Robbie surveyed the house from across the street. It neatly mimicked the other houses that stretched down the length of the paved road with their carefully manicured lawns and clean white siding. Some of their windows glowed with light that shone in the darkness like faint stars up and down the street of the suburb, which was quiet except for a lone dog barking faintly in the distance. There were no lights on inside this particular house, Robbie observed. That was good. So was the empty driveway. Robbie clenched his hands into fists and shoved them deep into the pockets of his black hoodie. With a final glance at his surroundings, he placed one sneakered foot out onto the pavement and crossed to the other side.
He walked up the stone walkway to the steps leading up to the front door and reached under the bottom step to pull out a small key. Robbie stared down at the cool piece of metal in his hand and squeezed it until its jagged edges dug painfully into his palm. This was the last house, he reassured himself. After this, he would be able to leave this town, this state, behind. He mounted the stairs, looking from side to side into the night. Robbie clenched his teeth and pushed the key into the lock. A faint click, the turn of a handle, and he was in. A clock ticked excruciatingly loudly from some dark room deeper within. Robbie’s ears began to ring as he stood in the front hallway, straining to hear anything out of place in the otherwise silent house. There was no other sound, as he already knew there wouldn’t be. He had it on good authority that on Fridays the husband stayed out till past midnight at the bars while the wife stayed late visiting her sister. No one should be home until eleven at the earliest and Robbie’s light-up watch told him it was only eight-thirty; he was being paranoid.
Despite the darkness, Robbie easily maneuvered down the hall and up the carpeted stairs to the second floor. He stepped gingerly down the second floor hallway, willing his frantically beating pulse to slow. Once he got what he came for, he would be out of here and headed to Georgia, miles away, where his friend Matt waited for him. After this last job, he would have enough money to start over. Matt had promised Robbie a job working at the same place he did when he got to Georgia. Things would be better there.
Old wood creaked, protesting under his weight. The sound broke the still of the dark house and grated deafeningly on his eardrums, sending his heart into fierce pounding. The young man clenched his teeth, frustrated with himself for being so scared of making noise when there was no one around to hear him. He ran up to the top of the stairs and stomped his feet loudly against the floor for good measure. He smiled. More at ease, Robbie continued down a short hallway, stopping to gently press an open hand against the smooth wood of the first door he came to. He thought of the life that had been lived in the room beyond the door. His hand slid slowly down the door to dangle by his side once more. Robbie moved on to the next door which gaped open to reveal a small bathroom, visible only by faint moonlight drifting through the room’s single window. Robbie passed over the bathroom to the third door. He stretched out a hand and pushed it open. He flicked on a switch next to the doorway as he stepped inside. Faint yellow light burst out from a ceiling fan bulb and lit up the room.
Olive green paint covered the walls, accented by white trim. A shabby dresser leaned against the wall next to a queen sized bed with neatly tucked in cream colored sheets. A man’s ragged, heavy, brown jacket was thrown carelessly over an old armchair upholstered in a flowery pattern in one corner of the room. Robbie turned and looked into a large mirror that was part of an antiquated vanity desk. He stared at his reflection: a disheveled punk in old sneakers, faded jeans, black hoodie with the logo of his favorite rock band, brown eyes with dark half-moons under them, and short mousy brown hair. A large burn scar stretched over his cheek, almost reaching his right eye. The young man gave himself a lopsided sneer, then scowled. He got his sneer from his father. How many times had he seen that look? Robbie looked around his reflection at the dimly lit room behind him. He imagined the husband and wife who slept in this room together.
Robbie grabbed the small wooden stool in front of the vanity and hoisted it up over his shoulder like a bat. He swung. The mirror boy swung. The stool and its reflection met in a satisfying crash that shattered the reflective glass. Shards fell from the mirror frame and hit the desk below with a sound like hail smacking against pavement. Robbie threw the stool at the nearly empty frame with all his might. It cracked against the frame and fell listlessly to the floor. Emboldened, Robbie raided an elegant jewelry box decorated in a swirling flower motif and stuffed the most expensive-looking rings, earrings, and necklaces into his pockets. He yanked drawers out of the desk and dumped their contents to the floor in a heap, recovering a delicate ivory comb with a carved bird along its side and an antique silver hand mirror engraved with the initials E.C. Next he crossed over to the worn dresser and ripped clothes off their hangers, tossing each item to the floor behind him in reckless abandon. Once he was satisfied with the assortment of dresses, pants, blouses, and shirts piled on the carpet, Robbie stormed out to the hall and into the bathroom to retrieve a clothes iron from a cabinet under the sink. He reappeared in the bedroom, shoved the iron’s plug into an electrical socket near the floor, and turned the knob to its hottest setting.
