Page 24

Morning sunlight filled the sky, diffusing and melting the dawn-dew glinting in the grass. Sam lingered at his front door, a bad feeling skewering his stomach at the thought of going inside. Sam swallowed the welling dread, his eyes prickling with tears as he forced himself to grasp the door handle.

Gravel crunched behind him.

Sam turned with a jerk, watching as a pale blue SUV parked next to his car. It was a brand-new vehicle with windows too darkly tinted to see into, even in the daylight. He waited as the door opened, and Fionn climbed out of the driving seat. He wore a blazing red polo and tan khakis, feet in boat shoes the same pale blue as his car. With a pair of aviators resting in his hair, Fionn looked like he was about to go spend the day sailing, no trace of last night’s accident on him.

Spryly, Fionn approached, brandishing a shopping bag. “I’ve got stuff for you,” he declared.

Sam stared dumbly as Fionn trotted up the front steps and thrust the bag into his non-bandaged hand. “Just some bits.” Fionn shrugged as if it meant nothing, but his cheeks slowly coloured bright red.

“Stuff?” Sam questioned. He didn’t look into the bag but watched Fionn’s complexion change.

“It’s nothing, really. Bandages. A sweater to replace the one that got bloody. Some shoes too, so you can wear something other than black runners to class. Why’d you buy those, anyway? So boring,” Fionn babbled. “I had to go to the nearest shop and buy something before Dad cancelled my card. He thinks it’s my fault the yacht sank.”

Sam stared. “I appreciate the thought, but what—”

“Hello?” Fionn boisterously pushed past Sam, opened the front door and strode inside. “Sam’s dad?” he called. “I’m here to join you for breakfast. I’m starved, so something in the pancakes or French-toast variety would be much appreciated.”

Sam stood on the front step, stunned. Fionn walked fearlessly through the main entrance, peering into the immediate doors, left and right. “I’ll put the kettle on,” he said. Fionn strode through the right doorway into the kitchen.

A moving shadow at the end of the hall caught Sam’s eye. It was cast through one of the open doors, sunlight creating a tall silhouette that covered the hallway floor and stretched halfway up the wall. By the time Sam turned his head, the shadow was gone. The hall was empty. Fionn made noise. Cupboards opening and closing. Cups clicking together. “What do you prefer, sir? Honey or sugar?”

“Honey,” his dad’s gruff voice answered.

Sam stepped inside, unease gripping him. Twisting inside. Winding him higher and higher. His eyes burned as he stood on the threshold of the kitchen. But he couldn’t turn away from the doorway. That moving silhouette. An ache formed in his head, his eyes throbbing like they were being squeezed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fionn at the counter, leaning against it with his arms crossed as he waited for the kettle to boil. His dad was sitting at the table, a book on birds opened before him.

“Sam saved my life last night,” Fionn was in the middle of saying. “Out on the water. I was lucky he came across me. Chances were I wouldn’t get spotted at that time of night, but I did. And I was lucky he’s a nice guy cause I’ve always been a real dick to him, so he could have left me there if he wanted.”

“Sam’s a good kid,” his dad agreed.

“What do you take, Sam? Sugar? Honey? I actually bought some local honey, in case you like that. I tried to get some pastries too, but apparently I’m barred.”

Sam couldn’t look away from the door. “Did you bring your friends?” he asked. But he knew that it wasn’t one of Fionn’s friends.

“No. Of course not. I’m trying to figure out which fuck tried to kill me. I thought about what you said. Couldn’t stop thinking about it all night. It’s weird, isn’t it? Way too weird. The lifeboat wouldn’t inflate, the life jackets weren’t where they were supposed to be, the satellite phone was gone and the radio also didn’t work? And it’s a brand-new yacht too! Would you stop standing there and come in?” Fionn ranted, half-manic, his voice certain. “I’m trying to make a list of everyone who hates me that could do it. You don’t reckon Mary would have done it, do you?” He cleared his throat. “Not saying she wouldn’t have been justified or anything.”

