THE BOY NEXT DOOR: A Novella Page 3

  I pored over each photograph for an obsessively long time, looking for any clues, any hints that I could read into. When my vision started to blur from the lack of blinking, I rubbed my eyes and decided enough was enough. I knew I had to disengage for my own sanity.

  I went to close the laptop when my mind drifted back over the day’s events. Curious, I clicked on the Facebook search bar and typed in Lacey, Austin, IL. A few Lacey’s came up, but none were from Austin… none matched. Letting out a frustrated breath, I closed the laptop and laid back down, pulling the covers over myself.

  Guess she was telling the truth after all which means I completely lost it at the one person in this town who has actually been nice to me.

  Way to go Kim.

  6

  The Tin

  Bright sunlight streamed in through the window, waking me. I blinked the sleep from my eyes, momentarily disoriented. Must have forgotten to close the blinds last night.

  My head felt groggy as if I hadn’t had enough sleep. I started wondering why that might be when the previous day’s events crashed into my mind.

  Along with it, those pictures of Chris and Nessa on Facebook.

  I sat up, irritably moving the hair from my face and looked at my phone. No messages, no missed call from him. Feeling uneasy, I decided to take matters into my own hands and dialled Chris’s number. I expected it to ring, but no — straight to voicemail.

  By now, I was ready to admit I was concerned. There was a gnawing ache in my stomach that I tried to put down to hunger although I knew better. I was debating if I should send Chris a text when my door burst open and a small figure bounced in, waving something red in my face.

  “KIM! Look what I got for my birthday!” he yelled exuberantly.

  It was Mark, my now six-year-old brother, and the red thing trying its best to make me cross-eyed was what we called a lucky envelope. Parents always gave one to their kids on their birthdays, inside would be some dollar bills. Probably sounds mercenary to the rest of the world, but it’s how us Asians celebrate this day.

  “Wow, OK. That’s a lot of excitement for this early in the morning.”

  He continued. “Yeah, but there’s ten bucks inside!”

  “Yay. You’re rich,” came my bland response. I knew I should drum up some enthusiasm, but I just wasn’t feeling any inside. Luckily, Mark didn’t notice.

  “Ma said to get up. She needs help getting ready for my party. Did she tell you all my friends are coming?”

  “From the Bluff?”

  “Nope. From here.”

  He said it so innocently, but I felt a lurch in my stomach. Suddenly deciding he was done, Mark charged back outside, yelling down the stairs as he went, “she’s up now, Ma!”

  I swung my legs out of bed and felt a wave of jealousy overcome me. How could my kid brother have friends already? What was I doing wrong?

  I headed to a chair where my robe was slung messily over it when… a book tumbled from the bookcase onto the wooden floor.

  It landed with a loud bang that had me jumping from the sound.

  Weird.

  Mark hadn’t been anywhere near the bookcase, so I had no idea what could have disturbed it. As I stared at the book, the air felt charged with a sudden tension and the hairs on the back of my neck rose. I froze. What was happening?

  I must have been standing there like that a full ten seconds before I shook myself out of it.

  Don’t be stupid, Kim. Nothing is happening!

  So why then was I feeling so strange? I walked towards the book determinedly, my bare feet slapping across the floor when I stubbed my toe on something — hard.

  “OW!” I hissed, nursing my toe as I hopped on one foot.

  A corner of a floorboard had somehow risen up by a good two or three inches. For a moment, I considered it could have been the book — but that was still lying several feet away.

  More weirdness.

  I inspected my toe - the nail was fine but I’d be getting a bruise there for sure. Sucking in my breath from the pain, I grabbed a flat-ended screwdriver that I had been using to hack open my removal boxes with the full intention of bashing the floorboard back down, when… a flash of red from beneath caught my eye.

  I pried at the floorboard. To my surprise, it came up easily as if it had been moved a million times before. Shoving the wood out of the way, my surprise grew when I saw the cookie tin lying in the space below.

