by Alan Janney
“This is a little embarrassing,” she smiled shyly, looking down. Her cheeks colored. “But would you sign our picture?”
She pushed across a newspaper that she’d been hiding. Our photograph was on top.
“What?”
“Your autograph?” she said again. “Why?” I asked.
“Um…because.”
“How do I...” I laughed, shaking my head at the absurdity. “I mean, just...write my name on it anywhere?”
“I don’t know!” she laughed too. “I’ve never asked for an autograph before. I was almost too nervous to even ask.”
“Nervous? Of what?”
“Of you! Did you see how far you threw that football? I think you’re going to be famous one day. I didn’t know anyone on Earth could throw a ball that far.”
“What does that matter?” I asked, genuinely bewildered.
“Isn’t that all that matters?”
“Shoot,” I said. “That’s terrible. I signed over the stadium and you can’t even see most of it.”
“You’re right,” she smiled. “I want a better one. I’ll find another copy and pester you again tomorrow,” she said but then her expression changed. “Chase! What happened to your head?” She gentled parted my hair and examined my temple.
“Ouch,” I winced.
“This looks bad. Should I take you to the nurse?”
“Are you checking my little buddy for lice?”
Andy Babington strolled up. Andy is tall, handsome, and rich. Even though we’re the same age, I’m a junior and he’s senior, and somehow I always feel pathetic when he comes around.
“Just kidding,” he smiled. “What happened to your head, bud?”
“Well-” I started.
He interrupted me. “Hannah, you going to the party Friday night? I can take you.”
“Maybe,” she said, hesitatingly. “Might be a good victory party.”
“No doubt about it, babe. I’m going to have a good game. Dang, Chase, your head really does look ugly. You fall off a balance beam?”
“Sure did.”
“I’ll call you, Hannah,” he said, walking off.
Hannah stared at me for a long moment and then left without another word. I looked up to see Cory staring at me.
“That was weird,” he said. “You gonna eat your chips?”
Cory and I went to Strength and Conditioning, where we mostly talked about the upcoming game with the rest of the team.
Finally I went to English. I was one of the last to arrive and I couldn’t find a seat near the front. I started walking down a row, nodding to acquaintances, when I realized that I was walking right towards Hannah Walker. She had been watching me, smiling, and when I got closer she moved her backpack off the empty desk in front of her. She patted the seat and said, “This one’s available.”
“Saving it for me?”
“Maybe.”
Our teacher was a short curly-haired lady that liked to clasp her hands near her chin. I tried to remember her name but Hannah’s perfume clouded my brain.
“You have a hair on your shirt,” Hannah whispered after a few minutes.
“How embarrassing.”
“May I get it off?” she asked, her voice soft.
“Certainly.”
Her hand caressed my shoulder, delicately tugging and smoothing along the ridge of my shoulder blade. The supple pressure moved upwards to my collar and her fingertips grazed my skin. It was like Hannah was casting a spell, preventing me from focusing on the English teacher.
Goosebumps run up and down my body as her probing fingers continued brushing and pinching my skin until she laughed under her breath, “Got it.”
The hair was long and brown, almost certainly Katie’s. I felt like I had betrayed her by letting Hannah pull off the hair. But…Katie wasn’t interested in me romantically. She just wanted to be friends. That hurt every time I remembered.
“Your girlfriend has beautiful hair,” she whispered.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Someone from the adjacent row shushed us.
“Who was that pretty girl you sat with during lunch?” she asked, her voice so hushed I could barely hear her.
“Katie. Just a friend,” I replied.
“Just a friend,” she repeated.
Chapter Four
Wednesday, September 5. 2017 Midnight
That night, that awful and magical night, was the night everything changed. Had I known, I’d have probably just gone to bed.
Instead, I stood in front of the mirror, wearing only boxer briefs and trying to convince myself this was a good idea. I could get Katie’s phone back. I’d just sneak in and out, no problem. They’d be asleep. They’d never know I was there. Plus, I’m fast, fifth fastest on our football team.
