The Boy Who Steals Houses

by C. G. Drews

  He runs his thumb over her bottom lip. ‘Can we stop talking now?’

  Her laugh is a burst of stardust.

  He kisses her.

  Maybe maybe maybe nothing matters past this party and this beach and this kiss. Moxie will be ablaze from all the praise of her sewing. Sam will hold her. He’ll figure out a way to stay, to make Avery safe.

  It’ll all be fine.

  Moxie sighs into his shoulder. She starts to say something, or maybe kiss him again, but a frown folds her face and she pulls away to look over his shoulder.

  Sam turns.

  Kirby is jogging towards them, face pinched.

  A boy storms just ahead, fury in his jaw and eyes of murder.

  ‘Hey!’ he shouts. ‘Is that Sammy Lou?’

  Sam’s hands drop away from Moxie.

  The earth suddenly splits, a chasm caving downward like a fist just punched the world out from beneath him. The black hole takes everything – his heartbeat, his mind, the stars, his Moxie.

  He’s alone, he’s just a shell, as the boy grabs the throat of his shirt. ‘You tried to kill my cousin, you piece of shit.’

  Moxie shoves between the boy and Sam so fast they both stumble backwards.

  The boy releases Sam’s throat.

  He still can’t breathe.

  ‘What the hell?’ Moxie snaps. ‘Don’t touch him. Who are you?’

  Kirby arrives, breathless. ‘Um, OK, whoa. Let’s calm down. Moxie, this is Griffin. Erm, Griffin … Moxie. And Sam is …’

  Griffin’s lips peel back in a snarl. ‘You have some nerve showing up here, you twisted little freak.’

  Blood rushes into Sam’s ears. Or maybe it’s the ocean. He can’t quite hear through the roar. He can’t quite see.

  He needs to get out of here.

  Run, Sammy.

  Moxie’s body coils beside him, smile gone as she stares daggers at Griffin. ‘You want to explain yourself? Or do I just start yelling for my brothers? I have a lot of brothers.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll explain.’ Griffin stabs a finger against Sam’s chest so hard he flinches. ‘Did you know this kid is wanted for assault?’

  Moxie slaps his hand away since Sam hasn’t moved a muscle to defend himself. ‘I’m pretty sure,’ she says coldly, ‘you have the wrong person.’

  ‘Yeah, sure I do. Sammy Lou? His brother is Avery and he’s got some sort of spastic disease.’ Griffin mimes one of Avery’s hand-flapping stims, his eyes cruel.

  Sam’s stomach knots. ‘He doesn’t have a disease and there’s nothing wrong with him.’

  Griffin ignores him. ‘They go to that public school on the south side. Well, went. They’d better be thrown out by now since he nearly beat my cousin to death.’

  ‘He did not.’ Moxie’s fury rolls off her in waves. ‘And don’t talk like that about his brother. That’s the most ableist crap I’ve ever heard.’

  She’s defending Avery.

  She doesn’t even know Avery.

  This is the Moxie he loves.

  Griffin barely glances at her. ‘My cousin was in hospital for days after this bastard punched his face in. West is in so much therapy now. You know who this kid is? He’s a raging psychopath.’

  Sam looks at his hands.

  They shake.

  He curls them into fists and he can feel the blood again, slick through his knuckles as he knelt on the ground in the school yard, one hand around West’s throat, the other coming down again and again

  and again

  and again again again again againagainagainagain—

  There was blood.

  Avery was screaming.

  They’d slammed his arm in a door and broken it, those bullies. Those stupid, goddamn bullies.

  That’ll stop you twitching.

  All because Avery thought they were his friends. Following them around, talking nonstop, flapping his hands in excitement as he tried to fit in.

  They strung him along and then cut him down.

  Sam was going to kill them.

  He was going to kill them all.

  The lights on the beach flare too brightly and slam him back to the sand where this boy Griffin is red-faced and yelling.

  Moxie turns to Sam. Her face is closed, unreadable, eyes obsidian in the dark.

  Kirby mumbles something like, ‘Yeah, um, talking to this guy was a bad idea. I’ll get your brothers, Moxie.’ She runs off.