  It was a secret hideout!

  I picked up the tin, setting it carefully on the floor. It was round, with some Danish brand on the lid. I was pretty sure we’d eaten these before, so there was nothing special about the tin itself. I was apprehensive but excited — what if there was gold in there? Something I could use to help my folks out of the funk we were in? But then my thoughts turned darker. What if it was something incriminating? I’d seen shows before, about people finding dead people buried in their basements. Though the tin wasn’t big enough to house an entire body, it could easily contain body parts.

  I shook my head, clearing away the fog of doom that had descended into my brain and made a mental note to stop watching Dateline.

  I pried the lid open.

  Thankfully, there were no body parts. Inside there was an odd assortment of things: some pins with “save our library!” on them, a handful of leaflets from the local church, a somewhat faded pink ribbon, and several handwritten notes, neatly clipped together. As a treasure stash, to say it was disappointing would be an understatement.

  Unclipping the notes, I took out the first one. It was written on paper similar to the exercise books we had used in high school. I started to read the elegant handwriting.

  Janet came round with Lucas today. She’d baked cookies and Lucas had made me a really sweet card though he didn’t say much. I’ve been babysitting him since he was two so I know he isn’t shy with me - I wonder if it was because I looked different? When Mom asked about Stan, how she hadn’t seen him at the diner recently, Janet just said he’d been getting stressed at work and left it at that. We both picked up on her unhappiness but respected her wishes not to pry. Soon after they went back home though, we heard doors slamming and raised voices coming from next door. We seem to hear it more and more often now. —A

  That was all that was written on the first note. I frowned, wondering if the Lucas “A” mentioned was the little boy I’ve been seeing before deciding it must be since she specifically said “next door”. On the other side of us, there was just an elderly woman who had been there for centuries. Her kids were fully grown and had long moved away. She was divorced and used to be a teacher, so no diner job for her, if that’s what the note alluded to. Also, I was pretty sure her name was Brenda. I moved the note to the back and started on another.

  The unhappiness seems to be catching. Even my parents have started bickering now. It’s always over the same thing. Dad wants to avoid all mention of our problems — particularly in front of me — but Mom insists on talking about them. She thinks we’ll only get through it all if we work together, as a family. I can see both points of view so I try not to take sides, but I do think these things are better weathered when supported and discussed. — A

  There were no dates on the notes, so I couldn’t see a timeframe. I wondered how long the gap was in-between them but there was no real way of telling. Surprised, I realized I was hooked on my discovery, wanting to see what their problems were, and how it all turned out.

  I stared around the room, as if the furniture “A” had left could offer me some clues. My eyes swept the desk and in particular, its two drawers, which I knew were empty, as they were the first thing I had investigated on moving in. They carried on sweeping the room until they reached the bookcases and fixed on that brass plaque with the foreign words.

  I must look that up.

  But first… I took out the third note.

  They’re fighting all the time now. They try to pretend everything’s fine, but I hear them at night, when they think I’m a
sleep. It’s even worse in the day. I’ll walk into a room and find only silence. Sure, they’ll smile at me, but I know they were arguing only moments before. It’s a terrible thing to know that you have caused this. That it is your fault your parent’s marriage is imploding. Oh, they won’t ever say that to me, but I know the truth. They used to be so happy and now they can’t even look at each other… It’s unbearable. — A

  I turned the note around, but that was all there was.

  Saddened by what I had just read, I slid the note to the bottom of the stash, desperate to read more when Mom called up the stairs.

  “What is the hold up young lady! I need help with the party!”

  “I just have to shower, and I’ll be right down,” I called down to her.

  I put everything back, mentally reminding myself to check back later.

  “Don’t forget, you can’t wash your hair!” she yelled up.

  I rolled my eyes. This was another of Mom’s crazy superstitions — apparently it’s unlucky to wash your hair on someone’s birthday as it means you are flushing good fortune down the drain. I’m pretty sure it’s equally unlucky to have to walk around with greasy hair all day, but that’s just me.

