(Listen to the whole thing before reading)
Mae
A lavender hue falls around my black-clad shoulders as I pull gloves over my fingers. I give them a nice, snug yank before looping my mask around my ears. Dawning the hood, I take placid steps across the sidewalk. The sun is now completely gone and the purple atmosphere shifts to a blue tint.
I don't want to do this. I don't want to be here, but I promised I would have some paintings for mom and dad, by tonight. I never go back on my promises.
Fog, gathered in my sigh, puffs before me in thick clouds, only to be split in two by my quick pace. I am ready to just get this done with, whether hoodie-I mean Jake is here or not. That is one thing I'm still trying to wrap my head around; I have been fighting my best friend since college started. Why can't I accept this? Is there a chance that I'm totally wrong? Can there be a small, insignificant clue as to why he wouldn't be my worst enemy? Maybe that is the part of me that still wants to keep them separate; two distinct persons. Or is that just my need to stay positive? Nothing's making sense.
What better way to clear my head than an easy pull like this art museum, right? Wrong. This is the exact thing I don't want to do right now. I would rather stuff my face with squid than be here. Heck, I would rather listen to dad lecturing me than this. Thing is, there is a 95% chance, he will come tonight. Jake will somehow magically appear and be the hero in his self-righteous cape. And what irks me, is the part where I have the option to hurt him. Like last time. The blood I found on his hoodie was enough to make me noxious, let alone. If I saw his actual gash, I may have, more than likely, passed out. I don't want to hurt him. He doesn't deserve that. Even if he is my arch-nemesis.
I bite the inside of my cheek as I work on the back door of the security office. My thoughts distract me so much, I don't notice when the door clicks open.
I find myself staring inside the office, still crouched down. Giving my glazed eyes a few blinks, I stand, letting my legs feel the lack of circulation. They scream in defiance at each step.
I make my way to the security room, glancing at two guards sitting before a handful of surveillance screens. Their backs face me and music drifts from a small speaker in the corner. I instantly recognize the song, mentally banging my head on the wall.
"What is love? Baby, don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more." Karma is doing an excellent job, tonight.
An open box of donuts sits between the two men. I watch one of the guards reach for one, his face never drifting from the screens. They are vigilant, I'll give them that.
Staying close to the wall, I study each camera position on the screens, looking for blind spots or nice hiding positions. They have no idea I'm here. I'd like to keep it that way.
Satisfied with my observation, I pass the security room and locate the lockers. Thankfully, the music doesn't follow me.9
An abandoned uniform sits on a bench. The unlucky owner forgot his pass. Score! I click the ID card onto my belt loop, not giving the face or name a second glance. If everything goes smoothly tonight, the card will be found in its rightful place by morning.
Motion sensing lights line the hallways. A few sprits of spray paint solves that problem and the cameras are left none the wiser, sitting in the dark.
The sets of doors open to a slide of the card in my hand. I allow myself a smile at how easy this pull has been, so far.
By the fourth door, I reach the actual art museum and cease to fight the full grin. It's like a candy store. There are millions of dollars' worth of art hanging on these walls and I'm going to scratch off a sweet bite.
Wooden floors shine in the moonlight, giving the room a baby blue feel. This being Gale Ridge's only art museum, it is just one large rectangular room. Its white walls seem to crack at how many paintings they are holding up.
My thoughts flicker to the first screen I saw in the security room. Little tape pieces with sharpie numbers adorned the bottom of each screen. The sharpie number pops into my mind.
Camera number one. If I remember correctly, it should be in the left corner. I carry my gaze up and over. Sure enough, the little red light strobes on and off like a lazy wink. The camera's blind spot is a glass showcase standing directly in front of me.
Camera number two is on the right side and it only slightly makes up for one's blind spot. Barely. Also, I noticed that the cameras do not expand their sight, directly beneath them. Underneath each camera, is their biggest blind spot and my biggest advantage.
Because the glass case completely blocks one's corner, two won't see my first move. Sliding along the wall, my hands spread out across the texture as I inch towards one's unknown area.
I stand in the corner, scrunched as far as my shoulders will allow me as I plot my next move. Camera number three is the far left, and four is far right. This is where my dark apparel comes in handy. Unlucky for this museum, they never thought to leave a few lights on for the cameras to actually see. I remember three could only make out half of the room, leaving everything else, left to the imagination. Likewise, four has trouble with the same side, letting me be practically invisible once I get past one and two. After this night, the museum will find that the electricity bill might just be worth it, after all.
A couple of fancy moves later, I stand up in the dark area, looking over my options of art pieces. Nothing out of the ordinary. We have your everyday zig-zags, and the random splotches, and then the abstract faces. I'm not much of a modern art fan, but I know they are worth something, so I begin my mandatory safety check.
