope across a few backyards (No fences in this neighborhood. Must be an odd local ordinance.) before stopping next to a backyard swing set and shimmying my way into a large play set (It reeks of child, but that isn't something to worry about right now.).
Watching the house I had just fled, I realize not only am I not being followed, but I don't think they even realize I was there. My escape was that easy.
Too easy.
Well, not "too easy" as in it’s-a-trap-and-they're-waiting-for-me easy, but more like I-wanted-exciting-and-that-wasn't-exciting easy.
My body is still tingling from the run and the escape, but I don't want to leave. I want to see just how much I can do right now with my body hyped up. I want to go back.
Good idea? Definitely not.
Exciting and fun? Well, only one way to find out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Stashing the bags in a back corner of the playhouse, I slither out the window and back into the night air. Blinking to help my eyes focus in the darkness, I watch the backyard several houses away to see if either policeman steps into view. Within a few seconds, a tall patrolman steps around the North side of the house nearly invisible against the shrubbery.
I smile. "Target acquired," I say in my best cheesy movie robot voice and begin to move towards him while still crouched. I consume the distance between us quickly even with my hunched posture slowing me down.
Catharsis (Book 1) Page 9