* * *
Jacker had parked at the corner drugstore and walked down the block that his house was on. He couldn’t risk parking on the street because the police might be patrolling the area in search of him. He knew it was a mistake to come here, but that didn’t stop him. He wanted to see Debbie.
It had been a few days since the incident that forced him to pack his things and run away, and he hadn’t dared come home since. His girlfriend certainly wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him after what he did, and he wasn’t sure he wanted anything to do with her either. Yet still he was drawn to her, if only for familiarity’s sake. He’d give anything to sleep in his own bed for a night instead of in the back of the van again.
He stopped a few houses down and scanned the simple suburban street for any sign of police. His education of police procedure was sourced exclusively from television, so he made sure to look for unmarked vans that a surveillance team might be hiding in. His crime didn’t warrant that sort of attention, but he was paranoid at this point, and had reason to be.
Everything appeared normal, so he dared to approach. He shared a house with Debbie, his girlfriend of five years, and had planned on proposing to her soon. The events of the past week had destroyed that, but Jacker still hoped they could have an amicable split. He wanted a chance to speak with her, but there was no guarantee she wouldn’t call the police the minute she saw him.
It wasn’t a wealthy neighborhood, and several homes had the requisite car in the lawn that seemed to be a disclaimer of low property value. He always dreamed of buying a condo in the city, but his career had stalled and was now permanently over. After what he’d done, his future job opportunities were probably limited to aspirations of drive-thru manager status.
As he walked down the cracked sidewalk, where the weeds had started to sprout, he wished yet again that he could go back one week and never ask Debbie about her relationship with the stock boy at the supermarket where she worked. If only Jacker hadn’t known the truth, he could’ve stayed happy.
He wasn’t far from home when he spotted a car approaching from far down the street. It was white, and he stared at it for several seconds as he tried to decide if the black bar on top was a luggage rack or a police light bar.
“Oh crap,” he said under his breath as he stopped in his tracks. It was a squad car, and it was approaching fast. He didn’t want to run, just in case it wasn’t him they were looking for, but he was only one house away from his. He turned up the driveway of his neighbor and sauntered up as if he lived there. He did his best to act as if nothing was wrong as the squad car rolled up to park in front of his house, less than fifty feet away.
Jacker got to the side of his neighbor’s house and pressed his back to it. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer as he heard the police car doors open. He looked to his left, further up the driveway, but the tall wire fence was locked shut. He knew his neighbors had two German shepherds, and didn’t want to risk alerting them by trying to climb the fence. He stayed put, and hoped the police hadn’t recognized him.
He heard them knock on his door, and dared to peer around the corner of his neighbor’s house. There were two officers on his stoop, beside the flower bed where Jacker had pulled out a fern that Debbie despised. She had asked him to plant flowers instead, and he’d started the laborious task of tearing out the old plants a couple weeks earlier.
The officers knocked again, and Jacker heard a muffled reply come from inside. Debbie opened the door and greeted the officers. She was in a pair of sweat pants and a Slayer t-shirt, and her loud voice carried easily through the neighborhood. Debbie was far from a timid personality, quick to anger and rooted in her opinions, and she savored arguments. She was a difficult and domineering personality, but that was one of the things Jacker liked most about her. He wasn’t afraid to admit that she ran the household, and he actually preferred it that way.
The officer spoke too quietly for Jacker to eavesdrop on, but he had no problem hearing every word his girlfriend said. Most of the conversation that he could hear was just a series of one word replies from Debbie.
“Nope.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
And then her volume grew and he could hear the anger in her voice. “If I do, I’ll call you. And, to be blunt, I’m surprised that you haven’t caught him yet. It’s not like he’s some master criminal or something. He’s not even that smart.”
The officer responded, calm and quiet.
“No. No I don’t,” said Debbie. “I wouldn’t let him back in if he came here. I want him in jail more than anyone. More than even that kid’s family, I bet. You need to catch him.” She annunciated every word of what she said next, “I don’t feel safe anymore.”
Jacker slid his back down the siding of his neighbor’s house until he was sitting on the driveway. He took his glasses off and put his hands over his eyes and rubbed them as he sighed.
Debbie continued to chastise the officers. “You need to find him. Okay? Put him in jail and throw away the key. He’s no good to anyone anymore. Not after what he did.”
Jacker took a white pill out of the inside pocket of his jacket and let it sit in his palm. He stared down at the non-descript, circular pill and then popped it in his mouth. He hated swallowing pills without something to drink, but he forced this bitter one down anyhow. The past week had already been as bad as it could get. At least these little opiates helped stave off the bigger demons lurking within.
He waited for the officers to leave, and then snuck away. He went back to his van, content with the knowledge that Debbie wanted nothing to do with him. He was on his own now.