“Mary doesn’t know anything about yachts, let alone how to sink one,” Sam replied.

“She does have the temper for murder,” his dad weighed in.

“A temper is right,” Fionn muttered. “Sam, come on, I’ve apologised. You don’t need to stand there. Let’s have some tea and chat? You can help me brainstorm.”

Sam stayed rooted to the spot. Every instinct in his body screamed to keep that open door at the end of the hall in his view. A similar screaming instinct demanded he get out of there immediately.

Fionn marched over to him.

“Look, I—”

Sam blindly reached. He caught Fionn by the collar of his polo and dragged him over.

“I apologised. Or maybe I didn’t say the words?”

“I saw someone,” Sam whispered. He hardly even breathed the words, they were so quiet.

Fionn stilled. Slowly, he leaned through the doorframe and looked in the same direction Sam was. “What do you mean? Like a family member?” Despite the inane suggestion, Fionn dropped his voice to match Sam’s volume.

“Why would a family member hide?”

“Where’d you see them? That doorway?”

Sam nodded.

Fionn looked from the doorway to Sam’s expression, then back to his dad. He cursed under his breath and quickly walked to the table. “We’re going outside,” he told him, still speaking quietly. “Your leg’s bad, is it? Hold my arm.”

“Outside?” his dad repeated, a tremble in his voice.

“Show me the birds,” Fionn said, encouraging him to his feet. “I bet you have tons in those fruit trees.”

His dad rose, and Fionn guided him to the front door. Sam walked backwards until he was there too and pulled the door shut. It felt wrong to close the door, like he was doing something he shouldn’t. To lose sight of that doorway and whoever might be in the room. But as he walked down the few short steps from the front door to the drive, joining Fionn where he had his dad leaning against his car and was already on the phone, telling whoever was on the other end their address, Sam’s clenching gut relaxed.

Fionn lowered his phone, resting it against his chest with the mic covered. He gestured to the house. “You want to confront them?”

“No.”

“Good, because I’m terrible in a fight,” Fionn admitted. “And you’re a pacifist, so we’d definitely lose. Unless it’s a kid. I could probably win a fight with a kid.”

“It was a big shadow for a kid,” Sam muttered. He stood in a way that kept the windows in view and as much of the sides of the house as possible. He would see anyone if they tried to approach. With a wince, he raised his hand, shielding his eyes from the beaming sunshine slowly baking his face.

“The birds are in the garden,” his dad said. He took a step toward the gate, and Fionn quickly caught his arm before Sam could even react.

“Dad…” Sam had to tear his gaze away from the house, chills racing over his skin to lose the careful vigilance. “Let’s visit Mary. She’s been wanting to see you. Would you mind waiting in the car for me? I’m going to talk to Fionn for a few minutes.”

His dad wavered for a few moments before he nodded. “Haven’t seen Mary in a while, have I?” He turned, walking slowly to the car. Sam watched him get into the passenger seat and strap in. Once sitting, he leaned back his head and shut his eyes.

Sam angled himself back to the house. The paint on the outside was faded to grey, badly stained, especially along the front. Dirt and grime obscured the windows. A breeze blew the garden gate open, and the hinges squeaked badly. The home looked abandoned, or like whoever lived there didn’t care about its upkeep.

Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything productive in the house. Anything other than bringing food in, cooking for his dad, washing his clothes and himself, and then leaving in the morning feeling less rested than when he’d arrived the night before.

“While we’re waiting, we can brainstorm?” Fionn suggested. He leaned against his car, legs casually stretched out in front of him.

“I’d bet on that weird friend of yours,” Sam said offhandedly.

“Gary? Why do you say that?”

Sam’s attention was on the house. The gutters were clogged, a build-up of leaves and silt clearly overflowing at the top. Cracks lined the entirety of them. “He gives me the creeps,” Sam said. “Your friends are all kind of jerks anyway, but he’s strange. And violent.”