  7

  The Party

  After my discovery, the morning flew by.

  I came down to find the kitchen counters covered with all kinds of food. Mounds of fried won ton dumplings and spring rolls competed for space as Mom rolled out pizza dough next to them. I was put on sandwich duty, but by my tenth or twelfth one, I was happy never to see another slice of ham or cheese again. There was so much to do that I completely forgot about anything other than the task at hand.

  Though we were pretty careful with our spending now, birthdays were the one day a year Mom loved to splurge. Something about it bringing good fortune.

  I poured out several bowls of chips, including Mark’s favorite cheese puffs — they always made mom freak out, it was the way they left greasy orange streaks over his face — and set them around the living room where most of the day’s events were taking place. Our old place had a huge open plan living room and kitchen, but this house was smaller and the kitchen, separate, so it seemed easier to put the food in the room where the kids would be hanging out. I was hoping there wouldn’t be a huge mess to clean up when it was over, but I knew that was a somewhat futile wish…

  In the corner sat a mountain of presents which Mark kept sneaking past. Pretty sure he believed that if he did it enough times, he would be able to see through the wrapping paper, into the gifts inside. My own present was right at the bottom. It was a remote controlled car he had drooled over earlier in the year. It came with customizable stickers and could go at three different speeds. I had gotten it before I knew we were broke. In hindsight, I probably should have returned it for a refund but I didn’t have the heart to take it back, not when I knew how much he wanted it. Besides, he didn’t know about our new financial situation, and we (my folks and I) had mutually agreed to keep it that way.

  At three pm, the party kicked off and a stream of people came through the doors. Mark hadn’t been lying about his friends — there were at least twenty kids playing with him. I recognized some of the parents as patron’s of Dad’s new church before it started to make sense. The Church! So this was how Mark had made his friends. Dad always took him with him, but I usually stayed home with Mom.

  The noise was deafening and I felt the beginnings of what was probably going to be a headache. Kids and sleepless nights plus boyfriend angst, just do not mix. Mark was bouncing around, over-excited as usual when he accidentally knocked one of Mom’s mirror charms from the wall. I lunged for it and managed to catch it just before it hit the ground, which was lucky really, since it was her favorite one, passed down by my Great-Grandmother who swore it kept her home spirit and bad fortune free. So far, it was doing a great job.

  Massaging my temple, I looked out at the blissfully empty back yard. It was a little too cold for the kids to be out, so it would make a perfect retreat for me. Grabbing a plate of food, I tugged on my jacket and stepped outside.

  The air was crisp with a hint of moisture. I looked up at the mottled gray sky, convinced that rain would be coming soon. The first leaves of fall crunched underfoot as I headed beneath a giant oak beside the fence. Leaning against the tree, I took a bite of a dumpling when a sound came from close by. A sniff.

  Moving my eyes to a gap in the fence, I peeked through to find the boy I saw the other night. What was his name in the note again?

  Lucas.

  He sat on the same bench, wearing just a T-shirt and jeans. They might even have been the same clothes he wore the last time I saw him. I couldn’t really tell. I frowned, feeling concerned.

  “Hey,” I called to him softly. “Aren’t you cold?”

  He jumped at my voice, startled, looking around him wildly. It occurred to me that I had scared him, which was the last thing I wanted.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I just came outside and saw you is all,” I said, hoping it would ease some of his tension. It seemed to work, as some of the wild look in his eyes disappeared, although he still seemed super on edge.

  “We just moved in next to you, a few weeks ago. You probably saw all the commotion. My name’s Kim,” I offered. He stared through the gap at me, assessing my intentions, but must have decided I didn’t seem much of a threat as his shoulders suddenly relaxed.

  “I’m Lucas,” he said quietly.

  Bingo! I smiled at him in encouragement, pleased with my sleuthing skills. There was something about him, how small and lonely he looked, that made my protective instincts come out. “You look like you’re around the same age as my brother, Mark. It’s his birthday today. He’s six.”

