Chapter 3-Garrett

~*Chapter 3-Garrett*~



         There was darkness; outlines of trees against nothing. Just trees. Short trees, tall trees, skinny trees, fat trees. They all whipped by me as I sped through the forest. I was tired of seeing trees. I was getting tired of trees for the first time on my life. There was no variation of color. They were all as black as midnight. Dark. Darkness was nice. It surrounded me, enveloping me in my own personal bliss for a few hours. I would never get tired of darkness. Because, no matter how long the dark seemed to last, light always followed. Light stayed around long enough for me to get tired of it and want the dark to come back, then it would get dark again, and I’d be happy. That’s why I never got tired of darkness; it never lingered.

         Slowly, the denseness around me began to break up. Darn. Here came the light. I never looked forward to daytime. It held no perks for me. All the sun did was glare into my eyes, making it difficult for me to see, but easy for me to be seen. That never worked to my advantage.

         That’s all life was about; what instances were in whose advantage. It was unfair, really. But, I couldn’t complain; I had the most advantages. I would always have the most advantages, whether it was dark or light outside. It didn’t matter. I would still be better suited to win the game of life. That always made me feel better.

         The trees had thinned, allowing me to see the large suburb laid out before me. Bingo. I stopped, went over to the back side of a large tree, and slung my small bag of belongings over a low branch. Then, I carved the letter “B” into the bark. It was small; nobody should notice it unless they are looking for it. The “B” stood for “Base.” Until I left the suburb, that tree would be my home base.

         I have never been a hobo, a bum, a beggar, or any other synonym for those. I just preferred not to be tied to a single specific place. Therefore, I had no home. I traveled around like a nomad, finding convenient little places to spend some time, setting up bases nearby, and living life as a character.

         I could never actually be myself. I always had to play a part. Good thing I was a decent actor. My job was to fly under the radar. To be that guy that people saw all the time, but could never remember who he was, where he’d come from, or when they’d seen him last. I was the guy with no name and no story; only a face.

         The intensity of my masquerade differed based upon the distance that I traveled between bases. If I went from one base to another spot nearby, I had to vary my character much more than if I traveled miles upon miles to my next base. Word spread like wildfire; I knew that well. I had to be someone different for people to gossip about. Or better yet, avoid all gossip. The main goal of the bases was to keep me out of the public eye. If they started to talk or speculate about me, I’d leave. I’d probably never come back. It was a good thing that I made it a point to not get too connected in a community. Then I’d be missed.

         I shoved my hands into my jean pockets and strolled casually into the cul-de-sac of houses that hid my bit of woods. Everyone was asleep. There was a blue minivan parked outside of the first house I passed. A bicycle was lying in the grass alongside a football. Dew was gathered on top of them, making them sparkle in the greyness of the rising sun. The picture was perfect. Not quite a picture worthy of a cover shot on Better Homes and Gardens, but it meant that a family lived there. A real, live family. They didn’t just exist, using the house as a dwelling of perfection; they lived there, using the house as their home.

         This whole suburb was their home.

         I continued on, sighing into the chilly morning air, though my breath made no steam, and I wasn’t cold. I tried to focus my attention straight ahead as I made my way to the end of the road. To the right were houses; to the left were more houses. It didn’t matter which way I went, so I just turned right.

         After going over a few hills, passing three dozen and four more houses, I found the entrance to the neighborhood. It led to a highway. I glanced down the road in both directions, and saw that I would have to go to the right to get into the town. I made a mental note to explore the town tomorrow. I wouldn’t forget. I could probably even get to it through the woods. I made another mental note. For now, I just turned back around and meandered back through the neighborhood, passing the street with the cal-de-sac, behind which was my base.

I continued on, being completely silent. Not even my footsteps made a sound. As I looked around, I thought to myself that I had pretty good taste in bases. It was a nice neighborhood; there was a block of townhouses, a small pond, and even a basketball court. I could enjoy this for a while. When the sun began to shine over the tops of the trees, I turned around, heading back to my base until people started waking up. I checked my watch; the time was six fourteen. Soon, it would be time for the curtain to rise, and for Act One to begin.

~*~

I walked through the woods at the back of the neighborhood in the direction that I thought town would be. After a few minutes of stealthily walking, I broke into a run. From there, it only took a few more minutes to get to what I perceived to be the town square.

