Betrayal

It was dusk at last. The crisp autumn air finally started to settle in as the strange man took a seat on the same park bench he sat on for the first time only three weeks ago; to him, it felt like an eternity. Leaving his car behind, he had to take a train and two buses to get to this side of town. It had been hours since he ate, but he lost his appetite and all sense of the word when he discovered what was going on behind that window. The same window he had now been staring at for two hours, patiently waiting for the two silhouettes he knew were inside to appear.

His eyes began to flutter as he became more exhausted and less patient. The brown leather in his lap kept him warm, while the rest of his body shuddered in agony. The weather wasn’t too bad— it was supposed to be pouring rain, which is the reason his wife was stuck in traffic. Except it wasn’t raining. And she was not in traffic.

The man could feel the cold darkness of the night creeping into his bones as he stared down at the briefcase in front of him. He knew exactly what he had to do, but he couldn’t move. He sat there on the cold wood, paralyzed— from fear, from anger, from jealousy?— he couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. Everything he knew had been put into question.

The man grew more anxious with every passing second. Over the fence, up the ladder, through the window. The lights flickered from inside the house. Climb over the fence, up the ladder, and through— he was interrupted by the gentle footsteps of a young boy. His face was smeared with tears, his shoes covered in mud. His hands were so small.

“Excuse me, sir?” the boy ventured, sliding across the bench.

The man ignored him. He knew he was just a boy. Through the window. Then lock it. Make sure there are no witnesses.

“Sir? Hello? Can you hear me?”

But the boy was a witness. The man couldn’t ignore him any longer.

Glancing at his briefcase once again, the man cleared his throat and began speaking in a deeper voice.

“Why are you here?”

Slowly, the boy looked up at the strange man with innocent eyes. He couldn’t make out the man’s face, cloaked in the shadows that seemed to engulf him the longer he sat still. The boy wiped away his tears, secretly relieved that he hadn’t lost all touch with reality.

“I ran away from home.”

The man didn’t respond at first. A small part of him wanted to help the boy, but his sympathy quickly faded as the memories of his own broken family flooded his mind; he remembered he had no children of his own. His wife didn’t want children.

A grim expression fell upon the man’s face as the smallest droplets of rain grazed the top of his briefcase. His eyes met the boy’s small hands as he donned the slightest smile.

“I’m sorry about that,” the man said with a feigned look of sympathy. “I have actually been locked out of my home. It’s right there”— he pointed— “but I left my key inside. I don’t have a spare, so I’ve been sitting here for hours waiting for my wife to come home.”

“Where is she?”

The man’s eyes drifted again towards the briefcase. “She’s stuck in traffic.”

“Oh,” the boy said, unsure of how else to respond.

“There actually is something you could do to help me.”

“Uh... what is it?”

“Well, you see that mail slot in the front door? My hands are too big to fit in there. But you— your hands are small, so if you just put your hand through the mail slot and turn the lock, I can get inside.”

No response.

“I could call your parents for you. I know you must miss them. My phone is inside.”

The boy’s eyes looked up to meet the man’s, but the softness in his voice was not matched by his distant gaze. He was hesitant, but the boy agreed to help him. He didn’t know any better.

The man watched from the shadows as the boy’s feet met the grass, the sidewalk, and the steps in front of the door. He slid his hand effortlessly through the slot, followed by a soft click as the lock turned, now ready to welcome unwanted visitors.

The boy looked back at the man, seeking some sign of approval, but he did not get one. The man didn’t seem to be acting like someone who got locked out of his home; he was existing in a completely different world entirely, his mind wandering places the boy didn’t even know existed.

The boy waited for the man to say something to him. He waited. And waited. Time seemed to pass more slowly when he realized the stranger carrying the mysterious briefcase was his only way of contacting his parents, his only way of escaping the danger of the outside world. Suddenly he became very aware that he was alone with him.

“Wait over there,” the man said, pointing to the bench they sat on not long ago. “I’ll call your parents for you as soon as I can.”

The boy trod across the dewy grass, watching as the mud slipped off his shoes. He realized that his hand was sore from fitting it through the tiny mail slot. His feet barely touched the ground as he sat back down on the bench, watching the house and waiting.

But too much time had passed. He started to walk away from the house, from the bench, from the uncertainties of the stranger he had just met. His socks felt wet as the rain began to pick up. He heard a loud boom. He turned around, checking to see if it was coming from the house. Another boom. Then it was over.

He felt the tears begin to stream down his face once again as the rain washed them away. The boy let the memory of the strange man leave his mind as he turned back around, returning towards his home. He started walking faster, until he was at a steady jog. By the time he was a few blocks away, he could hear his heart pounding out of his chest; but it wasn’t loud enough to block out the sound of the booms echoing in his head. Boom... boom. Then it was over. The boy turned around one last time, to catch a final glimpse of the house, before he left it behind. The thunder must have been really loud that night.