The Break-In Read Online Free PDF

his father.
    Just as Alex had hoped, the back door was unlocked. Made it nice and easy—no need to break a window to get inside. The kitchen was straight out of the 1950s. Yellow checked curtains, fake marble table with chrome legs, plastic fake-lace place mats. An Elvis Presley clock hung on a wall. Elvis’s bent legs danced back and forth with each second. A tin sign said this kitchen was, in fact, “Mom’s Diner.” But as ugly as the room was, Alex liked it. It had a cozy, grandma appeal.
    “I’m sorry,” Marcus said, leaning against a bright green fridge. “About before.”
    Alex shrugged.
    “Did you think she was pretty?” Marcus’s eyes were bright with hope. Hope that this eleven-year-old kid would agree with what he wanted so badly to believe. “Lisa. She’s pretty, right?”
    Somehow Marcus looked sadder in this house than he did at Alex’s place. His chubby face joined his body with no sign of a neck. The beard looked out of place, that was for sure. Poor guy. In love with a girl so selfish she asked him to commit a crime. After she had already walked out on him. Alex smiled. He lowered the gun. “B-beautiful.”
    Marcus sighed, satisfied. He reached for a banana on the counter and peeled it. Took a bite. “So where do we leave spidey?”
    “H-h ... h-h-his room. So I can c-c-come back for him. A-a-after.” That was the plan. Leave Boris in Morrison’s bedroom with the door shut. Then go home and wait for Morrison to return. Wait for the ambulance to show up. Then—once they’d carried the old man’s lifeless body away—race back and collect the spider. Feed him an extra-special meal. Two crickets. Maybe three.
    Suddenly, Marcus dropped the banana and started pulling at his jacket. “Oh God! I think Boris is loose! I think he’s in my shirt!” Bent over,he batted at his belly, tugging his T-shirt out from his pants. Alex dropped the gun and grabbed at Marcus’s hands before he hurt the spider. Marcus lost his balance, and the two of them fell to the floor, Marcus still yanking at his clothing.
    Alex grabbed Marcus’s hands, pinning them to the floor. Something hard pressed into Alex’s knee. No sooner had he felt it when a shot rang out. It was so loud Alex thought he’d been hit in the head. Marcus held up his hand, opened his mouth, and let out a silent scream.
    A perfect hole edged with a thin black line had appeared in Marcus’s hand. They watched the hole go from white to pink to bright red. It filled with blood and then started to leak. Blood dribbled in a thin stream to the floor. Behind the hand, a hole in the fridge door.
    “Right through me. The bullet went right through me!” Marcus cried.
    “It’s o-o-o-o-k-k ...!” said Alex, fighting his panic. “You’re going to be f-f-f ...”
    “You shot me,” Marcus whispered, turning his hand over. “Right through! You shot me right through!”
    Alex took Marcus’s hand and held it up. If Alex hadn’t caused his father’s death, this would be the worst thing he’d ever done.
    “I’m going to die.” Marcus doubled over. “Here in Morrison’s kitchen. In front of a dancing Elvis clock.”
    The bullet went right between the bones, that much was clear. Alex knew from his dad’s police talk that Marcus wasn’t even going to need a cast. But words stuck on his tongue worse than ever now. So instead of going to the effort of calming Marcus, Alex grabbed a tea towel. He tied it tight around the wound to slow the bleeding.
    “Call 911!” said Marcus. “Hurry!”
    It wasn’t possible. Calling 911 would mean Marcus would go to jail, too. That wouldn’t be fair. Marcus was the innocent victim. Okay, maybe not totally innocent. But still. Getting shot was enough punishment.
    “Please!” Marcus begged. “I don’t want to die ...”
    Alex shook his head. He needed to think like a cop. Look at the Who, What, When, Where, How, and Why. The Who and the What needed no further thought. The When and the Where could not