Stolen Vigilance

The night’s watch, he called it. Better pop culture reference than The Watchtower, he thought. It was, in fact, neither a Game or Thrones moment, or a Jehovah’s Witness magazine, but insomnia.

Relentlessness.

No matter how hard he worked, or played, or talked, or screwed, or cried or screamed in the day, when night came it was always about what-ifs. Like all insomniacs, he wondered how he could’ve done it better or worse, or how the next day brought about new dilemmas, challenges, and anxieties, and it all left him paralyzed. Sleepless. And yet dreaming.

He rose, and walked through the shadows, memorized steps that led him to the fridge. He opened it and drank straight from the orange juice container. His body wasn’t balanced, yet. He grabbed the fridge door and the pickle jar with the other.  Each bite of pickle sounded like a sonic boom, but only to him. No need to worry, not even the old family dog now woke to check on these sounds.  His girls, his wife, they wouldn’t wake now, for this, or even if he turned the TV to full blast and watched inappropriate infomercials all night long. He was alone. The acids seemed to balance him. He closed the fridge, walked to his comfy chair and slopped down.

He wasn’t always alone. He wasn’t always a night’s watchman. He became one out of some biological need to protect the family. When something went bump in the night, he was there to make sure it was benign. The few carcinogens were just mice, or rowdy neighbors, or wind from a window left open knocking down a school project.

To counteract this newfound anxiety, he changed his habits. Sam grew up in a small country town.  Nobody locked their doors, and people hid the keys to the car under the floor mats. But these suburbs were different than that small town.  Maybe it was the close proximity of houses and yet completely foreign concept of neighbors, or the less likelihood of firearms for protection, but he felt differently now.  Now he locked the doors, and checked the windows.  He sometimes looked in on his sleeping angels and wanted that peace, for them, for himself, forever. And this feeling of peace wanting caused him anxiety. 

He could count the number of times he had forgotten to close those windows or lock the deadbolt, or failed to secure something of value in its proper place.  Tonight just happened to be one of those nights. 

The thief did not case the home. He was simply taking advantage of the cloud covered night. He knew that many suburbanites stayed up late, partying, parenting, drinking...but these behaviors were predictable. Almost nobody stirred at 3 am except the new mother.  But new moms were usually zombies and easily avoidable. 

The thief parked his car near the local park. The car was neither new or old. It was indistinguishable in that mid-aughts sedan kind of way.  His rule was never venture further than a half mile away from this base. It wasn't registered to him, but it would eventually lead back to him. So it was his only escape plan.  On a few occasions he had to jump fences and hide in the bushes, but he always made it back to the car. 

Not that he was always a thief. Well, not continuously. He was always taking toys from friends as a child, and had a long unbroken streak of shoplifting household goods and clothes to supplement the inadequacy of the foster care system. To fit in, he had taken much. As much as the world had not given. 

But he grew older, and got a job, and a G.E.D. and for a few years, seemed to break the statistical pitfalls everyone said he would fall into. Then, indistinguishably, like nearly every broken soul, he tried to help another broken soul. One he was attracted to. And as he lend her a hand, she reciprocated with the forbidden fruit of her happiness. It wasn't in needle form at first.  He could've easily avoided that. Even broken souls know to avoid needles. But it wasn't long before the happiness was not obtainable. Not with her. Not with his job. Not with success. But only with the fruit. And it was most concentrated in a needle.

His job barely paid enough to subsist on. And forbidden fruit was an expensive luxury. But he kept it together for a while. He was happy, he thought. Even without her. And even when his job cut his hours and recommended he take a vacation.  He "was not the same," his manager said. They fired him a few weeks later when the register came up short for the third time during his shift. They did not press charges, and the manager even offered, "to pay to get you help, if you need it." 

He never needed help. He worked alone.

As he approached Sam's house, he had already rejected twenty other homes. Lights, layouts, fences, and the appearance of animals. Two homes met the criteria, but the side doors were locked. He tried to avoid front doors. 

The red house looked gray at night. There was a slip-and-slide in the front yard, which was partially well-maintained. Even at night the newer SUV car could be seen to need a washing. These suburbanites were too exhausted to even conform to the neighborhood norms. Perfect targets.

The thief had recently encountered one of these homes and scored some gold coins. Nearly four ounces of gold. Of course, he had to drive over to the next state to cash it in. But the thirty dollars in gas was easily written off. He wondered if he could write it off as a work expense on his taxes and nearly laughed out loud as he neared the sliding window back door.

He could barely see through the hanging curtains. It was dark. The kitchen was near, and the living room beyond.  No bedrooms nearby.  Perfect entry point. The door slide at his touch. 

