Free Theft by BK Loren

me. “Light!” I whisper and point, “Light!”
    â€œI see the light.”
    â€œI’m not getting caught, Zeb. I am not getting caught and you’re a liar, you told me we weren’t stealing anything, damn it, Zeb.”
    He cranes his neck backward, eyes to the stars, shaking his head. Then he looks down at me. “You think I’d do anything to get you in trouble? I wouldn’t get you caught, no way.” He offers me a hand up. “I’d take the blame completely, Willa, you know I would. I would never do anything to hurt you.” I offer him my hand. He pulls me up. “I told you I was saving the dog, and I keep my word, don’t I? I keep my word to you.” He brushes off the front of my clothes, combs the hair back from my face with his fingertips. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”
    I stand there, shaking, confused.
    â€œOkay,” he says after a while. “All right.” He pats my bottom, something he knows I hate, and he points me toward home. “Go. I’ll figure a way on my own.”

    I walk a few steps away from him, then stop and look over my shoulder. He takes out some kind of tool from his pocket, walks toward the back door, bends down to the doorknob, begins working on it.
    â€œZeb,” I whisper, just loud enough so he can hear. “How do you know they’re not home?”
    He’s absorbed, doesn’t answer, and then there’s a click , and the back door swings open. The light turns off in the bathroom, and I watch the shadow of a man pass by.
    â€œShit, Zeb, no!” I run to him and grab his hand, pulling him my direction. “I saw someone Zeb! I saw someone in the bathroom!”
    â€œYou didn’t see anyone.”
    â€œI was standing right there and I saw someone . Come on.” He yanks his hand from my grip, tells me to go home. He takes a step into the house, and I tug with all my weight against him.
    â€œDamnit, Willa, let go. There’s no one here.”
    I hear a creaking sound like wood underfoot. My eyes go wide.
    â€œThat was me.” He points down to his feet, makes the creaking sound again.
    â€œBut I saw someone.”
    Zeb walks into the house with me hanging from his arm, backpedaling against him. Inside, we both stop. The place is quiet. No lights anywhere.
    â€œWhat if Chet has a gun?” I ask.
    â€œHe can’t have a gun because he is not here .” Zeb shakes his head. “Jesus, Willa, you’re acting like a regular kid. Just— git .”
    A regular kid is about the worst thing Zeb could ever call me. So I take a deep breath and steel myself against my own will. “Okay. I’m in ,” I tell him.
    He looks at me for too long a time, then smiles. “What if someone’s home?”
    â€œThere’s no one home here, Zeb. You can see, there’s no one home.” I let go of his hand and lead the way into the house, still shaking inside.
    We stand in the middle of Chet and Dolly’s living room now, inside the forbidden house with its forbidden yard. There’s
something smothering here, like the air in the place is yellow and damp. The wood paneling turns the living room dark as a cave, but there’s a little scalloped wooden shelf above their curtains. It’s just a foot or so below the ceiling, and it’s jammed with stuffed animals and elves and ceramic figurines, a circus of sad, big-eyed animals glaring down from Thatcher heaven. I think they’re supposed to look playful or cute. But they look like little monsters, evil things.
    â€œFreaky, huh? Like little goblins,” Zeb says. He never says anything like that, and it sends a goose bump chill tickling my neck. He laughs. Just then, the automatic light timer clicks loudly, and a light comes on in the bedroom. “Oh, look, someone’s home,” he says.
    I jerk my head that direction, and he laughs again. “Come on, Zeb, cut it out!”
    He