Robbie returned to the dresser and retrieved an old shoe box from the bottom of its main compartment. He placed the box on the bed and opened it, revealing rolls of green and grey bills. Robbie took the cash and stuffed it into the pockets of his hoodie. Glancing up from his spoils, his eyes latched on to the down pillows propped against the headboard. Robbie grinned, feeling invincible, and pulled out his switchblade. The knife flicked up with a faint snicking sound. Robbie snatched up the nearest pillow and jabbed his knife into it, dragging the blade downward while pulling up on the fabric. Feathers spewed out and fell to the bed, some cascading down over the edge to drift gently to the floor. Robbie grabbed the next pillow and grinned wider as he gutted it.
The young man laughed mirthlessly and crossed to the other side of the bed. A nightstand displayed a white porcelain lamp and a family picture. Robbie picked up the framed photograph and looked at the three faces. A man, woman, and child stood in front of a Christmas tree. The woman was giving a huge smile to the camera while squeezing a little boy of about eight or nine in a hug. The boy was caught in mid-laugh, holding an action figure of some sort. The man stood a few feet away from the pair, looking towards the camera with impatience written in the set of his mouth. Robbie’s lips tightened into a thin line. He threw the frame to the floor and stomped on it, slamming all his weight down each time.
Chest heaving with his heavy breathing, the young man went back to the now hot iron and crouched in front of it. He turned to lower the flat face of the iron to a pink cotton nightgown, then pressed down as hard as he could, watching his knuckles turn white. He stared down at the iron intently, vision narrowing to the searing contact of hot metal and light pink fabric. He willed the heat to burn, to mar, to destroy what had once been sweet and innocent. Smoke curled up around the appliance in his hand and a sharp stench filtered in through Robbie’s nostrils. After a few more seconds, he lifted the iron to see a large, charred hole burnt through the nightgown. With grim determination, Robbie moved on to a man’s blue striped dress shirt. He was only partially satisfied after burning through half the clothes pile, but he finally stopped, yanked the cord out of the wall socket, and tossed the iron to the floor.
The young man plopped down onto the bed and put his face in his hands. He was suddenly exhausted. Robbie closed his eyes and listened to his heartbeat. A faint thump came from the doorway. Robbie shot up and whirled around. A woman stood just inside the room, eyes flicking about the space, taking in the chaos. Those eyes at last settled on Robbie. Adrenaline rushed through his body, making time seem to slow. Neither spoke.
Finally, the woman opened her mouth, voice weak and tremulous, “Robbie?”
Robbie held his breath.
The woman took a few hesitant steps into the room arms reaching out to the young man, stepping over broken glass to come toward him. Robbie backed away and the woman stopped, lowering her arms slowly, looking as if she were lost in a dream.
“Oh, Robbie, I just knew you’d come back. Happy birthday, sweatheart. Now, come on down to the kitchen and I’ll give you your cake and present. I found a candle that says ‘16’ on it and everything. I’ll light it so you can make a wish, like you always do.” Her words rushed out faster and faster. The woman’s eyes flicked desperately back and forth across the young man’s face, searching, pleading for a reply.
“I’m not here for cake, mom.” Robbie’s voice hung in the gap between them, cold and certain. It was just like her, Robbie thought bitterly. Even now, with the bedroom torn apart and broken, she was desperately trying to ignore it, desperately trying to shut out what was right in front of her.
“But honey, your father will be home in an hour or so and then we call all celebrate together--”
“I don’t want to see that son of a bitch ever again!” Robbie shouted. “Don’t you get it?! I’m done! Through! I’m leaving this shitty town and this stupid house forever! And I am never, EVER, coming back!”
Robbie’s breath rushed in and out of his lungs harshly, his ragged breathing audible in the silence.
Finally, the woman’s voice came drifting softly through the air, “Robbie, please--”
“No! Don’t you dare ask me to stay! I hate you! I hate him! You’re a coward-no better than he is!” Robbie shocked himself by letting out a huge sob. A painful lump rose in his throat, making it hard to breathe or swallow. Tears swam in his eyes, making the trashed room dance before they dropped down his face.
His mother said nothing. Her lips parted helplessly and the corners of her mouth sank down in anguish.
“Damn it, mom!” Robbie’s voice cracked. “All those years you never said a word to stop it. You never even tried!”
