Chapter One: The Secret Is Locked

Chapter One of "The Thief Bound".

The constant pounding thrummed through my eardrums, keeping me between consciousness and slumber as the train rolled on through the blackest of nights. The windows were battered with heavy, constant rainfall ever since we had entered the state. I rolled over once again and curled into the tightest ball I could force myself into, pressing my head against the wooden arm of the long, badly-cushioned seat. Fortunately for me, the train was nearly empty, so each passenger or family of passengers had taken an individual setup; the seat across the table from where I was uncomfortably crammed had not been taken. I sent a silent “thank you” for not having further interruption due to my lack of company.

I held a leather-bound package tightly to my chest, sliding my thumb across the small ridges and bumps of the leather. The texture of the package pleased me, but its contents were even more to my interest. However, I wasn’t even sure what was inside the package, because I had been instructed not to open it until I reached the end of my journey. Known to disobey directions, I had slid my thumb beneath the clasp that held the packaging together. Not thinking to use much effort, I had tried to pull the clasp free, but it did not budge. With more force, I had tried once again, but still the package would not open. It had been that moment which spiked my interest even more.

The way I had come across the package slid through my mind as a distant memory as the train’s loud movement finally became a lullaby that sent me, finally, into a deep sleep. I had been a fifteen-year-old thief, known well in my home state for my wits. An old, angry chef had hired me, ordering me to steal recipes from other chefs until he found something that could make him rich. I had done many other jobs for many other clients, but I laughed at the idea of a task so simple. However, my laughing came too soon, because the chef sent me to a place I did not ever think to steal from.

As I read over the address again and again, I had repeatedly had to slow my breathing down. I took a walk around the massive city the chef had chosen for me to visit, trying to calm the beating of my heart. In the lower-class areas of the city, the smell of rotting fish and fresh slaughter intermingled. I pinched my nose as I walked near the city wall, watching children in rags as they ran along after dogs and balls of twine. The unpleasant smell dissipated as I reached the more middle-class areas, however. In its place was the smell of moist soil and freshly grown potatoes. I walked up to one of the civilians standing near his garden’s gate and raised my hand in a greeting.

He in turn raised his hand. ‘Good,’ I thought. ‘He doesn’t know who I am.’

I walked nearer to him and took a small sum of money that I had earned working for the chef from my pocket. “I would like to buy a tomato from your garden. Is this enough?” I asked.

The farmer counted the change in my palm, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “I shall be right back, young lad,” he said. He then opened the gate to his garden and found three of his most ripe tomatoes. I pulled a sack from my shoulders, handed the farmer my change, and slid the three tomatoes into the sack. In preparation for my nearby theft, I had decided it would be best to have a full stomach. The slightest rumble could get me into a bind.

Happy that I could afford not one, but three large tomatoes, I continued up the road into the upper-class area of the city. The area was fragrant with the aroma of flowers-- a pleasing scent which I breathed in greedily. Ladies in pastel-colored, ruffled dresses walked along the roads with parasol-holding gentlemen dressed in expensive suits walking beside them. I marveled at the way the rich people could dress in such thick clothing during such a hot time of the year.

When I was done admiring the rich folk, I made my way to the end of the main road, where a large wall rose several feet into the air. “Crap,” I muttered below my breath, “There’s no way a kid like me can steal from a place like this.”

Men clad in steel armor strode around the top of the wall, accompanied by men in darker clothing who carried bows and wore quivers of arrows on their backs. As I peeked through the iron bars of the large gate, I could see the forms of several aggressive dogs patrolling as well. I leaned as far as I could toward the gate before a sudden shriek sent me staggering back a few feet. Panting crazily, I struggled to catch my breath before peeking ahead of me to find out what had shrieked at me. Nothing stood near the gate.

“I might as well be dog food!” I shouted.

However, when night had fallen on the city, I made my move. As silent as a large, wild cat stalking its prey, I climbed my way up the rough wall. Two patrolling guards had been chosen to walk my part of the wall. I found a good foothold and held myself against the wall with my weight, pulling rag from my pocket as I freed my hands. Opening the rag, I uncovered a dozen needles and a vial. Using my teeth to pop open the vial, I slid a couple of the needles into the liquid it contained. I then closed the vial and wrapped the remainder of the needles, sliding the rag back into my pocket.

