Chapter 6

The next night, long after the sun had set and after I’d spent half the day examining the house and neighborhood online, I donned my black sweatpants, sweater, and ski mask—none of which I had planned to use for another few months—and went downstairs. Ethan was sitting on the couch, watching some old sitcom on Netflix and snacking on a box of Halloween candy.

“What're you all dressed up for?” he asked. His eyes didn’t leave the screen.

“Breaking into a house.” I slipped on my grey sneakers and tied them tightly.

“Have fun.”

“Thanks.” I was out the door and into the cool night air. I darted down the empty roads—no one was out this late on a Tuesday night—and made it to Josh's house without any difficulty. I fished a piece of paper out of my pocket and tried to read its faintly inked outline in the dim light.

Josh's house may not have been sold recently, but I was able to do some digging and find an old realtor’s website with a floor plan of it. The two-story building had all the bedrooms on the top floor, as well as a small attic above. That was my target.

I ducked into the backyard and looked up, trying to find a way in. There was some ivy growing up the brick, and the windowsills jutted out enough that I could probably grab onto them, but such a feat would require the incredible upper body strength of a rock climber, not the mediocre arm strength of a hockey player with four leg days a week.

Fortunately, I spotted a ladder laying along the side wall. As carefully as possible, I picked it up and carried it to the back patio, where I turned it around and propped it up against the house. It made a brief, but loud, clanging noise as it hit against the roof. I paused and held my breath. When it became clear that no one else had heard it, I began to climb, moving as deftly as I could to minimize the sounds from a very, very loud ladder.

There was still no sign of life as I reached the roof and stepped onto the shingles. The attic’s window was the old-fashioned swinging kind with a latch on the inside and a hinge on the outside. Easy. I pulled out a multi-tool my aunt had given me before I'd left to college (I guess she thought Engineering was a lot more hands-on), flipped out the screwdriver and worked it on the hinge. It took a few tries, due to the age and some rust, but I was able to remove the hinge and pry the window right open.

Remembering photos I'd seen of the attic online, I stepped through the window and dropped two feet onto soft carpeting. I pressed the button on the multi-tool and turned on an LED light, revealing a small home office, with a desk and computer and several filing cabinets. I walked around them to reach a small winding staircase that brought me down to the end of the hall on second floor.

It was here that I stopped as the realization fully hit me: I had now broken into a house and was standing just feet away from where its residents were sleeping. What the hell was I doing? I looked back up at the staircase. I suddenly wanted to get out as quickly as possible. To turn around, go back through the window out the attic and run to the safety of my room. The room in my own house, where I didn't risk getting arrested—or worse—if I was caught here.

But I had to get some answers, and this was the place to look. Taking a deep, silent, breath, I ventured forward down the hall, knowing that a dangerous choice lay just ahead of me. From reading the floor plan online, I'd seen three bedrooms: a master on one side, facing the front yard, and two smaller ones on the other side, looking out at the back. The master was obviously for Josh's parents, so I needed to figure out which of the smaller ones was his.

As much as I wanted to use deduction—to psychoanalyze Josh's mind and determine whether he'd take the bedroom at the end of the hall or the one at the front—I knew it was a fruitless endeavor. So before journeying out I'd flipped a coin and landed on the one closest to the stairs leading up to the attic: the door to my immediate left.

Still trying to slow my heart rate down, I grabbed the door handle and slowly turned it. It let out a tiny squeak, as did the door when I pushed it open with as much a delicate touch as a scientist splitting an atom. I listened for any sound coming from the room, and when I was satisfied that I couldn't hear a peep I crept in, not daring to put my light back on.

This was an issue, as the room was pitch black. Even with my eyes now adjusted to the darkness, I couldn’t see a thing. I walked about five feet in and stood still as a statue, hoping I could make out something, anything in the room. When it became clear that I couldn't, I reluctantly clicked the penlight back on and shone it at the wall to my left.

It was further away than I'd expected, though the darkness might have been playing with my eyes. A finely carved armoire sat against it, with several picture frames of different sizes on top. Strange for a teenage boy’s room, but maybe it was something that had been passed down in the family.

I moved the light away from it and onto the long wall facing the back of the house. A blind was pulled all the way down over the window, and next to it was a nightstand with an alarm clock on it. Next to the nightstand was the bed. I brought my light to it and saw that it was a king size poster bed. No, that couldn't be right. The darkness was fooling my eyes. Why would Josh have needed a king size—

A loud snore erupted from the bed. I pulled the light away as it hit me: I wasn’t in Josh's room. I wasn't even in his brother’s room. I’d had the floor plan reversed.

