Fairfax, Virginia
7:37 PM Monday, January 19
The van was packed. He checked his cell phone and made sure it was charged. Double-checked the bag to make sure he had the charger for his laptop. Keys?
He patted his pockets—empty. His frustration came out in a cloud against the cold air. He hustled back up the steps and into the home he shared with his mother and whatever boyfriend-of-the-month she brought home. At least this one helped pay the bills.
In his room, he found his keys on the desk next to the note he’d just written. Would his mom find it, or would he return in time to destroy it? He lifted the sheet of notebook paper, the edges frayed because he didn’t care enough to tear it out nicely. Did it matter?
His eyes flicked to the television in his room. The first thing he’d bought when he got paid. It allowed him to hide out in his room and not have to listen to his mom fight or cry or complain about how life was unfair. Why did anyone assume life was supposed to be fair?
Grabbing his keys, he gave his room a final look. There were dirty clothes piled under the window, his textbooks spilling over his desk. Posters of his favorite heavy metal bands were tacked up on the wall, hiding the spaces he’d carved out to hide stuff. They were empty now.
Maybe he should’ve put the note in there. Then when he was gone, they would search the room and only if they were smart, or lucky, would they think to look in the walls. Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe it would be years before his mom would have the courage to clean out his room and only then discover who he truly was. Would she be surprised?
He started to leave but then turned on his heels and grabbed the remote for his stereo and turned it on. His room filled with aggressive drumbeats, synthesized guitar notes, and a voice growling out words that resonated deep inside his chest.
Bouncing his head to the erratic rhythm, he gave his room a mock salute and shut the door behind him. The thumping music trailed behind him as he left his house, the music ingrained in his brain. He lifted his fists in the air and moved them up and down for the drum solo before his eyes caught the concerned stare of his neighbor, who was carrying a bag of groceries into her house.
Dropping his hands, he smiled and hurried over to her. “Let me help you.”
“Thank you.” The elderly neighbor handed over her bag. “My old bones don’t like this cold weather. We’re supposed to get more snow, you know, and I don’t want my babies to starve.”
When she opened the door, the harsh odor of cat urine stung his eyes. The mewing noise of her “babies” surrounded them like they knew dinner had just arrived.
He set her bag on the table inside her doorway and was turning to leave when she caught the edge of his coat. He whipped around, knocking her hand away in a move that nearly toppled her and left her gawking at him.
“That hurt, young man.” She clutched her arm.
“I-I’m sorry.” He straightened his coat, tugging it back in place and over the gun. If she’d seen it . . . if she got in the way . . . well, he had his orders. “You scared me.” He glanced down at the cats purring and rubbing up against her leg. “Cats scare me.”
“Oh, pshh, my darlings are harmless.” She scooped one up and held it out to him. “This is Boris.”
The ugly orange cat glared at him.
“I need to go,” he said, backing out of the doorway and down the steps.
Inside the van, he turned the ignition and the rumbling noise of the engine fed the adrenaline pumping through him. Turning the radio up, he drummed his other hand against the steering wheel. He smiled.
Glancing over his shoulder, he double-checked his babies. Everything was ready. Finally. He threw the vehicle in gear and backed out of the driveway a little too fast and his wheels spun out. He laughed, enjoying the moment of chaos before the tires found purchase and he was able to maneuver the vehicle down the snow-packed road.
The drive took longer than he’d expected, but it couldn’t be helped. His neighbor had been right about the weather prediction. More snow was falling, and it forced him to drive slower than he normally would. Another glance behind him and he was reminded that he needed to be mindful of his cargo. Too much was riding on their safe arrival.
Riding. He laughed at his pun. Was it a pun? He probably would’ve learned that in English class if he had paid attention. But his mind worked differently. At least that’s what his mother told his teachers when they would call her in for a parent-teacher conference. Ha. If they could see him now.
He pulled into the parking lot, then waited until the lone figure appeared and walked over, his head swiveling as he checked the area around them. It wasn’t necessary. Of the few who were brave enough to venture out to pick up last-minute groceries or fast-food dinners, he doubted any of them would be paying attention to them. And that’s exactly how it was supposed to work.
For years he’d been the invisible one, and now it would pay off. He would make sure everyone saw him—finally.