I was tall, strong, powerful, fast, and mad… At least that’s what I was telling myself. But would any of that matter if the thieves had a knife? Or a gun? What if the occupants of that house weren’t asleep? What then? This was a bad idea. But I was going to do it all the same. I felt guilty about Katie losing her phone.
Fortunately I’d written down the address, because the thieves had deactivated the phone’s locater app. In all probability the phone had been moved to a secondary location, or sold or destroyed, but I was going to investigate the house anyway.
What do I wear to sneak into a house? What do most burglars wear?
After examining my wardrobe I decided to go with all black. I pulled on a tight, long-sleeved, polyester/elastane workout compression shirt, and form-fitting polyester/ spandex football pants. The pants were Nike and the shirt was UnderArmour but I supposed it didn’t matter if I matched name brands. Black socks and black running shoes. My appearance bordered on dramatic, but I’d be hard to see at night.
Except for my face. I rooted through my closet some more until I discovered a forgotten neoprene ski mask, the kind of half-mask that only covered my mouth and nose. It velcroed in the back. Perfect.
Thirty minutes after midnight I climbed into my car and turned south on Highway Two. It took fifteen minutes to drive the eight miles out of my world and into the world of downtown Los Angeles.
I don’t know how other cities work, but Los Angeles is weird. It’s HUGE and the poor and the rich often live in close proximity. In this part of the city, mere blocks separate squalor from lavish buildings filled with million-dollar apartments. Dodgers Stadium is nearby but so is a homeless shelter. Plus the University of Southern California, an obscenely wealthy college, is only a few miles down the interstate.
As I drove, the long day began to catch up with me. I wasn’t acclimated to school yet and practice had been brutal. I had come home and completed my homework before helping Dad with some stretching exercises. I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t been tired and sore. My eye lids kept trying to close, so I rolled down the window to get some cool fresh air. I parked several blocks away in a safe-looking church parking lot.
“This is stupid,” I told myself, waiting for a pair of dog walkers to disappear around the corner. I picked up my ski mask, and on a last minute impulse I also grabbed a red Hidden Spring High bandanna, and I left the car.
I had waited until after midnight so the city would be asleep, but apparently downtown Los Angeles never quieted down. The city was still alive with sirens and barking dogs and car headlights. I suddenly felt very conspicuous in my black getup. I’d dressed exactly like a criminal would, and I was sneaking in the shadows around buildings. Could I be arrested? This really was a stupid idea.
But it was also kinda fun.
I hid and snuck and slinked and sprinted my way to the correct city block, which looked like a hard-luck stretch of ransacked houses. An alley stretched behind the homes; a clandestine path that was perfect for my mission. Television lights kept changing the curtain colors of the houses nearest me, and somewhere close somebody was shouting.
I velcroed the black ski mask on and tied the red bandanna aro
und my forehead, Rambo style, to keep sweat and hair out of my eyes. If this went wrong, I would sprint away and no one would remember my features or recognize me.
My sneakers sounded ludicrously loud as I hurried through the alley. The houses had brick and chain-link fences around the small backyards and the whole place smelled like sewage. I got lost, a rookie mistake, and had to resort to the map on my phone. Finally, there it was, my house. I stuffed the phone into my polyester pocket and crouched behind the chain fence. The house was two-story with an open back porch. One muted light on the main floor was on, but otherwise the place gave a vacant impression.
I put my hands on the fence and hopped over.
And I almost landed on a pit bull. He was a monster! Fortunately he was asleep. He had to weigh a hundred pounds, and two festering scars ran across his muzzle. While I stared, he gave a horrible jerk. He snorted and lay still again.
My heart was pounding so hard it actually hurt my ears as I stole silently across the yard and up the crumbling concrete steps. The rear wall had single-pane windows and I cautiously peered into the house. The main level consisted of three rooms: a kitchen, living room, and dining room.