Morons, he thought. 

Sam was barely conscious when he heard the familiar sound. Even though this sound was a sliding door, he at first thought a daughter had woken and closed the bathroom door...by the time the sound registered, the figure was pushing through the hanging curtains. 

In the dark, when the curtain parted like a figured cloak, it looked like a ringwraith or a dementor, or some other vile demon of his imagination, and Sam was filled with fear like never before in his life. 

Here was a situation he had prepared for, and now, he was only ten feet away, sitting along the back wall, unseen by this intruder, and yet helpless. His bat. His gun. Both in the bedroom.  He looked around...nothing but his wife's worthless fantasy trade paperback books on the bookshelf.  A Bible was on the shelf, but even its weight and power would be futile against a demon. 

The side table. He would smash the figure WWF style. But just as he lunged over to grab it, the intruder noticed him and leaped towards him. They landed awkwardly on the table, both trying to wrestle the other into an advantageous position. 
Sam thought about yelling out, but heard the "shwink" of the blade sliding into the open position, and then heard the "fssffst" of it piercing his side. His leg was now compressed under the assailant, and he lunged his leg outward with all his force, throwing the thief back towards the sliding door.  The dramatic movement of his body instantly threw him into unrelenting pain in his lower back.  The same pain he felt when he passed a kidney stone years earlier, only larger in area, and he could already feel the moisture of blood pooling in his shirt.  He began to groan. 

The figure was already standing.  The knife held outstretched in one hand, the other in front of his masked face, making the "Shhhhhh" sound. 

Sam held back the scream..."Whadda you want.." he moaned just loader than a whisper. 

"I want you to shut up, "  he forcefully replied just lower in volume. 

"I'll give you anything..."

"Shut up.  This wasn't supposed to happen. Why are you even up...you moron. This complicates everything...Is anyone else in the house?"

Sam thought about how to answer this question without endangering his family...

"Is anyone else in the house, " he intoned again, this time taking a step towards Sam. 

"Yes, no...I mean Yes." Sam felt his lower back, and instantly regretted giving up his family. Am I dying? Can I still defend my family? 

"Then shut up." "Oh God, why'd you have to be awake?" 

"Hey man, just, you know, I got some money in my wallet. I got a laptop, and I can get my wife's jewelry."  He grimaced in pain, knowing that the jewels were in his bedroom, steps away from her...He had to be smarter. They have to live.

"How much cash?"

"I don't know, I don't know...maybe $200? I might be have some more, somewhere.. {gasp}" 

"That's not enough...come on, man. You gotta have more. This is...this is attempted murder, armed robbery. Dammit, you fucktard, why'd you try to attack me?" 

"Look, I won't do anything, just go...take the cash. I'll give you twenty minutes and then I'll have my wife drive me to the hospital. I won't tell them anything. I don't know anything about you..."

"Where are they? Back there?" the figure pointed towards the bedrooms...all the doors were slightly cracked open. It was a house rule. The tiny glint of light from the main bathroom night light shown the way. 

"No please, they don't...They're young...please man...I'm nothing, I'll do anything, just leave my family alone..." Sam tried to rock his body upward, but the pain was paralyzing.  The blade must've hit something important.  "PLEASE, man, they have their whole life in front of them...but I'm nothing...please man, I'm begging you, leave my family alone." "Oh God, please, God, keep them safe..." 

"I'm not going to do anything...just making sure nobody has called the cops." With that, he disappeared down the hall. Sam fought through the pain to force himself up. He was disoriented. Again, he thought about screaming out, but what would that do...would she wake up? How would the figure react to another challenger? His wife was tough, but one jab with this tiny pocketknife had incapacitated him, how could she offer any resistance? 

Sam looked again for a weapon.  He was twenty steps away from the kitchen and the butcher block.  He took two steps, and saw the figure swiftly reappear around the hallway.

"Where doya think you're going, Sam? Yeah, I found your wallet," The figure tossed the wallet on the couch. "$45 dollars. $45 stinking dollars, Sam. And your family is still soundly asleep. Even that amazing guard dog.  Some family you got here, Sam." "I just committed a few felonies, 25 plus years in prison for a cell phone bill's worth of money."

Stupid dog. Stupid old dog.

"Look, like I said, just go now...Just go, I won't say anything." 

"Sure, sure. I wouldn't make it twenty miles."

"Look, buddy, this is a big town, there's plenty of crime, they'll just think you're somebody from the city. Cops don't investigate crap like this...{gasp}, plus you got gloves on...there's nothing to find..."

"Don't call me buddy. My name's Jimmy. We aren't friends. I stabbed you." 

