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To distract myself, I look at my phone. “Still waiting for your Arctic dream?” Ollie asks, leaning in. The Arctic dream, aka the Goodworth Conservatory project, is something I’ve been looking forward to for a long time. Applications open every three years, and the next slot is rumored to open in the next month or so.
I flip him off. “Fuck off.”
He just smirks.
“You’ll get it, don’t worry,” Ed assures me.
* * *
“Someone is in our house,”Ollie says as we turn around the bend to the clearing where our cabin sits. “I swear I turned the lights off when we left.”
“Yeah, like the car in the driveway isn’t a total giveaway,” I say sarcastically.
“Motherfucker.” Ed gets out of the truck and comes around to check on the car. It’s a compact hatchback and isn’t exactly the car you want when you’re driving up such a steep slope.
“Well, whoever it is, he’s pretty fucking stupid to come up here without reinforced tires,” I say.
“Fucking thieves,” Ed mutters, sulking off to the car. He checks it. “Empty.”
“They’re inside,” I say.
“Who the fuck would want to steal from us?” Ollie says, scratching his head.
“There are a lot of weirdos in the world. Dad warned us about them,” Ed says in that quiet tone of his that scares me sometimes. “I have my shotgun in the bedroom. I’ll go get it.”
“Wait,” I say, blocking his path. I glance back at the car. I can’t make out the exact model in the darkness, but it looks so familiar for some reason. “Isn’t it possible that you’re overreacting a little?”
Ed rolls his eyes. “I don’t have time for this, Artie. There’s an intruder in our fucking house.”
Ollie scratches his head. “I don’t know about that, bro. Maybe we should warn them? Maybe they wandered up here by mistake?”
Ed points his thumb at the signboard pinned to a tree that reads,Private Property. Trespassers will be prosecuted.“I think that’s enough warning.”
“Ed’s right. They should know what they’re messing with,” Ollie says, cracking his knuckles. He takes a Swiss knife from his pocket, and before Ed and I can react, slashes through the tires. For good measure, he blows out all four. “There. Now they can’t get away.”
I shake my head. “This is ridiculous. Let’s just call the cops.”
“No fucking way,” Ed says, running a hand down his thick beard. “This is our home. We deal with it ourselves.” Saying so, he hulks over to the house.
I glance at Ollie once before following them inside. As soon as we walk in, the faint and muffled sound of music greets us.
“What is that?” Ed says, scowling as he looks around, trying to identify the source of the sound.
“I think it’s coming from upstairs,” I say.
“Is that fucking Beyoncé?” Ollie says before I can identify the song.
“They’re obviously taunting us,” Ed says. He starts walking up the staircase.
“So no shotgun?” I ask, a brow raised.
“I think I can deal with the Beyoncé-loving thief on my own,” he says before resuming his climb. I look around the living room. The place looks exactly the way we left it, untouched. What kind of thief would keep their car parked outside for everyone to see, blasting music to announce their exact location?
Ed stands in front of my room, his ear pressed to the door. “He’s in there.”
“I’m breaking it,” Ollie says, raising his leg.
“That’s unnecessary. I just fixed it last week.” I turn the knob and the door opens.