Still careful to remain silent, I moved further up the wall. Hanging just below the top, I waited for one of the guards to walk near me using my ears to track their movements. As the first guard was passing, I quickly pricked his ankle with my first needle, making it seem as though only an ant were biting him. He tensed at the sensation, but continued to patrol. The second guard came shortly after, and I did the same to him as the first. Soon they were both unconscious. I slipped over the wall and used one of the ladders against the inner wall to climb down.

In my planning, however, I had forgotten to include the dogs. They had already picked up the scent of an intruder and were surrounding me in no time. Against everything I had ever been taught about dogs, I took off sprinting towards the main gate. Growling in a terrifying volume that rippled through my spine, the dogs came after me, snapping viciously at my heels.

The main gate was still down, but I had miraculously beaten the dogs to it. I only had a few important minutes before the dogs were going to be upon me, ripping me to pieces. In those few minutes, I grabbed the crank-handle that operated the pulley system for the gate and used all of my strength to turn it, opening the gate just enough to run beneath it.

The dogs followed me through the gate, exploding after me in a shower of dirt and grass torn up by their claws. I ran as fast as I could toward the lower-class area of the city. I felt that I could lose the dogs in an alleyway by jumping over a fence. I knew the exact alley to take to execute such a plan. Still depending on precious-little time, I made a sharp turn and leaped for the chain-link fence. Wires sliced deep into the skin of my hands, causing blood to splash against the dirt below me. I gritted my teeth from the pain but forced myself to climb over the fence. As I jumped down on the other side, I turned to face my pursuers.

The dogs could not find a way over the fence. It had been the closest that anyone had ever gotten to catching me. I slid down against a brick wall and drew in slow, deep breaths. My hands were still dripping blood, but the pain had subsided enough for me to think clearly. The dogs were still attacking the fence, barking loudly. After catching my breath, I quickly stood up and ducked into the nearest building. I didn’t want the dogs’ noise to attract attention to me in any way.

The building that I had chosen to hide in was dark. It was a good sign for me; nobody was awake. I entered the kitchen of the dwelling and found a clean rag in one of the drawers near the sink. Using the rag, I secured the gashes in my hand. The white rag was quickly stained red. After I had gotten that taken care of, I took a look around the small house.

Only one chair sat at the small, wooden table in the center of the kitchen and dining area. A stack of newspapers occupied one corner of the square table, and it had gotten to a height equal to my shoulders. I looked at the top paper in the stack. “Boy Thief Strikes Again” blazed across the top of the paper. ‘Great,’ I thought. ‘I might have to kill this one.’

I had killed many times before. The last was because somebody was stupid enough to call the authorities, even though they knew of my fame. They valued their money over their boring lives. I couldn’t blame them, considering I had watched them for several weeks before deciding to take their money. The family was composed of the mother, the father, and their son. At one point, I learned, they had a daughter in the picture. The daughter had grown old enough to leave.

Once a week, the father of the family would walk to the end of the road and take a newspaper out of the community box. He would then stop by a tea stand and have the lady at the stand make some mint tea. There was a bench halfway between his home and the newspaper box. It was there that he sat and read his paper while taking sips of his tea. When he returned home, he got ready for work and then left the house to some unknown job.

The mother of the family took care of the son, following the same routine every day. The family never experienced any extreme fortune, and nothing ever seemed to trouble them. They were stuck in the same rut every day. I figured that losing a small sum of money would be healthy for them.

I entered the house at midnight after I felt that I had learned enough to make a successful robbery happen. There were newspapers stacked up in different areas of the house, and I could hear the quiet voice of the mother, who was reading her son a bedtime story. The father was not home; he had to work late as a result of a promotion. I searched the house and found a billfold in a drawer above the kitchen knives. It was at that moment that I heard a small cough followed by a startled gasp. When I turned to see who had made the noise, I was surprised to see that both the mother and her son had made their way into the kitchen.