There was nothing that defined it as the centre of town. There was no fountain, no memorial, no town hall. There was only a small bakery beside a coffee shop. I considered it to be the centre of the town, though, because there were more people there than I had ever expected. I walked up to the glass door and peered inside. I could barely see the counter through the sea of people. It went against all of my best judgment, but I knew I had to go inside. This coffee shop was the perfect breeding ground for gossip, rumors, and other sorts of conversation. What I needed was a good conversation.

As I slowly pulled open the door, the muffled sound of talking grew into a massive noise that tore at my ears painfully. I kept my composure, however, and I wove through the crowd toward the only empty table in the shop. It was crammed all the way in the back and seemed kind of neglected. It was lonely. So, I sat there, scanning the crowd waiting to place an order, the crowd waiting to pick up their orders, and the crowd sitting at every other table but the one I occupied. After I had finished taking in my surroundings, I proceeded to slowly open my ears to the noise in the shop. After the sound had assaulted me to a certain extent, I began to selectively listen for conversations that I could find useful.

One woman was ordering a cappuccino with whipped crème on top. The man behind her in line was talking to his friend about how his wife had requested a caramel macchiato, and he had been instructed to go and get it for her. A teenaged girl over getting creamer for her coffee was text-messaging her friend. I could see her thumbs moving, and I could read the words on her screen:  “Lol but I cant believe he asked u out! Wat did u say?” A couple at one of the many tables in front of me was discussing their neighbor. The wife said that they’d be out of town for at least two more weeks. The man commented that he wished they’d come back so they wouldn’t have to let their dog out any more.

Someone in this suburb was going to be gone for weeks. This was exactly the type of conversation that interested me.

I got up and nonchalantly strode past their table, listening to them talk. The neighbor apparently needed to wash his car. It still had salt left over from the last snow. It would rust soon if he wasn’t careful. The line at the front of the shop had died down a bit, so I filtered into the end of it, still listening to the couple’s conversation.

“Why don’t you do them a favor and wash their car for them?” the wife asked the husband.

“I can’t. I don’t have time. You know how much I’ve been working lately.”

“I know that things at the office have been crazy lately, but I also know they’d appreciate it. No one likes to come home to a mess.”

“It’s not my job to wash his car. I’ll go over and let his dog out, but I can’t spend an hour washing all the salt off his car. I just haven’t got the time. The paperwork’s mounding up around me, and I haven’t even made a dent in it.”

I slipped out of the line, muttering a quiet apology to the girl behind me. She was sort of pretty; blonde with soft green eyes. Average height, not too skinny. I flashed her a quick smile over my shoulder and saw her grin back, blushing a bit at the ears. I sidled over to the tables again, this time stopping by the couple to whom I had been listening for the past few minutes.

“Excuse me,” I said gently.

The couple simultaneously raised their eyes to me. The wife smiled kindly, and the husband folded his hands on top of the table, questions in his eyes.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m new around here, and I was wondering if you could help me out for a minute.”

“Sure,” she said.

“Well, I was wondering what sort of stuff was around here. You know, what there is to do and such.”

The couple looked at each other. I had no interest in the entertainment that this town had to offer. I just wanted to give an excuse so they wouldn’t think that I was eavesdropping earlier.

“There’s not much in the way of fun around here,” the husband said. “It’s a really small town, and you’ve got to drive a while to get to anything worth doing. The nearest movie theatre, for example, is a good twenty minute drive away.”

I smiled. “That’s okay. I don’t mind driving. What is in this town, though?”

The wife glanced at her husband. Her face told me that these questions were difficult to answer. They were thinking hard about each one before they answered me. I didn’t think that they were trying to censor what they told me or something. I could tell that they honestly could not find enough in this town worth telling me about.

“There’s not much, really,” she said. “There’s this strip with the coffee shop, the grocery store, the pharmacy, the movie rental store, and a couple of locally-owned restaurants. All the rest is primarily housing.”

“Are the housing developments divided into neighborhoods?”

“Yes. There are seven major ones,” he said. “There are also two townhouse complexes. Most of the neighborhoods have townhouses too. This is a popular city for smaller families, new couples, and retired folks.”

Now I was getting where I wanted to go. This was working wonderfully. I decided to press them for more information, grinning invitingly as the wife added onto her husband’s statement.

“But the main neighborhoods are mostly houses. Some are nicer than others. Like Belmont Hills is a nicer one. It’s pretty big; it’s even got a community pool. Everyone goes there, even if they live in another neighborhood. And Greenview Estates, our neighborhood, is decent as well. Most of the families in our neighborhood have kids, so there’s a park with a playground. The adjacent neighborhood, Allen’s Meadow, is the only one in the town with a pond. That’s definitely one of the better neighborhoods.”