  Moxie reaches out a hand, but Sam is so far away she can’t possibly reach him. She would need a boat and a bridge made of moons to find him again.

  ‘You should be in jail!’ Griffin shouts.

  People are gathering now. Griffin’s friends flood around him, tall and muscular, eyes full of fury and hungry to punish.

  Sam stares. His whole body pulses with the memory of blood on his hands.

  ‘He tried to – h-h-h-hurt Avery.’ Sam doesn’t look at anyone. ‘I was s-saving my brother.’

  Griffin spits and turns to his friends. ‘Call the cops.’

  ‘No!’ Moxie cries. ‘What are you … how – Sam, talk to me?’ Fear trips over her face.

  ‘What else do I need to say?’ Griffin snaps. ‘He beat the shit out of my cousin and you’re defending him. Get the hell away, girl.’

  Then Griffin grabs the shoulder of Sam’s waistcoat and smashes his fist into Sam’s stomach.

  Moxie screams.

  Sam drops to his knees.

  Air explodes out of his lungs and doesn’t come back.

  People shout and move around now, too close, too hot, too loud. Yells collide and someone calls out frantically for Moxie. The knot of people tightens.

  Griffin towers over him, all coiled muscles and a watch that gleams gold in the flickering firelight.

  Sam holds his stomach. He tastes tears.

  Why didn’t you run?

  Griffin grabs Sam’s hair and tips his head back, raising his fist again. For a second Sam just stares at those burning eyes—

  And then Moxie shoves Griffin and knocks him off balance.

  ‘Don’t you dare hit him,’ she shouts.

  Griffin staggers a few steps and then spins on Moxie.

  Hands shoot out. Snatch at shirts. Stop is whispered.

  Griffin closes the distance between him and Moxie with a step and a roar and he twists, ramming his shoulder into Moxie.

  She gives the smallest cry.

  And falls.

  Sam’s world speeds up.

  You do not touch Moxie. You do not ever ever ever touch Moxie.

  He springs up in a churn of sand, his fingers curling to fists. To do what they know best.

  And then he’s on Griffin like a shot, knuckles on flesh, on bone.

  Hit.

  He kicks Griffin’s legs out from under him and they fall, Griffin roaring, Sam deadly and silent. His fist comes down, his knees press into Griffin’s chest to pin him. He doesn’t think.

  He hits.

  In a very small corner of his mind he is dying.

  The earth rushes around him, spinning fast, trying to throw him off into the stars.

  Behind him a girl screams, her face a broken mirror of agony.

  Stop.

  He should. He has to stop. Save Avery. Where’s Avery?

  ‘Sam.’

  He can’t he can’t he can’t stop

  stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop—

  Hands hook under the shoulders of Sam’s waistcoat and yank him off. There are bodies everywhere, tall as mountains that block out the light. There’s sand in his mouth, in his ey
es. There’s blood. Sam tries to breathe but he hasn’t lungs any more.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Someone get help!’

  ‘Sam, what—’ The last is Jeremy, now clutching Sam’s arm.

  Sam jerks away.

  Griffin holds his broken nose and roars.

  Their faces blur and spin before him. They are red teeth and burned-out eyes. They are horror and disgust and rage.

  Sam shoves through them and they back out of his way.

  Scared of him.

  Just like he was so scared of his father.

  Only one girl doesn’t move. Her dress is a flood of sunbeams and her mouth is a terrified twist.

  He runs past her.

  Run, just run. Just run for ever.

  He scrabbles up the bank, his feet hitting the road so fast he trips and falls and rips his jeans. It hurts and he’s glad. He’s so glad. He wants to hurt. He wants someone to pin him down and beat the living daylights out of him.

  He deserves it.

  You despicable boy, his aunt said. She’s right. They’re all right. He’s just like his father. He should be in prison.

  He picks himself up and runs down the road. Runs until his undone shoelaces twist about his legs and he falls in the long seagrass by the highway. He pulls out Avery’s phone. Fix all your problems. He’s shaking so hard he has to hold it with two hands.