The last word came out as a shriek and made the silence that rushed in after seem unbearable. Robbie sniffled and wiped furiously at his damp face.
His mother stared fixedly at the floor, looking at the charred fabric of her clothes on the floor. Her gaze shifted to the clothes iron. She pressed her fingers to her lips and silent tears rolled down her cheeks and slid over her hand. “I never should have let it get that far,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. Her eyes squeezed closed in anguish. “I’m sorry I failed you.”
Robbie fixated on the pink, shiny patch of skin that covered half of her right forearm. She had tried once. He swallowed painfully and walked over to his mother, shards of mirror crunching under his shoes. She began sobbing audibly when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. A few seconds later, she sniffed and wiped away her tears on the back of her hand. She took a step forward and turned back to her son, stroking his hair back over his left ear.
“Where will you go?” she asked.
“I’m staying with Matt at his place in Georgia. He said after he graduated last year that I was always welcome there.”
“How will you take care of yourself?”
Robbie shifted his weight and flicked his gaze down to his feet. “I have some money and Matt says he can get me a job where he is working.”
His mother nodded and tilted his chin up. “I want to give you something.”
She turned and walked out of the room. Robbie followed her out into the hallway and down the stairs. A light flicked on in the lower hallway, then in the formal sitting room as the pair made their way through the house. The clock ticked loudly on the wall. Robbie looked up into its familiar round face. Behind the hands was an image of the globe, marked with the names of exotic places none of them had ever been to. Robbie tore his gaze away from the clock and watched as his mother bent down in front of an ornate, faded, light blue settee. She reached under the antique and, after fumbling around for a few seconds, pulled out a small black box. She stood up and pressed it into Robbie’s hands.
“I know I haven’t done right by you most of your life, and I know I haven’t been the best mother to you, so let me start now.”
Robbie gingerly lifted the lid of the box and blinked in astonishment.
“Mom, where’d you get so much money?”
“I managed to save it up over the years by keeping it secret from your father. I had hoped it would go towards a college fund for you someday. I want you to have it.”
Robbie looked down into her eyes. He was sixteen and already taller than her; she’d always been so tiny.
“Come with me, mom.”
She shook her head and looked down.
“Please, mamma. Don’t let him hurt you anymore. You deserve better. We both do.”
She shook her head again.
“Why not?” Robbie was on the verge of tears again, but didn’t care. “You can’t let him treat you like he does. I’m getting out, and so can you. With this money, we can go somewhere far away and never have to see or hear from him ever again! We can be free mamma, please…”
A shake of the head.
Blood rushed to Robbie’s face. “So you’re gonna stay here and let him treat you like shit the rest of your life!? You’re gonna sit quietly while he yells and breaks things!? You’re gonna keep buying extra makeup to cover up the bruises he gives you!? Are you!?”
She looked up at him pleadingly. “Robbie, you’ve got to understand. He doesn’t mean it when he does those things. Really, he doesn’t. Being laid off over and over destroyed him. You don’t know what he was like when we first got married. When he doesn’t drink, he’s a good man, and someday the old Jerry will come back. Things will get better, you’ll see--”
“No, they won’t!” Robbie shook in anger and frustration. The lump in his throat wouldn’t go away. It was torture now. “It will be the same thing, week after week. He’ll come home drunk and carry on like he does. He’s not going to stop. It’s not going to end unless you decide it will! Please, mamma, come with me. Please…”
“I can’t!” Grief choked her words. A single tear rolled down her soft cheek.
Robbie looked down into her wide eyes and saw the fear there. Saw the pain. His heart was breaking and he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t save her. He had to let her go. Robbie leaned forward and kissed her firmly in the middle of her forehead. The woman clutched her son, as tight as she had that Christmas day in the picture. The young man pulled slowly away, held the black box close to his chest, and turned away from his mother. Robbie emptied his pockets of the jewels he had taken and laid them on the small end table next to the sofa. Then, he was out the door and into the biting chill of the night. He felt numb, helpless, like he was swimming through a dream sea with no shore in sight.
Crickets chirped. A dog barked. Robbie unlocked his white, beat-up car and sat down behind the steering wheel, slamming the door shut. He turned the key. The engine sputtered weakly to life. Next the headlights. He pressed down on the brake as he shifted the car into drive. He glanced down and over at the small black box huddled in the passenger’s seat. Robbie looked up through the passenger’s side window to see the silhouette of a woman standing in the open doorway of the house. Robbie turned to face the road ahead of him, and slowly pulled away from the curb.
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