Stolen

If they'd only known what it meant to me, that moment, how long planned out, thought of, dreamed of in fact, then it would have gone better. They wouldn't have looked at me with such disdain when I slunk my way out of the shadows and held my palm open to them. 

I had been polite, I'd smiled and asked in the more sincere voice for some pocket change, just some pocket change, nothing more. And I had watched, watched their eyes dart involuntarily over my slum attire, my overgrown coat and my ripped jeans, my hair all knotted and greasy, my eyes all blood shot as though I was already stoned. 

It was barely a fleeting glance, they never ceased in their walking, the man seemed to almost shake me off like I was a speck of dirt from his coat, with a hurried and automatic no. He wore a sharp business suit and had the walk of someone important. The woman stared down at me for just a little longer, her eyes peering out from behind her angelic veil of blonde hair, I watched her nose crinkle slightly in disgust as a draft threw my stench in her face. Then she kept walking, her diamond earrings and matching necklace glittering in the lamplight. 

I watched them go, further down the street to the restaurant, where I lost sight of them in the rich golden light and soft music, I wondered how Ingrid would look wearing those diamonds. 

No, I quickly shoved the thought away. It was not going to happen like that. I waited too long for it all to go up in smoke. 

I leaned against the brick wall, feeling...nothing. I searched my soul for any emotions I'd experienced at the encounter. It had happened. The moment I'd dreamed of for so long now, come and gone in the blink of an eye. So what did I feel? 

How many nights had I laid awake thinking about it? How many hours had I stared at my tiny laptop screen, learning everything a stranger could possible hope to learn about Mr. and Mrs. Ander? I knew them, I had seen their faces from up the street, watched, waited as they came closer and closer. 

So many different things had I expected to happened. A flash of light, a realization, perhaps even some kindness towards the homeless teenager. And what had I got? Nothing. 

And suddenly, I knew exactly what I felt. Not hurt, not anger, as I expected myself to feel at having been snubbed by these glittering, glamorous  people.

Disappointment. 

That was all I felt as I stared at the spot where they had disappeared. Just disappointment, as in my head I heard Grant's words 'you can always tell who a person really is, not by the way he treats his equals but by how he treats those beneath him.' 

Right as always, Grant. 

Grant and Ingrid. They'd never insisted I called them mom or dad, so growing up I'd called them what they called each other, their names. They wouldn't be missing me yet, not until the day after tomorrow. 

We had a little routine we'd been doing since I was five. They'd drop me off at a town, give me a fist full of cash and told me to hang around. Then they'd pack up the van we lived out of and leave. Sometimes they'd be gone a couple days, sometimes they'd be gone a couple week, they hardly ever said exactly how long a job would take and when they did, they usually were a day or two off. 

The first couple times I was petrified, I'd practically live at the spot they told me to wait for them and hid whenever a cop or someone suspicious-looking would show up, thank heavens they never left me long during those days. Though as I got older, I found out this wasn't as big a problem as I thought it to be, just as long as I came back to the spot once every day, I could go and do whatever. I've learned through the method of trial and error, exactly what whatever meant. 

I took it neither of them would have expected this. 

It was five months ago when Grant and Ingrid told me I wasn't their son. Though it was unintended and as far as I could tell, both of them still thought I was in the dark. 

Grant and Ingrid had just come back from a job, we'd rented a hotel room and gotten a case of beer to celebrate. The job had gone very well from what I could tell, Grant and Ingrid were always nothing but smiles to me and they only drank when they were in a good mood for it. 

It was one of Grant philosophy. Never drink if your too sad or lonely to be sober. A drink should be for celebration, not for remedy. 

Grant clearly had been in the mood to celebrate that night. 

Which was fine by me, Ingrid and Grant, whether through Grant's philosophy or just because I was lucky that way, weren't the moody or violent drunks. Ingrid's face turned red as a beat and she would start giggling at everything, which was amusing to me practically because Ingrid never giggled. But of the two, Grant was more interesting because he got loud and stupid, spluttering jokes that made no sense and throwing in at the end of every sentence a roar of booming laughter. 

In my short sixteen years of life, I'd gotten drunk with Ingrid and Grant many times. Grant always thought that the reason kids today were so reckless with drinking was because they weren't introduced to it young and properly instructed on how to handle it, so I'd been taken the occasional sip out of their drinks since I was nine. 

Though Grant and Ingrid were so ridiculous when they were drunk, sometimes it was fun just to say somber enough to watch and remember all the silly things they did. 

So we'd sat around in our hotel room, Ingrid and I on the bed, Grant sprawled in the chair provided, taking sip after sip after sip.

