Reilly's Stash

Deborah looked at her circle of friends. Thin young adults barely out of high school, barely anything when it came down to it. Overenthusiastic people getting in over their heads with something they could not possibly understand.

Here they were. Despite everything else that could have happened, all the outcomes others had suggested along the way.

Deborah had argued against it. Jenna had agreed with her. But the boys, all three of them thought otherwise. It come down to gender really, the girls wanting to play it safe and the boys goading and pushing each other into doing it. They shared a laugh and a look and their instinct kicked in. None of them would back off now. It would assert them as the coward, the fool, the loser who was easily scared and would easily run off tail between his legs.

No, once the idea was suggested, once it steeped and permeated into them, they were in for it "no matter what." Whoever went against it "didn't have balls." It was expected for Deborah and Jenna to be against it, therein the problem. No balls.

Black sweaters, black pants, black hats. They looked ready. Ready as they were going to be. They all shared quiet, quick excitement, barely needing to say full sentences before they'd start quietly giggling, stifling laughter. They looked like first grade boys gathered in the corner of the school cutting class, wondering if they'd get away with it.

The house loomed, barely lit by the moonless night. It jutted up like a tombstone against the foreboding sky. Scraggly limbs of trees outreached the roof, arching towards the sky, skeletal hands scratching the clouds.

Somehow, despite the house's windows and doors and corners and roof, it was all featureless now, a despairing wasteland of flat monotony.

Deborah looked at Jenna. Pleading and desperation came from behind Jenna's eyes. There was a fear, sharp and specific there. Deborah knew Jenna wasn't going to say anything.

Deborah's throat felt incredibly dry as she began to speak. "It's not too late to go home guys," she said quietly at first. She coughed and cleared her throat. Only Mike had noticed her speak. A half open laugh still on his face, his sneer was one of immediate dismissal.

"Greg, Casey...Mike. Please, you guys, can we all just go home?" Deborah's voice sounded too high pitched. It reminded her of her voice 10 years ago. It reminded her of being that little girl, hair pulled awkwardly into a scrunchie, going to ask her dad to turn down the TV when she was trying to sleep and he was still up drinking beer. It reminded her of being a shrimp for her age, being slower than the other kids, hitting puberty late. The other girls laughing across the room from her during Study Hall.

Greg differed to Mike faster than Casey. Greg looked to Mike not only with reverence but with sheer joy. He loved Mike's one liners he'd spurt at the girls. Mike's voice was always loaded with a mocking criticism. It carried a strong disrespect, degradation and a sarcastic request for the girls to give him attitude. It begged for a reason to make them look like wimps.

Mike looked at Greg, half smiling. He looked at Casey, smile growing bigger.

"There's no reason to be scared Deborah. We got it," Mike said sardonically. He lowered his head a small degree, cocking it to the side, eyes dripping with disgust as they bore into Deborah's, challenging and probing.

"This is serious Mike. Come on, guys. Casey? You know this is wrong. He could have a gun!" Deborah looked at Casey. The weakest link in the chain, Casey was not a squeaky wheel, but he was the only one who could help them now.

Casey did not move an inch. It was as if he didn't even hear her. He stared, disengaged and detached, into the ground. Mike looked at him, the anger was visible.

"Well?!"

"WELL?" Mike yelled one more time at Casey.

"What?" Casey said.

"Are we doing this or not?"

Casey looked at Deborah and Jenna. His eyes showed no compassion.

"Let's get this over with," Casey said. He turned towards the house and started walking. Casey truly did not fear anything, and he had his own subtle leadership quality that even Mike would defer to when Casey flexed it.

Mike shot one last cheap plastic smile at the girls. Deborah looked at Jenna with a small shrug. It would probably be fine, right?

The little black book, the clues therein could all be true. It was a book of confessions, written by a possibly deranged but also possibly coherent mind. It was riddled with childlike wondering, short meandering thoughts about things. Written reminders to do certain things.

But, the black book also regarded a rather bizarre but real sounding encounter. An encounter with a lawyer and a dead relative and the inheritance of a "lot of money".

They all knew the bizarre bald man that the little black book belonged to. They had seen him writing in it before. He was often looking at it, smirk on his face. He peered at them out of the corner of his eye while he held that little black book open to a random page. He had watched all of them as they'd walked across the campus of their old high school.

They hadn't seen Mr. Reilly since high school, but they all recognized the black book that Greg had found at the park. It all made sense. The park being next to the school, Mr. Reilly had likely dropped it while he walked through the park. It was unmistakably his, and they hadn't known what to expect when they opened it.