“Do you live in a neighborhood?” the husband asked shrewdly.

I let my grin spread across my face, but kept it from becoming a full smile. “Yes. I live in Allen’s Meadow. I don’t know any of my neighbors. What are the people like around here? Do you like your neighbors?”

“Yeah, they’re really nice.” She smiled back at me. “In fact, we’re house-sitting for one of our neighbors until they get back from vacation. Everyone around here is ready to help each other out in a pinch, that’s for sure.”

“That’s very nice of you,” I commented. “I’d think that house-sitting would be tedious. Really time-consuming, you know?”

The husband looked up at me, and he smiled. It looked sort of weird to see his skeptical expression finally crack. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to explain to Lizzie. She doesn’t understand just how much time it takes to take care of people’s houses. And cars.”

“John, I just think that it might be worth it, that’s all,” the wife, apparently named Lizzie said, her voice tighter. “They only live beside us, for goodness sakes. It’s not like you’ve got to drive all the way across the neighborhood. Honestly! It’s not taking too much of your precious time.”

I had all that I needed. Anyway, I figured that now would be as good a time as any to bow out of this conversation before it became a full-blown fight.

“Well, sir, ma’am, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. I appreciate your talking to me. I feel like I know a lot more now than I did before.”

I leaned forward and shook both of their hands, and then I turned and began to walk away.

“Wait!” Lizzie called. “You never told us your name!”

I quickly dissolved into the crowd, making sure that Lizzie thought that I simply hadn’t heard her. I slipped behind the counter and slid through the employee side entrance. On the other side of the door, there was a young man, about twenty, smoking a cigarette and talking on his cell phone with his back to me. I meandered silently around the back of the coffee shop and hurried to find Greenview Estates. Maybe I would pay a call on Lizzie and John’s neighbor.

~*~

I had learned many things throughout my life. Some of those went into an arsenal of strategies that I used to get away with anything. In order to skim by under the radar, one must use the proper strategies. So, in my mind, I had compiled my own personal rule book for life.

Rule Number One:  Never do anything unless you’re sure that you can get away with it. Period. The end. If you can’t get away with it, then there’s no reason to be stupid and do it anyway. That’s just dumb.

Rule Number Two:  Don’t be seen. I’m not talking about dressing in all black and sneaking around in the dead of night like a ninja or something. What I mean is that you must know how to be seen, but not seen. People can lay eyes on you all they like; you are only vulnerable if they recognize you.

That brings me to Rule Number Three:  Don’t be recognized. Again, I’m not talking about avoiding people entirely. I just mean that you’ve got to avoid getting ingrained in their heads. They can know your face. That’s fine. They can like and trust you. That’s even better. But, the idea behind staying away from recognition is that, sure they know who you are, but they don’t know you. They don’t know a thing about you, that is. Anyone could describe me. I sort of stand out, appearance-wise. Flaming red hair, piercing green eyes, and alabaster pale skin were not really the norm. But, the thing is that I follow my own rules.

Rule Number Four was probably the most important rule that there could be:  Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself. I learned very fast to be invisible. Even though I looked very unique, I did nothing that would set me apart from the next guy that a person would see on the street. And that requires intense observation. It may not seem too hard, but before I entered that coffee shop, I had staked out the town from the woods. I had to see how people here lived. If teenaged boys walked around with earbuds in their ears more often than not, then I would have to do the same. If polo shirts were the trend here, then I would have to go shopping. But before I went shopping, I would have to see the logo by the lapel of the shirt. I would have to be wearing the same brand as everyone else. I could not stand out. Individuality was completely taboo.

There were many other rules in my personal Ten Commandments, but those were by far the most vital. If I could not follow those four rules, then I was as good as sunk. I might as well leave and never come back, because there’s no way that I would be able to live in a place after I break any of those four rules. My life depended upon my ability to slide behind the public eye. I don’t mean that I’m going to try to force my way into their society like a gust of wind; no, I’m going to mesh with them and eventually get to where I need to be, like the tides of the sea. In my case, the best way to blend in was to put my face out there. Get to know people, like Lizzie and John in the coffee shop. I can usually wheedle whatever information that I need from people, but first, I’ve got to get on their good side. That was Rule Number Eight.