  The sea wind whips his hair and he tastes blood and salt and ruin.

  ‘Vin?’ He’s crying. ‘Vin, let me talk to Avery. P-p-please, he has to come get me.’

  The voice on the other end is smooth and calm as cold glass. ‘Avery’s busy right now.’

  No.

  No.

  ‘P-please.’ Sam’s voice jumps so high it cracks and he can barely get the words out. ‘Please, d-don’t do this. I need him. I need him.’

  ‘OK, OK, calm down, kid. I can barely understand you. What happened?’

  ‘I h-h-hit … I just h-hit—’ Sam shatters. He’s sobbing now, the phone slipping against his cheek.

  ‘Tell me where you are. I’ll come get you.’

  ‘I want Avery. Please, I w-want Avery.’

  ‘I’ll get him for you, kid. Just hold on.’

  It’s an impossible command. Sam has nothing left to hold on to.

  A car pulls up in front of Sam and headlights blaze white-hot in his eyes. Sam covers his face.

  The driver’s door pops open and Vin gets out. She’s crisp and fresh as always, hair neatly styled in waves over one shoulder. She wears high boots that crunch gravel as she strides towards Sam. Kneels down. Tips Sam’s chin up.

  There’s blood on his hands.

  ‘Is it yours?’ she says.

  Sam shakes his head. He’s hollowed out.

  Vin hauls Sam to his feet. Keeps soft hands on his neck, on his shoulders, and propels him into the car. Sam collapses on the passenger seat, draws his legs up, tucks his head down.

  Vin gets in and revs the engine. She pulls a chocolate bar out of the console and slaps it in Sam’s hand. ‘Eat.’

  Sam turns his head away.

  ‘I’m not messing about, kid. You’re in shock.’ Vin snatches the chocolate back and rips the plastic. ‘I won’t take you to Avery until you eat it.’

  Tears spill down Sam’s cheeks. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘No, you’re not. You’re taking a bite. Right now. Go.’ She revs the engine again. ‘I don’t want to hang around here. Do you?’

  Sam takes a bite.

  He tastes blood and no chocolate at all. But he takes another bite and another as Vin pulls the car back on to the highway and speeds into town. Vin only slows down for traffic lights and a cop car pulls past and drives off the way they came. She doesn’t comment.

  Chocolate melts and smears on Sam’s fingers. He wipes it on his jeans. He looks at his waistcoat, Moxie’s amazing, detailed work. Her pride.

  Bloodstains stare back.

  ‘So Avery’s working,’ Vin says finally.

  Robbing houses. Armed burglary.

  ‘Why aren’t … you working?’ Sam’s voice sounds numb and thin even to him.

  ‘I organise.’ Vin shifts gears and the car shoots through an intersection. ‘I plan. I say jump and people jump and the job goes perfectly. Chocolate help?’

  Sam didn’t taste it. But he’s not shaking any more. He’s not sure if it was the sugar or having something to do that wasn’t cycling the image of his fists coming down. He leans his head against the window.

  ‘Good,’ says Vin, voice elegant and easy, ‘because I want you to do something for me.’

  Sam’s stomach flips. ‘I can’t … please. I just want Avery.’

  ‘You do this, and you get Avery. I’ll put you both up in a motel so you can hide for a few days. I’ll sort it all out, you hear me? It goes away when I want it to.’

  It goes away.

  The sob comes out unbidden. Sam presses his arm over his mouth.

  How much goes away? Tonight?

  The whole summer?

  Moxie?

  ‘You just have to climb through a window, flip off an alarm, and open a door. Nothing else.’ Vin spins the steering wheel. Streetlights flash in Sam’s eyes. ‘Then you sit in the car, I do a bit of work, and we go pick up Avery.’

  She flips off the headlights and slides the car into an empty underground car park. She pulls up and shuts off the engine.

  ‘I can’t,’ Sam whispers. Can he even walk right now? He is an empty pit, the darkness drained to puddles of tears and despair and hate hate hate.

  Vin turns on him, her face a blank hollow in the shadows except for perfect red lips. ‘You do it, or I throw you to the cops. Help me and I fix everything. It’s not a decision.’