“David?” Ingrid then asked, her voice all slurred and her smile never leaving her lips. “Be a dear and throw this out for your mommy,” She held the empty can out for me to take and I tossed it neatly in the trash. 

“What a good kid, eh?” Grant started raving, his beer held firmly in his massive hands. “Always so helpful, does things without even being told.” 

His face had suddenly turned very sad as he looked at me. “You love us, don't you David? You're happy you're with us, aren't you?” 

I'd nodded but said nothing. 

“Well, where else would he go if he wasn't with us?” Ingrid suddenly put in, her voice louder than it ever was, drunk or sober. “He'd be at the bottom of the river if it wasn't for us.” 

I'd spun my head back on Ingrid. “What?” I demanded. Through giggles and drunk slurred speech, this was as much as I'd gotten out of them. 

Ingrid and Grant had gotten a job from one of their many employers. They'd received their orders and done their job swiftly and efficiently. They'd stolen the son of a powerful business man, a man by the name of John Ander. They'd kept the child, barely two years old at the time, in their van while their employer had discussed with Mr. Ander terms like randoms and contracts. Two weeks later, they'd gotten another word from their employer, something had gone wrong with Ander, he'd failed in some way or another and as punishment, they were ordered to throw the little boy in the nearest river. 

It took some time and some gently persuasion to get that much of the story out of them and the ending wasn't exactly necessary. I could figure the rest out for myself. 

Kyle Ander. I thought to myself as I waited for Mr. and Mrs. Ander, mom and dad, to resurface from their pool of light. I stood in the shadows and I waited for them. Kyle Ander. Missing little Kyle Ander. That was me. That was who I was. Kyle, somewhere there was a birth certificate that had that name on it. My name. I'd surfed the webs with the laptop Ingrid had got me as a Christmas present and when I first found a picture of them, that perfect, smiling couple, surrounded by riches and filling my tiny screen. All I could do was stare until tears rolled down my face. Mom and Dad. 

I'd dreamed about them. I dreamed that they were perfect, that they were kind, good and gentle. I imagined all of us sitting at a glittering kitchen table while the morning sun poured in through the windows. They'd be talking to me, asking about my day, how school was and other pointless rubbish parents and children talk about. I imagined them tucking me in at night as I tuck myself into an alleyway corner while Ingrid and Grant went out of a job. I imagine all the good food we'd eat around the dinning room table, while Grant asked me what I wanted at the drive through.  

They'd become my better parents, my perfect parents, I'd built them up to be saints in my mind, I'd raised these strangers too high above the heads of ordinarily people.

So when Grant told me we were heading California, it seemed only natural I should seek them out. For the whole road trip I spent the time sprawl out in the back seat listening to my music, in the back of my mind I dreamed up my plan. 

Whatever town Ingrid and Grant left me at, I'd leave, sneak on a bus and come here. Then I'd find their house, I had long since memorized their address and what the building looked like. It was a glorious building, a castle by my standards, by anyone standards. Then I'd do what Grant always taught me to do; I'd be careful, I'd watch and I'd wait. Then I'd put them to the test. 

The clothes I'd gotten from the garbage, the smell had come with them. The bus ride here was enough to mangle my hair and redden my eyes.

So much work, all my effort but surly the saints of my imagination wouldn't hesitate to help a stranger. But these people had. 

They were not as I had imagined them to be. The man wasn't as tall, I thought he'd be taller, at least as tall as Grant, who was over six feet and had massive tree trunks for arms. The woman was thinner than I'd imagined as well, with slightly hollowed cheeks, Ingrid would have never let me get that thin. After coming back from a job she'd always hug me and take me out for a big meal. She always said I never ate enough when she was gone and told me constantly that when they were away I was to preform all the tricks they'd showed me to make sure I took care of myself, like going to the public gym to shower, washing my spare clothes in the laundry mats, stuffing them into other people’s loads when they weren't looking. How to steal things when people weren't looking. 

Jobs were too dangerous for me to come along, no matter how much I begged them. 

Ingrid and Grant were criminals, I knew that. I hadn't the faintest idea what they did on jobs, they talked about them only to say if they were successful or not. Though I doubted anything they did do was legal. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if I learned Grant had killed a few people in his day. Ingrid and Grant were criminals, but only in the sense that they did whatever an employer told them to do. The jobs were never their ideas, so it could be assumed that they weren't the masterminds of evil plots. They just did what they were told to do. They were thugs. Clearly the lesser parents. Right? 

For the longest time I had thought so, for the longest time, as the images of the Anders grew larger and  grander in my mind, Grant and Ingrid in comparison shrank in statue and for a while now I'd been building up a secret resentment towards them for taking me from the fabulous life that had been my destiny. Though it was a secret hate, bottled up deep inside and I never voiced a single word of any of it, I knew both of them had sensed a change come over their stolen son. 