I was standing in the middle of his parents’ bedroom.

“Oh shit,” I said, way too fucking loudly, into my ski mask.

Another snort from the bed, followed by a gasp. “Who’s there?”

My life flashed before my eyes before the adrenaline kicked in and I booked it out of the room on my tiptoes. My mind scrambled to remember the floor plan—the correct floor plan, and not a reverse of it—as I reached the hall. There was a closet to the right of the master bedroom, which was on my left. I took three strides and there it was. I swung it open, stepped inside and pulled the door shut. Two seconds later, I heard loud footsteps in the hall.

“Matty, what is it?” It was a woman’s voice coming from the master bedroom.

“I thought I heard…” More footsteps, now coming closer to me. “I could have sworn I heard someone.” There was a knocking on the wall directly opposite of me. “Hey Luke? Was that you?”

I heard a faint moan. “What? What time is it?”

“Sorry. Never mind.”

“Matt!” It was the woman’s voice again. “Are you okay? Are you sleepwalking?”

The closet door handle began to turn. Oh God. I stepped as far back into the closet as I could, pushing my back against the wall as a bunch of musty jackets and sweaters fell in front of me, providing cover for my body.

The door opened. I clenched my hands into fists. If he spotted me, I was going to have to overpower him and make a run for it. He was dazed and confused, I was alert and saturated with adrenaline. Still, it wasn't a confrontation I wanted to face.

He stood in the doorway in silence for what felt like an hour. “Yeah,” he finally said, speaking right towards me. “I don't—I thought I heard something. Guess I need to stop with the Indian food before bed, huh?”

The closet door closed, and the footsteps went back down the hall. I stayed in the closet, holding my breath and biting down on my tongue for God knows how long before finally feeling safe enough to venture back through the coats and out into the hall. Once again the house was silent. I turned to go back up to the attic but stopped myself. I’d heard Josh's dad knock on his brother’s door. I now knew which one was his, and I was ten feet away from it. No sense in coming all this way—and nearly getting caught—and not completing my mission.

I crept past the master bedroom and opened Josh's door as quietly as I possibly could. The blind was up and the dull orange streetlight coming o feet onto soft shag carpeting. o feet onto soft shag carpeting. om reading the floorplaniom reading the floorplaniom reading the floorplaniom reading the floorplaniom reading the floorplanithrough the window gave me enough illumination to see around. It was a clean room with a made bed and no clothes on the floor, which was consistent with his brother’s story that Josh was now at a school halfway across the country. Or maybe Josh was just really neat—he’d never seemed even slightly messy or sloppy whenever I’d been with him.

I walked over to the dresser next to his bed and opened the top drawers, shining my penlight in. Bingo. They were filled to the brim with t-shirts and underwear. Next row down had shorts and pants.

I opened up Josh’s closet, which also showed no signs of any missing clothes. The rack was packed with sweaters and jeans, and there were only a few empty hangers.

Under my ski mask I smiled, but it was more of satisfaction than of happiness. There was no way Josh had moved to start a new life and left his room like this. Unless his new life also consisted of a new wardrobe, there was much more to the story than what Luke had told me.

A door opened down the hall. I froze and looked for somewhere to hide. I had closed Josh’s door slightly, but anyone walking by would be able to see it was open.

Footsteps went right past the room. I heard another door open, and then the hall was briefly lit up before a door closed. The bathroom. Thank God.

I’d seen enough. Knowing I had little time before whoever was in the bathroom would come out, and likely be in a state where they’d notice an open door to a room that no one used, I tip-toed out of Josh’s bedroom. I closed the door quickly, causing it to make an audible clicking noise, and then booked it down the hall, up the winding staircase and into the attic. The window was still open. It took me a few seconds to climb through it, but when I turned back to close it I realized it’d take some time to put the hinge back on. Instead, I put it back in place as firmly as I could and hoped that this whole ordeal would be over long before anyone noticed that the window was off its hinges.

I carefully climbed back down the ladder. When I got to the bottom, I realized that taking it down and putting it back against the side of the house would create a large amount of clatter, and with at least one person in the house (half) awake, it was probably not worth the risk.

I left it there—let Josh’s family be confused as fuck about why a ladder was propped up against their house. Let them be paranoid. They’d lied to me about what had happened to their son, the boy I was falling in love with.

They were going to pay.