Unloaded- Chapter One

RICHARD LAUGHED WHEN I PULLED OUT THE GUN.

      “What is this, some sort of half-assed robbery?” he said, snickering.
      I glared at him, my hands itching to grab at his throat and choke his Spanish accent off of the face of the earth. I still had some things to learn, this being my first break-in, but he didn’t have to laugh. I mean, after all, everyone knows robbers always have guns on them.
      His brown eyes rushed through a rare moment of seriousness as his fingers quickly disassembled the pistol.
      “Listen,” he said, scooping out the bullets, “you never bring a loaded gun to a break-in. If you ever get caught on a job, and they find this on you, you probably aren’t even going to court. You’re permanently screwed.” He thrust the bullets into my hand, which I shoved into my sweatshirt pocket.
      “So how’s an empty one much better?” I retorted bitterly.
      “Listen, Harpy-”
      “Harper.”
      “Whatever. It’s because bullets mean you came to kill someone. No bullets means you just wanted to threaten them. Plus, if your finger slips and you pull the trigger, it’ll be hard to explain why you murdered someone. Which you can bet is not an easy thing to explain.”
      I tried to cover my face with my long brown hair in embarrassment. As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point. I quickly threw the bullets over the fence.
      “Let’s get started with this already,” I grumbled, lifting my hood.
      “Gladly,” he replied, doing the same.
      We walked up the pathway to the huge, brick tudor, the light from the moon illuminating our steps. My first house, I chanted to myself eagerly.
      When we reached the front door, Richard allowed me to pass through first. I swiftly pulled a bobby pin from my hair, and my overgrown bangs flooded over my eyes as I twisted, bent, and jimmied the barrette every which way I could. Finally, the soft, metallic click I had been waiting for hit my ears.
      “We’re in,” I whispered to Richard, who had been impatiently standing over my shoulder as I picked the lock.
      I crept inside as Richard stood in front of the open door, ready to shout if trouble was coming.
         The inside of the house was extraordinary. Beautiful paintings and portraits lined the walls, reflecting off of the rich hardwood floors. End tables were scattered about, topped with flowers and vases.
      A breeze wafted in and rustled the crystal chandelier. I snapped out of my dazed reverie and headed to the largest bouquet. With a swipe of my hand, I sent it crashing to the floor. I fished a couple glistening dollar coins from the potting soil, but I knew I would need more.
         My sneakers squeaked on the waxed wooden floor as I stepped into the living room. An ornate marble fireplace sought all attention, even from the chairs, which were all placed for a perfect view of the roaring fires that had so obviously taken place. I headed straight to the mantle, which held a large glass bowl. I stuck my hand inside, rewarding with a fistful of tens.
      Grinning, I took the bowl with both hands and ran through the house to the front door where Richard sat idly picking at his fingernails. I shoved the bowl in his face. “Jackpot!”
      Richard’s eyes widened as he looked inside. “Damn!” he exclaimed.
           I nodded excitedly. “There has to be at least two hundred in here!”
      “Maybe even three,” Richard said with a dreamy sigh.
      I snapped my fingers in front of his face, startling him from his daydream. “The Murphys are going to come home any second.” I reminded him. “Let’s get out of here and count it in the van.”
      “Right,” he replied, grabbing the bowl and running off. I rolled my eyes before closing the door and walking to the edge of the driveway.
         The back of the van was open, so I easily climbed inside before slamming the door shut. Richard crouched on the floor, meticulously counting out the bills and separating them.
      “Split fifty-fifty?” I asked, pointing to the two piles he had made. He nodded, but not before I saw him pocket an extra twenty. I reached over the backseat and grabbed my bag, sweeping all of the money from the pile closest to me inside.
      “One twenty for each of us, plus some random change,” Richard reported as he shrugged off his hoodie and jammed a baseball cap onto his head. I pulled off my own sweatshirt, and let my hair loose from its ponytail.               “Nice. Toss me the keys and I’ll drive,” I replied, hopping over the backseat.
        As soon as Richard threw the keys up to me, I turned them into the ignition. The car hummed and the headlights brightened, and I drove along the road in silence.
        Finally, the car rolled up to the intersection of Proctor and Dale and Richard said to stop. He jumped out the back, shoving a wallet in his pocket as he did.
        “How nice of you to thank me,” I grumbled, shifting the car into gear again and driving off in the direction of Dale Avenue.
        The trees hung low on the long, winding road. Swamp grasses spilled onto the cracked tarmac, and twisting driveways lead to large farmhouses, which topped high hills.
        A black mailbox loomed ahead. Automatically, I thought, 49. A sky-blue one followed in quick succession. 51. A chipped red one approached slowly and I smiled. Home, I thought, pulling into the driveway.

* * *

      I walked through the door, and immediately I could tell something was off. The mirror in the hall was hung askew and the doormat was strewn in the center of the floor. Nervously, I walked towards the kitchen. My heart skipped a beat when I opened the door.
        John lay in a pool of blood on the floor that clotted at his throat in an evil curve, the room filled with blood and it rose to my ankles as the sticky red liquid dragged me through the floor. It was dragging me down, pulling my head under, pulling me down until I grabbed to something, hanging on to it desperately until it dipped under the surface and to eye level. I gasped for air that wasn’t there, drowning, drowning, drowning in their blood, because I was looking straight in the eye of my dead child.
        My eyes flashed open and I sat upright in bed. The images flashed across my vision-- the deep pool, John’s limp body, and Aaron’s glassy eyes.
        It took a long time to fall back asleep.