So, I carefully followed my own rules as I sauntered into Greenview Estates, looking for a house. There would be a car covered in salt parked outside in the driveway. A dog would probably bark when I came onto the lawn. There will probably be signs that children live in the house. That was more than I needed to know in order for my plan to work.

There it was; 1324, Ruby Rose Drive. I stood on the street in front of the house and assessed it for clues about the family.

It had a red brick front, as did most of the houses in this neighborhood. There was a nice little garden planted out front. Bushes and shrubs were the only plants to be seen, though, since it was still March, and the chill was a bit much for poor little flowers. The door was a deep shade of blue with a brass knob and knocker. The lawn was not quite green yet, but the grass was starting to grow again. The garage door was closed, as I had fully expected. The front door was outfitted with a deadbolt, along with the usual door knob locks. I doubted that those were both ever used at once, though. There were two concrete steps leading up to the elevated door. The steps flowed into a short path that went between the lawn and the garden, leading to the driveway. The asphalt on top of which the car was parked was decorated with week-old chalk drawings of flowers, sunshine, and rainbows. And sure enough, the car was coated in salt.

There was enough road salt to dissolve the entirety of Antarctica spread onto this car. I could not even tell what make or model it was. I could barely see a maroon sheen underneath all of the dingy white. I took it to mean that the car was a shade of red. That car was in sad shape. It really needed a wash. I figured that a harmless trip to the carwash couldn’t hurt a bit. If anyone asked, I’d say that Lizzie and John took time out of their busy schedules to wash it. (Aren’t they so sweet?) I walked a slow circle around the car and eventually came to the conclusion that it was backed in, the hood pointed toward the road. There was a faint outline of the door from when the owners had last wrenched it open through all the grime. I grabbed a raised bump in the metal that I took to be the handle, and pulled. To my surprise, the door opened.

Idiots, I thought. Who would leave their car unlocked while they go on vacation? Well, obviously these people would. All the same, it just made things easier for me. I looked inside and was glad to know that they were not so stupid as to leave the keys in the car. I pulled back and shut the door.

I could have hot-wired it easily, but that always left a bit of a mess in the car. Besides, Rule 6 specifically banned hot-wiring cars; tearing half the dash off to get them to start was far too conspicuous.

The keys to the car would undoubtedly be inside the house. The deadbolt was locked, and I didn’t have anything with which I could pick it. So now, I needed a key to find a key. This was going to be all kinds of fun.

I had had to do things much more complicated than this in the past, but it didn’t make it any easier. I headed up the steps and lifted the doormat. No key. Okay, so they weren’t as dumb as I thought they were. I checked the empty flower pots on either side of the door. Nothing. No sweat; I was just getting started.

After about ten more minutes, I had come to the conclusion that these people might not know how to lock a car, but they do know how to hide a house key. I had checked the doorframe, the knocker, the mailbox, the garden, the shutters, and various patches of grass. And no key. I sat down on the steps and thought for a moment. Then, I immediately knew where to look next. I was running on sheer confidence as I walked over to the garage. It was an automatic door with a keypad. The cover for the keypad had its hinges at the top so that it could be lifted up for the code to be typed in. I lifted the cover, and out fell a brass key. What a brilliant hiding place! They had officially earned my respect.

I went over to the door and unlocked it. Sure enough, as the doorknob turned, a dog started barking. I pushed the door open a crack, and a wet black nose shoved its way into the slit. I could tell that the dog didn’t view me as a threat; his barks were happy, and there were no growls.

I entered the house. It was pretty on the inside. The floors were hardwood in the foyer, and carpet on the stairs and in the adjoining room. I reached down and scratched the antsy cocker spaniel behind the ears as I walked into the kitchen. The car keys were lying on the counter. The emblem on them told me that the car was a Ford Mustang. Not bad. Not bad at all.

I touched nothing else. Another one of my rules was to leave places as if you had never been there. I would not move anything, bump anything, or even spread fingerprints. I had no fingerprints. I was not overly concerned about the family noticing that I had been in their house. I had become so good at this that I could sweep in and out of places like a light breeze, leaving no traces of my presence. After scratching the dog once more, I left the house, shutting and locking the door behind me.

Once I managed to get into the car, it wasn’t so bad. The interior was tan leather. The owner of the car kept the inside looking much nicer than the outside. There was not a stain or scratch on the leather.

The key fit perfectly into the ignition. The engine hummed to life, and I pulled out of the driveway, not even bothering to buckle my seatbelt. Just a wash, I told myself. But, all the same, I had a feeling that I would hold onto this car for a while.