Short weird ideas, random words, detailed maps of the schoolyard, it was not as much fun as they thought it would be to go through this strange man's secret thoughts. It had a few detailed stories of cleaning up trash or which students were cutting class. And then there was the three page story in end of the book. Three pages about the strange encounter which netted this odd man "a lot of money"

It had only been a week ago they had found this book, and now here they were. That was how things went with the boys. They'd decide to do something, have a couple beers or smoke a bit of weed, and soon enough it was past midnight on a Thursday and they were breaking into a janitor's house.

The three boys vanished into the shadow of the house, eaten by it's blackness.

It seemed the boys were gone forever. Deborah stood there, shivering in the cold, standing close to Jenna, huge coats hanging off of them and breath coming out in steam. The night was silent and cold. Long periods of absolutely no sound would stretch, cut by the occasional muffled sound coming from the house.

As much as they wanted the boys not to be noticed, and the absence of sound was a good thing, it was also horrifying to hear nothing at all. At least the small sounds meant the boys were still alive. At least the sounds meant anyone else in the world existed besides the two dim outlined shapes.

Muffled shouts came from the house. A sudden, bright light flickered on, blinding the night. The top bedroom, the smallest window in the house, had a simple single light bulb on the ceiling. Despite that, it seemed to illuminate everything in the night. The girls jumped when the light hit them, scaring the ghosts off their backs.

Silence. Silence in the light. Then, a chair crashed through the window, like it was no big deal. The sound, the high pitched tone of it, pierced their ears like a needle. The chair fell to the ground, busting an arm.

"DEB!" Came a scream from inside. Who was it? Casey, Mike, Greg? Deborah and Jenna shared a look. It was a primal, deep fear. That was when Greg came running out the door. He had a duffel bag and a look of complete horror on his face.

"What happened?!" Deborah screamed grabbing hold of Greg's sleeve. He looked at her and his mouth didn't move. He shoved the bag into Deborah's hands.

Greg's breathing stopped. He looked at Deborah, looked at Jenna. He swallowed, took a small breath and without a word, turned and ran away. Jenna and Deborah stood there. The house made no move towards them. No noise came from it. No threats or whispers.

The smallest of creaks emanated from somewhere. That was all it took. The girls took off after Greg. The entire world vanished behind them as they ran, blurring and blending into the darkness. The only sound was rushing wind. There was no time to look behind them as they ran.

When they reached the road, Deborah and Jenna stopped running. They were out of breath, fog vaporing out of them in quick successions. The road was barren in all directions. There was no sign of Greg.

Jenna was panicking. There was the beginning of a sob building in her voice as she panicked. "What are we going to do Deb? What happened? Where's Greg? "

Deborah had to shut out the noise coming from Jenna. She had to focus. She could barely see, and the road was offering no immediate help. Of course it led to town, but that would take miles and hours. They had to think.

"I don't know Jenna, I don't know okay? Just be quiet for a minute." Jenna shook her head at this comment, suddenly concerned that maybe Deborah had heard a noise. She had not, and now as they stood by the road the silence was complete. There was nothing, no indication at all. From anywhere.

Deborah looked up and down the road. The barely visible yellow dividing line between the two lanes twisted off into blackness, the obscurity of the paths indifferent.

"We'll have to follow the road," Deborah finally said quietly. It was a flawed plan, and they knew it. What about Greg? What about the miles of road? What about the house, the broken window? Mr. Reilly? The bag Greg gave them?

The bag. Deborah slung it off her shoulder. Jenna looked at it, looked up to Deborah. This bag was the only clue to what happened to Greg, Mike and Casey. Deborah began to open it.

Tears exploded from Jenna's face. "Don't... Please don't Deb..." Jenna choked out. Her eyes swam with panic, drowning in tears.

"Mike and Casey... Greg, they all fought for this. Might as well see what it is," Deborah said to her. Deborah thought it did not matter one bit, but she did want to know if the bag was worth carrying with them.

The blackness inside the bag almost matched that of the night. Nothing was visible. Deborah hesitantly put her hand in, feeling like any minute she might wrap her fingers around a cold venomous snake.

From the bag, Deborah pulled a wad of money. The bills were crinkled, dirty, ugly. The wad of hundreds seemed to look at the two of them like some pathetic consolation prize. Neither of them remembered why or how they had ever been dragged into this stupid situation. But either way there they were, two girls, cold in the dark night, walking up an empty two lane road, a bag amounting to $20,000 in hand, waiting to be rescued.