An odor crept into my nostrils so offensive that I gagged. Behind me, near a porch post, lay a dead dog swarmed by insects. I couldn’t determine the breed, but the dog had been small and looked as though its neck was snapped. Ribs had been exposed by claw marks. Disgusting. Bile rose in my throat. By sheer force of will, I turned away and focused on the task at hand.
The backdoor wasn’t shut. As it swung inward, it squeaked and swept away fast food wrappers and an empty box. A faucet dripped into the sink. No one was in the kitchen. No one was in the dining room either. Or at least it looked like a dining room, but it contained no table or chairs or anything other than a pile of dirty laundry.
A man was snoring on a recliner in the living room. An un-shaded lamp burned harshly beside him. He didn’t look like a criminal; he looked like somebody’s grandfather. The television was off. I could hear no sounds other than the man’s phlegmatic breathing. I scrutinized him for a long minute, wondering if this was the man that’d hit me in the head. My father slept in a similar recliner.
As I stood there, I finally and fully appreciated how ridiculous this was. I couldn’t search the whole house. That would take forever. Plus he could wake up at any minute. Were others sleeping upstairs? I’d been so preoccupied with being quiet that I hadn’t even started looking for the phone. I needed to go back and carefully hunt through the rooms, but my nerves were so tightly wound that I didn’t know if I’d have the composure to perform a thorough search. I was exposed and vulnerable. And stupid.
I set my jaw. I’m finding that phone. It belongs to Katie and they took it while she was with me. I’m finding that phone.
As I turned to go into the kitchen and begin a deliberate search, something on the couch caught my eye. I approached in disbelief. A pile of...stuff lay heaped there. Smart phones. Wallets. Jewelry. Watches. Shoes. A tablet. Keys. Pocket knives. I sifted through the items that I assumed were stolen, silently stunned. Brand new Nike sneakers. A really nice Tag Heuer watch. A ruby pendant necklace. And...my wallet!
I snatched it up. Unbelievable. What luck! The cash was gone, of course, and so was the credit card. But my driver’s license remained. And my school identification.
Outside, a car roared past, music blaring and thumping, shaking me from my reverie. The headlights shot bright beams through dust motes and rushed across the peeling walls around the room before vanishing. The man sleeping behind me stirred. I had to hurry.
After a few more seconds I found Katie’s phone still in its pink case. Bingo! It had a weird sticker on the back but I peeled that off. For some reason I was angry instead of relieved. This phone didn’t belong in this house. I walked past the unconscious man and briefly considering hitting him in the head with something heavy. But revenge didn’t matter. Getting home safely did.
I exited the kitchen and walked onto the back porch, where the heavy silence of the house was broken by a snarl. The pit bull had woken! His legs were splayed wide, his maw lowered menacingly to the sidewalk. His entire body quivered with muscles. One of his eyes had been slashed, and the other looked almost blood red in the night.
This was a really really really stupid idea!
I didn’t have a second to think or even panic before the dog rushed forward, claws scraping cement, savage mouth wide and growling. Instead of retreating into the house, I stepped forward and leaped, clearing the hound’s head by several feet. I landed running, took two steps, and vaulted the chain fence.
The pit bull also cleared the fence. He was moving impossibly fast, legs bulging with straining muscles. He touched down awkwardly, giving me precious seconds to increase my lead before he regained it. I was immediately and hopelessly lost in the maze of brick alleys. I kept turning corners into nowhere, pursued by vicious barks.
I ran into a dead end and skidded to a halt. Ahead of me loomed a wall, and with nothing left to do I sprinted towards it, the dog snapping at my heels. At the last instant I jumped high into the air and used my hands to brace against the impact with the rough surface. I hit the wall hard and my arm went numb. Below me the dog ran headfirst into the bricks with a painful crash.
I landed solidly, driving my feet into what I hoped was the neck of the ferocious animal. I connected with all my 180 pounds. Flesh and bones popped and snapped grotesquely under my sneakers. The dog yelped and whined but I was already retreating, not waiting to see if he would get up.