A handful of shingles were missing from the roof. Sam followed scrapes down from those missing shingles and saw their shattered remains in the grass.

“He is strange,” Fionn admitted with a grumble. “The other day when he punched you…That was…I’m sorry about that. Just so you know, I didn’t tell him to do that, and I gave out shit to him for it too. Actually, even before that, he was asking questions about you. Do you guys know each other?”

Sam took a step back. With the sun shining, the garden flourishing and overgrown, the house looked derelict. “I didn’t notice how bad the house has gotten,” Sam said. It was more to himself. More him trying to figure out this confusion he felt going through him. How could he not have noticed this?

“It’s…” Fionn looked at the house too. “It’s a mess, yeah,” he agreed. “Want me to find the name of a contractor? I’ll need at least six months for Dad to give me access to my accounts again, but I’ll get it fixed up for you. All on me. As thanks.” Fionn’s voice went deeper. Quieter, as if he was forcing himself to speak.

Sam didn’t want to fix it. He never wanted to go inside the house again. He didn’t want his dad to go back either. Sam dug out his phone from his pocket, tapping at the screen. Icons brought him to the contact list, and Sam scrolled, the words a meaningless jumble.

“Who are you looking for?” Fionn straightened up, looking over Sam’s shoulder at the screen.

“Mary.”

Fionn reached out, scrolled down, and tapped her name. “Want me to write anything?”

“No.” Sam could make out the icon for the call button just fine and pressed it. He held it to his ear, listening to the tone ringing out. And despite the fact that Fionn had stepped in, clearly well aware that Sam’s eyes were, as he said yesterday, fucked, Sam was grateful. Grateful that Fionn was here. Because his instincts were telling him that if Fionn wasn’t, he’d have gone into the house and not come out. Not been able to come out.

“What are you up to?” Mary answered, not even saying hi.

“Can I ask a favour?”

“If the favour is me not minding your dad next week, no. Anything else, yes.”

“Could you make space at your place for him? Just for a few days?” Sam knew it was an inconvenience; Mary didn’t have the space at their house. It meant someone would have to sleep on the couch in the living room.

“I’m sure I can. Did something happen?”

Gravel crunched. Sam twisted to watch a squad car pull into the short driveway. “There was a break-in. The guards are here now, so I’m going to talk to them, and I’ll bring him by afterwards.” Sam hung up and approached the guards. He explained what happened, and the two officers first walked around the house, then went inside.

They left the front door open so Sam could watch their progress. He stood, tensed up, as they reached the door at the end of the hall. One man went in while the other waited in the hall, but as the minutes crawled by, neither man sounded any alarm. They moved on from the room and came out to Sam.

“We didn’t see anyone,” the tallest of the guards said. “But come in and have a look. Tell me if this is the usual state things are left in.”

Sam had to force his legs to move. When he heard the stones displacing behind him, he stopped and turned to Fionn, who was following. “Can you wait here? Keep an eye on my dad?”

“Alright. I’ll put that in your car.” Fionn took the bag he’d forced on Sam earlier from his hands. Sam hadn’t realised he was still holding it.

“Thanks.” Sam continued into the house, every hair standing up as he followed the guard down the hall. He struggled to keep a hold of his bravery when they reached the doorway. It took a few moments for Sam to comprehend what he was looking at.

Books littered the floor. Loose pages, ripped from copies and textbooks, were scattered everywhere. Clothes were strewn about, sheets were torn. Sam’s bed was cracked down the middle, the sturdy oak frame shattered in two. The mattress was torn, springs ripped from the inside. His dresser was knocked onto its side, all the shelves in different parts of the room.

“Is this the state the room was left in?”

Sam shot the guard a scathing look. He caught himself before he could snap ‘I didn’t leave my room like this’. His heart raced the longer he looked at the carnage. Finally, as he heard the click of the officer taking a picture, he found his voice. “What the fuck?”