  Lucas shook his head. “I’m older. I’m eight.”

  This was a surprise. He really was small for his age. Mark wasn’t what you’d call a giant, but even he was bigger. I’m not sure what made me say the next words, but they came out of my mouth before I could reconsider them.

  “Do you want to come to our party? We have games and things?”

  Lucas shook his head, but I saw his eyes travel down to my plate. His pupils grew so large, I felt like he was the wolf, and I the unsuspecting prey in those old cartoons.

  “You sure? We have a ton of food.”

  He jumped onto his feet, quick as a flash. “I’ll check with my mom.” And then he was gone, running back into his house. I was surprised by how fast and quietly he moved, like he had cultivated a lifetime of being stealthy. I took another few nibbles of my food and then he was back, breath coming in quick, fast gasps from his hurry.

  “She said OK.”

  The fence was about chest height for me, but he dragged a large, upturned flower pot against it, and using it as a boost, he was climbing over the fence before I knew what was happening. Awkwardly, I helped him over.

  “I thought you were going to go round the front and use the door, but I guess this works too,” I said, surprised. He didn’t answer, waiting beside me to lead the way. Shrugging, I started in. Lucas followed, as quiet as a mouse.

  When we entered the house, Mark showed only a moment of surprise.

  “Who’re you?” he asked, so directly I cringed inwardly.

  “This is Lucas,” I said, jumping in to rescue him. “He lives next door.”

  “Oh,” Mark said, studying him. “Hi. I’m going to get some food, coming?”

  And just like that, they were apparently friends, as Lucas followed him to the spread inside. As they helped themselves to food, Mark was talking a mile a minute, catching him up on everything that had happened prior to his arrival. Lucas didn’t seem to say much. Then again, Mark wasn’t really giving him a chance to. He seemed real shy, and just nodded to Mark’s comments here and there as he shoved food into his mouth.

  I left them to it and went to help Mom, who was rounding up the other kids so we could start unwrapping the presents shortly.

  I had been pret
ty good about not focusing on my own problems up until now, but an unwanted image of Chris and Nessa came flying into my head. Biting my lip, I checked my cell. The blank home screen taunted me.

  No messages. No missed calls. Nada.

  It was all I could do not to hit redial, but I had already done that this morning. It was his turn to call. I couldn’t be that girl, the one who harassed her boyfriend every time he went out without her, but I couldn’t be the one who sat waiting by the phone either.

  A hiss of anger escaped my lips. Whatever. I’d just focus on ensuring Mark had a good time. He could be pretty annoying sometimes, but he wasn’t a bad kid. Not really.

  He opened the presents to ooo’s and aaah’s, but I was proud to say the biggest response came from mine. When Mark saw what it was, you could not keep him still. The kid bounced up and down so hard, I swear the lights started shaking. Even Mom was impressed.

  “That was very generous of you, dear,” she said.

  I just shrugged, embarrassed. “Got it before the move,” I mumbled in response. She didn’t make a big deal out of it, but gave me a quick hug.

  The rest of the afternoon passed by in a blur of musical chairs, hide and seek, and more food. If anyone asked, I’d deny it, but I found myself having a decent time. There was something so honest and wholesome about seeing young kids playing.

  Before I knew it, it was home time. As kids started being picked up by their parents, I went to find Lucas, intending to walk him home. I know he only lived next door, but it was pretty dark already and I wouldn’t want my brother out there alone.

  The remaining kids were hanging out in the front reception so I figured he’d be there too, but I couldn’t find him. I tapped Mark — still holding his remote car — on the shoulder.

  “Has Lucas gone home already?” I asked.

  Mark shook his head. “No. I think he went to the kitchen.”

  It was as I approached the kitchen door, which had a direct view inside, that I saw Lucas hovering by a plate of barbecue pork buns. Asian or not, those were always the favorite with a crowd — and I guess for Lucas too, as he slipped a few into his pockets.