Checking between a sunflower painting and the wall, I notice a small box behind it, concluding that each piece should have one as well. Motion detectors or pressure sensors, I'm not sure which they are. Pulling out my lock picking set, I flip it open and take a long screwdriver-like tool out. I unfold it, letting it stretch out to its full potential. Carefully sliding it along the wall, I reach the device and detect the screw hole. With a few twists, the cover clatters to the floor with a loud echo. I screw my eyes shut and clench my teeth at the sound. I hope that the guards' music is enough of a bop.
A few tentative minutes pass and all is silent. I should be safe.
I set back to work and take out my favorite gadget ever. The deactivate-inator (named it myself). It extends for jobs like these. I reach its little claw through the space, aiming for the tip of the red wire, enclosed in the small box. I press the button on the handle at contact and pull it back.
Easy as that. Seeing no other sensors behind the piece, I nudge the painting off of its hook and heave the weight onto the floor.
The painting is carried to the edge of the blind spot, where I stack five more.
Seeing as how I can only fit so many paintings into my car, I begin the risky journey out of the museum.
It goes smoother than I expect.
Easily enough, I transport the pieces to the back steps outside, merely a block away from my car.
I make my way back inside, letting myself smile with relief that it is almost over. This whole thing is almost over.
As I reach the entrance door, the newfound grin falters. My eyes catch sight of a dark silhouette, standing at the front of the art room.
My first thought jumps to Jake, but the theory is quickly uprooted and thrown out the window. It's not Jake. The shoulders are smaller and the stance is shorter by a few inches. Another thief? What are the odds? Like me, black is the choice of apparel and even though the moonlit beams aren't bright, I can see gloves and a mask. A hood is visible as well.
The figure begins to walk away from the door with uninterrupted steps. It moves through the middle of the room, not even once, looking around. I slap my mouth with a gloved hand as I watch the form take overly confident steps.
The alarms will go off any second. We're both dead.
I strain, waiting for the loud, high-pitched ringing to come, but to no avail, silence only becomes louder, if that sort of thing's possible.
Too curious for my own good, I follow the thief into the room and glance up to the cameras. I wait for the constant red blink, but it never comes. The cameras are deactivated.
Then what happened to the guards?
To my dismay, a floorboard creaks beneath my weight as if it despises me, waiting for an opportunity to snitch on me. Silently cursing wood floors, I cringe and slowly lift my head, afraid of what I might see.
Nothing less to be expected, the thief twirls around like lighting. We stand on opposite sides of the room, facing each other. It feels like one of those showdowns in the cowboy movies. Our eyes stare into the dark hoods, but no movement follows. It's as if we are trying to recognize each other.
A stretch of silence ensues, only to be interrupted by a silky-smooth voice.
"Mae. Long time no see." The sound of the voice is all-too-familiar and I recognize it faster than my own.
"Blair." My insides begin to boil at the name which falls out of my mouth.
Forget hoodie guy. She is my real arch-nemesis.
Blair daintily folds her arms across her chest as she looks me up and down. I imagine her to be wearing her supercilious smile as she always does in the presence of commoners such as myself.
"What brings you to this fine establishment?" she questions, her air of confidence almost reaching the moon.
"I could ask you the same thing," I counter, keeping my voice at a reasonable tone. It feels far too easy to let go of all control and charge at her with pepper spray.
"Well, I found quite a nice piece that I shouldn't let go to waste," she answers as she walks to the right wall. I assume she doesn't want me to eat up her valuable time with small talk. "What about you, cousin?"
I force myself to breathe in and out. "Why are you in Gale Ridge? You knew I was going to be here, didn't you?" Her specialty was spoiling all of my heists back home and I guess she wasn't done with me, even when I moved to college.
She gives a high chuckle, deactivating the sensor behind a large painting with her own gadget. "I couldn't let you have everything, now, could I?"
"What did you do the security guards?" I ask. I feel my fingernails pierce through the gloves.
"A little bit of chloroform never hurt anyone," she says, lifting the painting up. I always considered her tactics to be harsh and overkill. This is one of those reasons why.
"You did what? Never mind. I was here first. First come, first serve. That's thief's code and you know it." I point at the ground for emphasis, as if marking my territory.
"Relax, sweetheart. I just came for this one." I ignore the nickname as Blair motions to the painting in her arms.
It's a watercolor, depicting a huge valley, stocked to the brim with flowers. "'The great garden'." she muses. "Isn't it fantastic? This is the priciest thing in the whole museum. Why would I need anything else?"
"Just take your painting and leave," I demand, keeping my voice steady. I am beyond ready to never see her face again.
"Whatever you say. Oh, and you're welcome, for the chloroform. Toodles." She rotates herself and the painting out the exit, not forgetting to whistle.
I ignore her retreating back and turn to my last stack of paintings. This is not a good mood to be working with, but I have to finish the pull.
I carry my last stack of paintings through the halls. Their size makes me hobble awkwardly along, but I manage to reach the exit door before I stop cold. My fingers lose their grip. I let them drop to the floor with a loud clatter.
