CHAPTER SIX
That night, the memory of Alan's erratic cycling and weird, slurred speech replayed over and over in my head while I tried to fall asleep. My stomach churned uncomfortably in tune with my anxious thoughts. I couldn't deny that Chris had been right. There was something wrong with Alan. I really hoped that he wasn't being poisoned as Chris suspected. Mostly, I just wished that I could stop thinking about it and go to sleep.
Sadly, that wasn't likely to happen. Sighing in frustration, I rolled out of bed, slipped a rugby jersey over my pyjamas, and put on some sneakers. I held my breath and listened carefully. The only sound I could hear was the vibrating bass of Brett's stereo. He was either practising his air guitar or fast asleep. Either way, I figured he wasn't about to disturb me. Luckily my parents were deep sleepers, something for which I felt eternally grateful.
Moving through the house towards the garage, I stealthily stepped over the creaky floor board near the bottom of the staircase. I'd done this enough times to know every creaking floor board and squeaky door handle in the house.
I slipped into the garage through the internal door and grabbed my bike, then wheeled it through the house to avoid opening the noisy garage door. Carefully, I opened the front door, wheeled my bike through, then ever so gently clicked the front door shut behind me.
Once I was outside, beyond hearing distance of the house, I indulged in a sigh of relief. Freedom! Yet another (almost) flawless escape! Actually, it's kind of sad that I've snuck out of the house late at night so many times, yet not once to go to a forbidden party or to see an off-limits boyfriend. My teenage rebellion so far has consisted of running errands for ghosts without permission from the parentals. I really need to get a life.
My quads burned as I pedalled up the hill, and my pyjama top began to stick to my back with sweat. I wasn't going to be the freshest for school the next day. I pulled my bike over a few houses down from Alan's and proceeded towards his place on foot. I stepped over the marigolds that Alan had flattened with his bike that afternoon. It didn't seem right to squash the flower heads even further, especially when the rest of the garden was so carefully cultivated. They obviously employed a gardener since, from Chris' description, I couldn't imagine Sharelle tending the garden.
An old, black Landcruiser was parked in the driveway now, in front of the double garage. Ducking down, I scurried over to the closest window. A light shone dimly through the cracks of the sloppily drawn curtains. Disgraceful. I'm always quite careful when I close my curtains to never leave cracks, so it always surprises me to see other people being so careless. Then again, I guess I do a lot of spying into windows in my line of work, so I may be prone to a little paranoia.
Judging by the boyish, racing-car print of the curtains I figured this room must be Alan's and that he hadn't changed his curtains since primary school. Slowly, I raised myself to window level and peered inside. As I'd expected, it was his room. His bed was pressed up against the wall, and he was fast asleep. I watched him intently for a minute to ensure he was breathing. Apart from his slightly large nose, Alan didn't share any other physical characteristics with his brother Chris. They had different builds, eye colour, and face shape. Even their hair colour was different. Alan's sandy hair was closer in colour to Shane's blond than to Chris' dark colour.
I scanned the bedroom. It looked like a typical boy's room—messy and unhygienic. Dirty clothes were strewn on the floor. An empty Coke bottle lay next to a half-eaten packet of chips. I guess the step-monster had fallen behind in her housewife duties, which indicated that Alan's dad was away on business.
I was both relieved and disappointed. I was glad that Alan was fine, but I guess a part of me had hoped to see his stepmum approaching him with a knife or something so that I could call the police and this mess would be quickly sorted out once and for all.
'Uhhhhhhhh!'
A strange cry from inside the house broke the night silence. Panicked, I ducked back down under the window. What was happening? Had they heard me?
Before I had a chance to move, another noise came from inside the house.
'Mmmmmmm, yes, YES!' It sounded like someone was eating a double chocolate fudge brownie, but everyone knows that eating carbs late at night is an instant recipe for cellulite.
'Ahhhhhh, mmmmmm, yes!' It was definitely a woman's voice. Now I knew what the noises were. Sick. The step-monster was expressing her love for her husband in a very passionate way. But that didn't make sense. Judging by the mess in Alan's room, his father was away on business. So who was in there with Sharelle?
Chris must have been right. The step-monster was having an affair.
I raised my eyes to window level to peer into Alan's room again. At least now I knew I wasn't going to get caught by the step-monster suddenly deciding to take out the garbage or wash the car or something.
The disgusting noises continued. Boy, they were loud. Or at least she was. I could occasionally hear the low rumble of a man's voice. He sounded young, maybe in his twenties—definitely too young to be Chris' dad. I tried to block their noises out of my mind as I focussed on looking inside Alan's room for some hint of foul play.
Alan was still asleep but was now thrashing about on the bed. His thrashing timed exactly with the bedroom noises. His sandy brown hair was slicked to his forehead with sweat. I may have found a factor contributing to why he had been acting so weird. I mean, if I was finding the bedroom noises disturbingly loud from outside the house, they must be pretty loud in Alan's bedroom. The poor boy's mind had probably gone into meltdown trying to remove any memories of the sickening sounds he was hearing in his sleep.
Apart from having his sleep disturbed, Alan didn't appear to be in any mortal danger tonight. My work here was done. I was not keen to peek into any more windows, just in case I accidentally looked in on Alan's stepmum. That was an image I did NOT want burned into my innocent mind forever. I already felt enough like a peeping tom.
Sneaking back around to the front of the house, I took a mental note of the car in the driveway. The presence of the old, dusty black Landcruiser now made much more sense. It didn't really fit in with the ritzy house and the price of all of Alan's family's accessories. Presumably, this was the stepmum's lover's chosen mode of transport. Surely if it was the family car it would be parked inside the garage, not in the driveway like a visitor. I noted the number plate in my head. Just another piece of information I had to cram into my brain on top of all my other homework.
Having established that Alan was fine, my earlier anxiety vanished from my body and was replaced immediately by exhaustion. I could have fallen asleep in the gutter, but I still had to cycle home. I walked wearily back to my bike and jumped on.
My body was going to punish me for this tomorrow.