  Sam swallows.

  ‘Get out of the car,’ Vin says.

  Sam gets out of the car.

  They walk three blocks. Vin keeps them in the shadows, avoiding storefronts where there might be cameras. She has a black duffle bag slung over a shoulder. Sam has to admit – Vin knows what she’s doing. There’s a sense of safety in that. Comfort. If someone else points the way, says take this, sit here, keep your mouth shut now – you get to be safe.

  This is why Avery keeps working for her, isn’t it? He wants to be safe, same as Sam. But he found his safe among thorns and poison and Sam dug his out of warm earth and sunlight.

  Part of Sam’s brain shuts off, the part that reminds him that he would’ve kept hitting if Jeremy hadn’t pulled him off. He doesn’t want to be like this. He focuses on Vin’s heeled boots. Follow. Step here. Keep quiet.

  don’t

  think.

  They climb a fence and drop into a small car park lined with banksias and lavender. A building looms up like a brick mountain, a single light at the back door. Sam has no idea what time it is. Midnight?

  ‘What is this place?’ His voice is low.

  Vin keeps them in the dark mouth of the fence and then crouches to unzip the duffle. ‘Art gallery. They’ve got a piece I’ve wanted for months.’ Vin pulls out a black jacket and shrugs it on. Obviously with her loose hair and heeled boots, she wasn’t planning on a job tonight. ‘I have a contact overseas. It’s an easy ten grand.’

  ‘Ten grand?’ Sam stares.

  Vin’s red lips twitch. ‘You get a cut, little angel. Avery says you’re obsessed with having a house. We can work something out. If you stay on. Keep working for me.’

  Sam shifts his gaze away. He wouldn’t – he can’t—

  He doesn’t want this.

  He doesn’t want to admit he would fit.

  He wants to curl up in Moxie’s arms and eat waffles that smell of cinnamon and sunshine. He wants to forget what he’s good at. Fists and theft.

  Vin points to a
drainpipe at the corner of the building. ‘See that window? Bathroom. It’s the only one without a locked screen and it’ll push out. I’ve checked.’

  ‘You want me to climb a drainpipe?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you can’t. Avery tells me everything, remember?’

  About the days they spent as kids, scaling the walls of their aunt’s house, using drainpipes and cracks in the bricks to get on to the roof so they could vault on to the trampoline? So they could fly. Avery shouldn’t tell stuff like that. It belongs to him and Sam.

  ‘I can.’ Sam’s mouth is dry.

  Vin tells him which halls to take, which staircase, which door leads to the back entrance and the alarm. She gives him a pair of thin gloves.

  While she talks, she pulls a knife sheath from her duffle and straps it on to her thigh.

  Shivers arch up and down Sam’s spine and he has to grit his jaw to stop his teeth chattering.

  It’s not cold.

  He’s scared.

  ‘You just flip the off switch,’ she says. ‘It’ll turn off the light and camera and the alarm too. Then unlock the back door. Use your phone for light. Easy, kid, so easy. I’ll be waiting there, and you head to the car afterwards.’ She frowns and reaches for her vibrating pocket. She tugs out her phone and frowns at the screen. ‘I’ll take this. You got it?’

  Sam nods.

  He tugs on the gloves while Vin leans against the fence and swears quietly but viciously into the phone. Even Sam winces. He doesn’t catch the name, but part of him wonders if it might be Avery. Don’t think about it now, Sammy.

  Take a breath. Focus. The building is tall and the window looks impossibly tiny.

  He glances back.

  Vin makes an angry flicking motion.

  Sam runs.

  He keeps away from the light, from the cameras, and reaches the drainpipe. His fingers crawl across bricks.

  He climbs.

  The tips of his shoes dig into the space between bricks and he scrambles for the pipe. It shudders under his weight, but he just moves faster.

  Fast, boy, go fast.

  He gets to the top and wedges his knees against the pipe and the wall. One foot snakes out to rest on the tiny window ledge. His heart crashes hard in his chest.

  Don’t look down. Don’t look for Vin.