My muscles were stiff from their lack of movement when the door to the restaurant opened and the Anders stepped out into the street at last. I glared at them as they approached, as I thought of Ingrid and Grant and how disappointed they'd be if they found me here. If they knew what I was doing, if they knew I was choosing these people over them. 

The couple passed me, arm in arm, strolling down the street with all the merriment that comes with a rich evening of laughter and enjoyment. 

They didn't glance my way and kept walking, I didn't ask them for change this time, instead I stuffed my hands into my pockets and followed them at a safe distance, five or six paces behind. Parking was bad tonight, their car was three blocks away. I had three blocks to decide my next move.

The woman was the first to see me following them, just out of the corner of her eye, the smile on her red lips faded and she said something to her husband. The man tried to be subtle when he glanced over his shoulder and I felt the sudden urge to flash him that same polite smile I'd flashed him before, tinted this time with the edge of coldness that had had found its way to my heart. 

But I didn't, I keep my face grim and almost glaring. The man looked back around, and they kept walking at the same pace, though all conversation between them had died. I watched and waited.  

They turned down another street, deserted of all life. I muffled a grin. Why would they do that? It was the way to their car, it could be admitted but surly even they knew it was foolish to turn into a deserted street while being followed, or perhaps it was only people like Grant and I that knew such things. 

Their car was close now, the man already had his keys out, they intended to drive away, the headlights flashed as though to greet them as the man unlocked it. Now they were just being stupid. 

I picked up my pace. The man's hand touched the handled and he yanked it open just in time for me to slam it closed. 

“I don't think so,” I said coolly, getting between the man and his beautiful silver sleek car, leaning against it I could almost feel how expensive it was through my scrounged clothes. 

The man took a step back, blinking in surprise, the woman hung on to her husband's arm, something Ingrid would never do, her face open in displaying her alarm at my presences. I let a tiny half smile curl my lip. 

It disturbed the couple but the man seemed to regain himself. 

“What do you want?” He demanded and I unzipped my overgrown jacket, letting them have a nice long look at Grant's gun stuffed into my pants before quickly zipping it up to my chin once more. I watched their skin turn ashen as every drop of blood drained out of their porcelain faces. 

“What do you want?” The man asked again, his voice much more serious but not an ounce less contemptuous. I said nothing, I only folded my arms across my chest and watched the two, admiring them almost. They were certainly quite perfect looking, on the outside at least. 

When I didn't answer the man seemed to come to his own conclusion. “You want money?” He'd already begun to dig into his back pocket, I watched with open interested as he produced a fine leather wallet and dug out a couple hundred bills. “Here.” He thrust the bills towards me. I eyed them for a moment, then I snatched them from his hand. It was the most money I'd ever held in one hand at once but I kept my face unreadable as I stuffed the bills into my pocket without so much as glancing at them. Then I folded my arms again and waited. 

The couple watched me with fear, then suspicion. 

“Well?” The man snapped suddenly, he actually seemed angry now as though I'd just wasted his time. “What else do you want? You got the money for your next fix, now leave us alone.” 

My brow furrowed as a sudden angry swept over me. My hand shot out a once again, and this time it closed on the man's wrist. The woman let out a small gasp of surprise, jumping back slightly at my sudden movement. The man flinched at the contact and tried to wrench his arm free but I held it firm. I narrowed my eyes at the man, then I pulled up my sleeve to reveal the smooth skin of my inner elbow. 

“I'm not a junky.” I growled, my voice low and dangerous as I stared the man in the eye, perfectly matching my own. “I'm your son. Kyle Ander.” 

I waited just long enough to see their jaws drop, to see their astonishment as the realization hit them. I watched and I savored it, burning it into my memory. That was all I waited for, then I ran as hard as my legs could carry me up the street, the shouts of the couple telling me to wait, to stop, begging me to come back. The parents of my dreams shouting everything I'd always imagined them to say. 

I didn't look back, I didn't slow, until I turned the street's corner and was gone. 

Reviews

[roarke]

Great story, fresh, original, well written. I liked how you handled the turn to the end, although suspected, you fleshed it out well. I think the story needs a little more to the ending or maybe it morphs into more story.... David/Kyle is in conflict about both sets of "parents" the ending doesn't give us a definite decision...Seems he gravitates toward the "villain" life, but would like to know if and how he returns to Grant and Ingrid if he does.... definitely a good story and a great intro int to it. Very entertaining, thanks for sharing.

[Mizar]

Thank you for your review and your advice. I always like feedback! I had sort of intended it to be a cliffhanger but perhaps I could edit it a bit.