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I make my way to the back door and open it. I move into the garage. The police sirens grow closer with every second that passes. I have to make a run for it. My car is parked a street back, so I begin running through the backyard to take the most direct route even though it’s risky. The fence at the back is high and hard to climb, and any number of neighbors could see me and report me.
I run as fast as I can as I turn and look over my shoulder. I see the police cars arriving at the house. I dart behind a large tree as flashlights shine into the backyard. I take several deep breaths while I wait for my chance to jump the fence and disappear into the darkness.
If I admit it to myself, I love the excitement of the police being here. I love how my heart is racing. I love the thrill of getting caught. I just don’t like actually getting caught.
The lights turn away from me and move toward the other half of the yard. I t
ake one more deep breath before I run toward the fence that is ten feet or so in front of me. There is no turning back now. No place to hide. I have to make it over the fence that towers over me as quickly as possible before they decide to shine their flashlights back in my direction.
I reach the fence as beads of sweat pour off my neck. I run, jump, and grab hold of the large tree branch that is hanging over the fence from the neighbor’s yard. I begin using my arms and legs to climb over the wooden fence.
I finally reach the top and throw my legs over before jumping down. I’m not safe just because I’m on the other side. In fact, I will never be safe again. I will always be on the run. Always on alert that I could be caught.
I begin running through the neighbor’s yard. I trip and almost fall over a tree branch that I didn’t see in the dark, but I keep running. I run until I reach the neighbor’s gate. I carefully open it, hopeful that it doesn’t squeak or make a sound, and then I make it through. I quickly shut it, and then I’m in the clear. It’s a straight shot to my car.
I don’t run now that I’m in clear view of the neighbors. Instead, I walk as calmly as I can toward my car. I quickly start it up and then drive at a normal speed, away from the area.
I stole again. I’m a thief. I don’t even care about the money or things that I steal. I live for the rush I just experienced. I just don’t know how to get this feeling without stealing. If I could find a way, I would never look back at this lifestyle again.
* * *
Five Years Earlier—Asher
My heart is racing. It always does on a night like this. The sun is just beginning to set. Before it rises again in the morning, I’m going to have a sweet-ass new car, and I’ll be halfway to Mexico where I will sell it and then do it all over again.
I put my headphones on and then flip the hood of my sweatshirt up while I sit on the bench outside the dealership, waiting for the rest of the straggling employees to leave. The music is loud and steady. I try to use it to steady my heart, but I know that nothing is going to be able to do that. Not until I have the car in my possession, and I’m long gone.
So I sit and wait, hiding my face beneath the shadows of the hood. If employees drive by the bench, they will just think I’m waiting for the bus. They won’t remember me. They never do. The few times I was caught were because I had been speeding after I stole the car or had friends who ratted me out. Neither is a mistake that I will repeat again.
I watch the last employee leave for the night, which leaves me exactly one hour until the janitor comes to clean. It’s not quite dark, but it’s dark enough to not draw too much attention to myself. I wait two more songs to ensure that no one is coming back because they forgot something inside, and then I get up, avoiding eye contact with the woman who just sat down on the bench next to me.
I walk slowly and carefully with my head down, making sure to avoid my face being caught on the security cameras that circle the outside of the dealership. I reach the door and then put on gloves before pulling out a lock pick. I enter the code I already gathered into the alarm system to prevent the alarm from going off and use the pick to unlock the door.
The door lock is loose and is easy to pick. It practically pops open on its own. I push the door, careful to keep my head down. Even though the alarm system is down, the cameras are still fully operational. So, I have to ensure that my head remains down to keep them from learning my identity. To stay out of jail.
I walk straight to the Lamborghini that is sitting in the middle of the showroom. The keys are, of course, not in it. I could spend minutes that I don’t have searching for the keys, or I could hot-wire it. I go for option two.
I hot-wire the car, and then I get ready for the part that really gets my heart racing. The part that I live for. I stomp on the gas, going full speed ahead. I slam through the glass and drive as fast as I can away from the dealership.
I stole the car even though I don’t need the money. Even though I don’t need the car. Just because I want the freedom to feel how I do right now. I just want to live.
* * *
Present—Sloane
Asher finishes his story. “That’s why I’m dressed the way I am. That’s why I cut my hair off. I’m never going to be just a surfer. I’m always going to be part thief, no matter that I don’t actually steal cars anymore. That is what the police think of me. I’m a thief.
“You knew that I was trying to steal you from Wes. But you don’t treat me like I’m the monster that I am. You act like I’m just a normal person. You need to know that this is who I am. I’m a thief. This is me.”
I nod, trying to take in what he said. “I know you are a thief. I’ve always known. Now, I just know how much of a thief you really are. But it doesn’t matter. We aren’t really married. Not in the way that counts. I’ve kept the story out of the news. I’ve just been telling everyone you were sick with the flu this week. No one knows where you really were.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t understand why it matters that you understand me. That you understand that I steal because I have to. I need that rush. I need that adrenaline boost that nothing else gives me. I need to feel alive. I need to fill a void that has never properly been filled. And stealing often does that for me.”
He lifts my chin up to make sure I’m looking at him. “But I need you to know that I need you more.” He hesitates a second and then says the thing that both of us have been avoiding for days, “I love you, Sloane.”
“I love you.”
Three simple words with so much meaning.