Two minutes later I erupted out of the alley like a comet, streaking back onto the main road. I whooped and vaulted over bus bench on the sidewalk, startling someone sleeping there. The fog of terror had blown away, evaporating into crashing waves of ecstasy. I was soaked in adrenaline and I tore through emotions like a sprinter through a carwash. Euphoria. Giddiness! A heightened sense of life overcame me, extreme completeness.
I felt like some other personality had taken control of my body. The other personality loved danger and reveled in the darkness. I shouted in fierce joy and triumph, and my feet hardly touched the ground. I was like a bat or a phantom, at peace in the shadows, moving in my natural habitat. The night was mine. I could outrun the shouting and barking behind me. The street lights and high beams were too slow to catch me.
I was slightly disoriented within my delirium, and I ran too far. I left the the low-income housing and penetrated several layers of the towering city before realizing my mistake. Late-night walkers were ahead of me and so I cut down another street, heading back to my car. I was six blocks south of my original route. I had to cross under a major highway, and I couldn’t help but notice this area was significantly nicer and in better repair than the neighborhood I’d just vacated. Wasn’t that the LA Times building?
Then I turned a corner and ran straight into a crime in progress.
My eyes absorbed everything in a flash. This street was brighter. Two masked men were approaching a girl. She was withdrawing cash at a well-lit ATM, unaware of her danger. Presumably they had been waiting for a victim. The girl was fashionably dressed with an expensive looking purse draped around her neck and shoulder. The men wore pantyhose masks. She never saw them until they swarmed her. The robbery was silent because, even though she fought frantically, a hand was clamped over her mouth. They tugged the cash and purse out of her grip. It was happening quickly, efficiently, and silently.
I did not pause to consider the astronomical odds of turning this corner at this precise moment to witness this crime. I did not pause to consider the absurdity of my situation, nor the audacity of these hooligans robbing a girl on a well-lit street, nor the terrible toll the riots must be taking on everyone impacted, nor the fact that I was only a seventeen year-old kid up past my bedtime. Of course I had arrived right on schedule; the night had wanted it so.
In retrospect, the disease had wanted it so.
I did not pause. I did not th
ink; I just reacted. Instinctively I adjusted my route to intercept. My speed propelled me across the street and into the fray in an instant. I left the ground as the taller and larger of the thugs raised himself up with the purse in his grasp. My shoes crashed into his chest, driving the air out of him with such force that his ribs popped. He landed on his spine, but I landed in a crouch, on my feet.
His partner in crime stared wide-eyed from under his pantyhose mask, one hand full of cash and the other arm wrapped around the girl’s face, which was a mixture of disbelief and hope. I stuffed Katie’s phone back into my pocket. Apparently I’d dropped it. I slowly rose from my crouch. His unblinking eyes followed me.
“What the hell, man!” he stuttered.
“Let...her...go,” I said. That wasn’t my voice. That was the voice of the personality controlling me, the voice of rage. I was engulfed in anger and every other emotion too. I was so juiced I couldn’t think. In that moment as we stared at each other, I could see my reflection in the ATM’s privacy glass. My mask! I’d forgotten I was still wearing it. I looked...bizarre.
“Screw this,” he murmured, releasing her. He turned and started pounding up the sidewalk. The other thug laid groaning and writhing on the street.
“Are you okay?” I asked the girl. She looked familiar. She watched me with enormous eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly. I picked up her purse and handed it to her. “Run home,” I demanded. She was a pretty girl, small and trim, about my age, and she obeyed instantly. Apparently she lived right across the road. She reached it as a passing car came into view.
As soon as she safely reached her door I shot off like a rocket in pursuit of the masked man. He turned a corner ahead of me, but I was a terror, a monster, faster than he could imagine. I caught him quickly, not two blocks away and landed hard on him. He sprawled out with a yell, skidding painfully to a stop with my weight on top of him.
I put my hand on the cash he was holding and said, “Release.”
He did. I tugged off his mask. He was a white kid with multiple earrings, eye liner, and a neck tattoo peeking out of his shirt.