"Don't tell me your name...I mean, Jimmy, it's probably not your name...that's fine, whatever...I forgive you, just go. I need to go to the hospital." 

"Ha ha...you FORGIVE me? For stabbing you? That's funny. That's LOL funny. What are you, Jesus? You want me to stab you in the other side as well?" "No, you ain't Jesus, you're just a Sam." 

"Yeah, nobody...just go man."

"You keep saying that, that you're a nobody...why? And my name is Jimmy; if you're going to die, you probably know the name of the idiot who killed you." 

"You aren't an idiot...Jimmy, I don't know your story. I know you didn't intend to stab me tonight...I was just awake, and like, I don't know, I'm bleeding here man, you gotta promise me not to harm my family..." 

"You'd die for them, huh?" 

"Yeah, if that's what it takes. If that's what it takes. There's no greater love...I'm ready, just promise me..." Sam fought through the pain to show his sincerity. 

"You ain't a nobody, then. You ain't a nobody. That's all I wanted growing up...just knowing somebody cared about me, wanted to keep me safe. Nobody stopped the harassment, the beatings, the loneliness, though. Nobody took no knife for me. I just wanted somebody, anybody to step in...say, this ain't right. This kid deserves better...but it never came; so don't tell me, you is a nobody." Jimmy tossed Sam a towel from the kitchen. "You a father. You a real man." 

"Look, man...look Jimmy, I'm sorry," He folded the towel and wrapped it around the wound.  He grimaced in pain. "I'm sorry life gave..."

"Don't tell me no lemonade crap. I don't need a councilor, I need more than $45. I already know life dealt me shitty." 

"Look, take my debit card." "The code is 1776." "It's stupid, I'm not even that patriotic..." "But there's money there...at least a thousand dollars. Take it all. I won't even change my card, or mark it as stolen until Monday. It's all insured anyway...{ugh} I'll get it all back..." 

"You need to get that," he pointed to the wound, "taken care of...man. You've lost a lot of blood. I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention. I don't even know why I bring a knife, it's just, you know...I don't know.  I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I ain't a killer. I just. I don't know." 

"I know, Jimmy. You aren't a bad person, you're just going through a rough patch. I am too. It's been a rough year, and my marriage is, I don't know...now I'm bleeding...I might die. This has not been my year...but like you said, I'm not a nobody...and you're something too..."

"You ever think you'd have to stab somebody to turn your life around? I mean, I can't do this. I don't want to live my life behind bars. I've barely lived."

"Get clean, Jimmy. As a former addict, I know. Get clean. The years aren't always great, and you'll always want it...but life isn't bad. Even with a marriage that needs help. My kids are great. My job sucks, but whatever, man. Life isn't about happiness, it's about finding contentment in between the joy and sorrow. You can't do that, ever, man, if you're using. Get clean." 

"Maybe you are Jesus, Sam." 

"I'm just trying to survive this, Jimmy, " He laughed, finally knowing that his family was safe. "I don't think Jesus ever tried to manipulate the situation to save his own life." 

"Yeah, but some heathen Roman did stab him in the side." 

"You aren't a heathen, or a Roman, Jimmy.  But you are a junkie. You might have stabbed me, but now I'm trying to save your life. Get clean, brother. And if you aren't going to kill me, can you please call an ambulance, so I can live through the night as well." 

"Yeah, you should get that looked at," he said and briefly smiled, "bye, Sam, get better." Jimmy slipped back through the sliding glass door and loudly slammed it shut. It was just loud enough. 

A fluttering of slipping footsteps came from the hallway, followed by an old bark.  The barking continued until the dog found his master lying head propped against the side table leaking precious fluid from his side.  The dog tried to lick the wound, but Sam patted his head.

"It's okay, old buddy. It's over now. He's gone." Sam closed his eyes. He felt like he could sleep for a very long time. He had done his job. 

"What's going on, are you watching TV...on my God, Sam! Sam!"

Sam pulled his eyes out of their deep slumber, "Huh, oh, it's okay honey, I was just a little restless, and I made a new friend..." 

"You're bleeding!!! OH GOD!"

"Oh yeah, we might want to get this checked out."

"Don't you dare go to sleep! Sam, listen, don't you go to sleep!"

Great, now even she's telling me I can't sleep. 

"Daddy, no, daddy, wake up! Wake UP!"

Okay, okay..."Jeez, can't a guy get a little sleep after a hard day of doing his job?" 

"No, daddy, we love you, stay awake for us."

"Yeah, Sam, we love you. You're job's not done."

...

"Huh..
...what...
...okay, yeah, whatever.  But I want a nap. A long nap at the hospital."




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