In the space of a few seconds, the mother raced to the phone and dialed 9-1-1. I snatched an apple from the kitchen counter and threw it at her hand, knocking the phone to the ground. With the mother confused, I raced to the phone and smashed it with my foot. I then turned to face the two in the house. “What’s your name, ma’am?” I asked, hoping my words sound like the hissing of a snake to them.

The mother stuttered, pressing her back against the nearest wall, “I-I-I’m Antoinette!”

Antoinette’s son ran to her and slipped his fingers through hers. He looked like he was about five, but my curiosity got the best of me. “How old are you, little one?”

The son held up five fingers. ‘Another point for the thief,’ I thought. He then surprised me, “How old are you?” he had asked.

I choked back something deep within myself. I had already made the plans to kill them, but his question stopped me short. “I’m thirteen,” I answered honestly.

The boy nodded and then hid behind his mother again. I fought an inner battle that took what seemed like hours. With just a few words, the little boy, whose name I didn’t even know, had changed something within me. ‘No,’ I thought. ‘They tried to rat me out. I can’t take chances here.’

I quickly made my way to the kitchen and opened the knife drawer. Without really looking at the family again, I threw the knives, hearing the dull thud they made as they entered the skulls of Antoinette and her son. Pushing aside all feeling I had built up over the short time I had known the family, I left the house with full pockets.

When the memories ended, I stumbled slightly. I caught myself by pressing my hand flat against the stack of newspapers. “It’s been two years,” I mumbled. “Who knew this night would come?”

I heard him before he stepped into the room. He walked slowly, a newspaper under his arm and a cup of mint tea in his right hand. I examined him as he stepped into the light. Even though it had only been two years, much had changed. The man standing before me had once worn a polite smile, but in that smile’s place there was a very sad expression. Not only that, but the man looked very tired and lonely. I silently cursed at myself.

“It seems you got into some trouble,” said the man. “Stealing from another innocent human being?”

The man did not seem angry, but I still kept my guard. “I was doing a job. Dogs chased me here.”

“You caused quite a commotion, young thief,” said the man.

“I forgot to include those mutts in my planning,” I growled. I was still feeling bitter from my failure. The man had the nerve to bring back the painful loss.

“You killed my family, didn’t you? Antoinette and our son. Two years ago,  I found them dead. Your name appeared all over the papers, associated with many deaths… Many robberies. I kept every single paper with your name in it, including ones I bought in different states. You’re a famous thief, Ian. You kill and take everything you can. I’m surprised you still live as such a poor boy.”

I shouted at the man then, “Don’t you dare call me Ian! Never, ever call me Ian!”

“Why not? What would you rather me call you? You can call me Hans,” said the man.

“I’d rather you call me thief boy or something! I never want to be called by that name again…”

“I understand. Well listen, kid. You killed my family. You killed many innocent people. I could easily turn you in right now. However, I need you to do something for me.”

Hans  slid his hand between two of the papers in the stack and pulled out a package bound in leather.

A loud jolt woke me back up, and I sat up in the train. Hans asked me a favor that night, and to keep from getting caught, I told him I would do his favor. I had no intention of actually going on the journey he started me on, but once I tried to open the package and failed, I became interested.

With the package tucked beneath one arm, I had left the house that night. It was then that my journey began.

Author's Note

Please review to the best of your ability. Do NOT write one-word reviews. This is a writing site. I will not tolerate laziness.

Reviews

[Christine McNead]

This is really interesting and descriptive...before entering into the full action of the story, I would answer some questions such as why there are such poor areas and why there is a large gate with people patrolling it. Most importantly, you need to let the reader understand about the way the world is and why. Another thought: I liked how raw it was, but maybe you should reconsider having the main character brutally kill people. Readers want to be able to relate and grow to love the main characters, and it will be difficult for people to do that if he kills an innocent little boy, even if he does evolve into a better person. So my suggestions are to either make his actions less horrible, or make a different person the main character and make him the protagonist. Good work!