Surprise freezes all brain signals and movements. My eyes blink a few times before I look down at my sad pile of paintings.
"Look what you've done." I manage to mumble, motioning to the broken and splintered frames.
The only source of light comes from a streetlamp outside the door. It casts long shadows over the white walls and carpeted floor.
And him.
Even in the dim air, I can see that he wears a black button-up shirt, tucked into clean jeans and he sports his signature converse. No hoodie is in sight, but how could I deny it before? Just his outline, his mere figure screams hoodie guy. I feel so stupid for not seeing it earlier. Jake and hoodie guy is standing before me, blocking the exit. One and the same.
"What I've done?" I see Jake, but hear hoodie guy. "You were the one who dropped them," he says, crossing his arms. Apparently, he thinks I could see his face all along, hence, why he seems unfazed with his attire. Luckily, I still have my mask and hood to protect my identity. But what about my eyes? Just a few steps further into the light and he might recognize my eye color.
"You scared me, okay?" I defend. "Did you call the police?" Why is my voice so high? What's wrong with me? This is hoodie guy! My arch-nemesis, remember?!?
"You know how I feel about the police," he answers deadpanned. He seems grumpier when he's with thief me. "and I'm still mad at you for ditching like you did, last time. I was so close to never having to worry about you again."
"So, you didn't call them?" I raise an eyebrow hopefully. I wonder if he recognizes my voice. Or is he in the same predicament as I was, never quite clicking the pieces together?
"I'm not telling." He purses his lips in defiance.
"You're impossible." I sigh and begin to scoop up the remains of art. Hopefully, dad and mom can fix or salvage what is left of my accident. "Excuse me, please. You're blocking the door." I say, craning my neck to see around him.
"That's the point," Jake says. He doesn't budge.
I release a tired sigh through the half-lit doorway. "Look, I'm not in the mood for a fight. Just let me get out of your hair and you won't have to deal with the police again, okay?"
A moment of consideration passes along his shadowed face, but it hardens just as fast. "You have no idea how much I would love to do that, but can't you see how wrong this is?" His hands spread out for emphasis. "Don't you see how many people you hurt by doing this? It would be totally against my morals if I turned a blind eye. I would regret it for the rest of my life if I let you get away with this." He glances around as if looking for more words written on the walls.
"Yeah, well, you've let me get away with it before. What's one more loss?" I bite my lip, noticing his shoulders stiffen.
His head whips back to me with conviction. "With every ounce of me, with every breath and every last bit of strength I have left, I will always try to stop you." He takes a step closer and my breath catches in my throat. I see two small freckles beside his left eye. I've never noticed those before. "And if it comes to the police, I'm gonna be the one to bring you in. No more reporting. I'm your new bounty hunter, jewel thief."
I hear my heart slam against my chest. It feels as if a sledgehammer is knocking on my rib cage. We now seem mere inches apart and I can almost feel his breath reach me if it not for this mask. My tongue feels too big for my mouth as I search for something to say.
"Touching. Did you rehearse that before you came?" I ask. My voice comes out stronger than I feel. "That explains your outfit. It's a little fancy for this museum though, don't you think?" I take my chance as he absentmindedly glances down at his clothes.
"I'm sorry, Jake," I whisper before shoving myself and the broken paintings against him, hard. He falls to his back, groaning from loss of air. I cringe, but bolt past him, trying to keep the pieces between my arms.
Huffing, I run across the street. I take the opposite direction of my car, aware that if I attempt to escape with it, he would immediately recognize me. That isn't an option. Instead, I find myself standing in an empty parking lot.
Where am I? What am I doing? How the heck am I going to escape, and why am I still carrying broken paintings?
There's no time to answer the questions as quick footsteps catch up to me.
All at once, a large force collides with my back and I fall forwards, the painting pieces flying all around me like messed up confetti. The world almost slows down as I brace for impact, my hands reaching forward to break my fall.
Maybe it is too dark. Maybe it is how tired and confused I feel at this moment, or maybe it is the constant plea to not be Jake. Anybody but Jake, I can hurt. Anybody but Jake. Whatever the case, it must affect my coordination because my hand grasps at nothing as it hits the asphalt.
A sickening crack ensues and black spots dot my vision.
I cry out at the blinding pain in my wrist. The rest of my body goes limp on the ground as I cradle the injury with my good hand.
Jake takes a few steps, somewhere around me. I close my eyes for the briefest of seconds and open them to see him suddenly crouched beside me.
He reaches for my mask.
***************************************************************** Oct-15-20
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Thoughts? Opinions? Theories? Trash talk?
Let me hear it. What are you thinking?
Could this be the end of Mae's thieving? And what of her identity? 😱
Song for the chapter; What is love? - Haddaway
My original title for this chapter was, 'Noodles and Toodles...' Pretty original, huh?
Stay tuned for another exciting episode of 'Why am I still reading this?'