And whatever was happening downstairs… I was about to find out the truth…
The sound of creaking wood on the stairs was the only thing that broke the silence after Lily’s whisper. One, two, three pairs of feet. Maybe four. The weight of each step echoed on the floorboards like a hammer blow straight to my nerves. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to merge with the floor, praying that the dust accumulated under the bed frame wouldn’t make me sneeze and give away my position.
“Are you sure he won’t come back?” a male voice asked. It sounded young, in the throes of puberty, with that fragile tone that oscillates between deep and high.
“I’ve already told you, Leo.” Lily’s voice was different from the one I knew. There was no sweetness, no hesitation typical of adolescence. It was cold, sharp, authoritarian. “Mom’s like clockwork. She starts work at eight, has her break at twelve, and doesn’t walk through that door until five-thirty. Stop whining.”
I felt a sudden wave of nausea. Was that my daughter? The little girl who had asked me to make her hot chocolate the night before because she was cold?
The footsteps reached the landing and, to my horror, turned directly toward her room. Toward where I was.
I saw the first shoes enter my field of vision, limited by the bed frame. Black sneakers, worn and caked with dried mud. Then, military-style boots, much too big for whoever was wearing them. And finally, Lily’s immaculate white sneakers. The ones I had bought her myself two weeks ago as a reward for her good grades.
“Close the door,” Lily ordered.
The click of the lock echoed like a gunshot. Now she was trapped. If they looked under the bed, there was no escape. No window was open, no possible excuse.
“Get him out. I want to see him,” Lily said. She sat on the edge of the bed, right above my head. The mattress dipped slightly, pressing against my shoulder. I could smell her perfume, a blend of vanilla and strawberry, the same innocent scent as always, but now mixed with the acrid stench of fear emanating from my own pores.
I heard the sound of a heavy zipper, like the one on a sports backpack, being yanked open. Then, the sound of something metallic hitting the wooden floor. And paper. Lots of paper.
“It’s all here,” said the boy in boots. “The Johnsons’ house, Mrs. Greene’s house, and the new guy’s house on the corner.”
“Mrs. Greene?” Lily’s voice dripped with contempt. “That nosy old woman is the priority. She almost caught me the other day. She’s becoming a problem.”
My heart stopped for a moment. Mrs. Greene? What were they doing to her?
“What do we do with her, Lil?” a third voice asked, female this time, trembling. “I don’t want… you know, I don’t want anyone to get really hurt. We said it was just in and out.”
“Shut up, Sarah,” Lily snapped. The mattress creaked as she leaned forward. “No one gets hurt if they do what they’re supposed to. But old Greene has eyes everywhere. We need to scare her. Or at least make sure she stops looking out the window.”
From my hiding place, I saw a hand drop something to the floor near Lily’s slippers. It was a crowbar. An iron crowbar, rusted at the tip. And next to it fell several bundles of banknotes held together with rubber bands, and what appeared to be jewelry: a gold watch, several pearl necklaces, rings with stones that glittered even in the dim light under the bed.
I brought my hand to my mouth to stifle a scream. They weren’t skipping school to smoke cigarettes or drink stolen beer. My daughter, my little Lily, was leading a gang of thieves. They were robbing the neighborhood.
“How much did we get from the house at number 42?” Lily asked, impatiently tapping her feet.
“About three thousand in cash. And the jeweler,” replied the boy with the dirty sneakers. “But the dog almost heard us. We had to give him the meat you brought.”
—Fine. As long as it doesn’t bark, I don’t care what it eats.
There was a tense silence. I could see the military boots moving nervously.
“Lil…” the boy, Leo, began. “There’s a problem.”
-That?
—In the house at 42… we found this.
There was a rumble of papers being unfurled. I tried to crane my neck, to see more than ankles and soles, but the angle was impossible.
“What is this?” Lily asked. Her voice lowered its tone, losing its aggression and becoming something darker, more calculating.
—It was in the safe, next to the money. They’re photos, Lil. Photos of… us.
The air in the room seemed to turn to ice.
“From us?” she repeated.
“Yes. Look. That’s you leaving school. That’s me in the park,” said the girl, Sarah. “And there are dates written on the back. Someone was watching us before we started watching them.”
Lily jumped out of bed. Her white sneakers paced frantically back and forth in front of my nose.
“Give me that!” he shouted, snatching the papers from the other man’s hands. “This doesn’t make any sense. The guy from 42 is a boring accountant who lives alone. Why would he have pictures of me?”
“Perhaps he knows…” Leo began.
“Nobody knows anything!” Lily interrupted. “We’re like ghosts. We come in when they’re not there, we leave without a trace. We wear gloves, we cover the cameras. Nobody knows anything.”
“But this proves they do know,” Sarah insisted, her voice on the verge of tears. “Lil, I’m scared. If they know who we are… they could go to the police. Or worse.”
“No one’s going to the police about this,” Lily said slowly, and the tone of her voice chilled me to the bone. It was the tone of a dangerous adult, not a thirteen-year-old girl. “Because if he was watching us, it means he has something to hide too. Something much worse than a few robberies.”
Suddenly, Lily’s phone rang. It wasn’t her usual ringtone, that catchy pop song that played all the time. It was a dry, vibrating buzz.
“Silence,” he ordered.
I saw her shoes stop.
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