Dacen

  November 23, 2022

  Atlanta, GA 5:15am

  The first rays of sunlight hadn’t yet began to paint the sky when Dacen started his ascent. He now sat perched on the limb outside of a window gracefully prying the screen’s aluminum frame out of the sill. The aluminum already had a small bend from the last time, something that had gone unnoticed by the home-owner because no-one ever examined that type of thing. He was quick but gentle with it as to not damage it further. Once the frame was freed, he threaded a needle and deftly secured the screen to the corner, tying a slip knot around the frame with the string. As he released it, the screen dangled inconspicuously inches below the tree limb, out of sight and cleverly concealed by a branch of leaves. He looked through the window. It was dark. He hoped that it would still be unlocked. His palms had begun to sweat. He wiped them on his jeans and then pressed both palms to the glass.

  Mark's window remained unlocked, a habitual practice since his early high school days. Not something the Marine would still do after boot camp, no doubt. And Dacen was mildly aware this could be the last time he uses this as his entry point. Dacen applied just enough pressure to the window glass, ensuring it wouldn't creak and give away his presence. With his experience from sneaking into sorority houses during his first semester of college, he considered himself a seasoned professional, adept at the art of stealthy entry. However, this particular house posed unique challenges. Two slumbering chow-chows guarded the fenced area below the only second-story window with a tree near enough to climb, adding an extra layer of caution. Moreover, the homeowner, plagued by insomnia and paranoia, carried a colt .45 everywhere he went, making Dacen marvel at the absence of any alarm system.

  In the early hours of the morning, while most people enjoyed the embrace of slumber, Dacen understood that this particular homeowner would likely be awake and immersed in his work. Armed with the knowledge of the house's layout and that the office was situated downstairs, far from his intended point of entry, Dacen was confident in his ability.

  A faint creak resonated from the window, confirming his hopes. The diligent practice he had devoted to perfecting his technique paid off in that moment. He smiled as he raised the window and slipped inside. He strategically placed his foot on the book that marked the sturdiest spot on the floor, a secret he had discovered during a previous visit.

  As he maneuvered his second leg through the window, his eyes caught movement below. One of the dogs stirred, momentarily stirring a ripple of concern within Dacen. Holding his breath, he withdrew from the window, ensuring the dog's gaze did not meet his own. Just as he turned away, the room's lights abruptly turned on.

  "DAD!! IT'S ME!" Dacen exclaimed, hoping to defuse any potential threat before his father could mistake him for an intruder. It was not the warm welcome he had envisioned.

  "I know. I had cameras installed last summer," his father responded, leaning nonchalantly against the door frame, a device clutched in his hand.

  Embarrassment surged through Dacen as his father brandished a handheld monitor, showcasing his new state-of-the-art security system, which included six different camera angles. Apparently, his father's watchful eyes had been trained on him since the moment his Uber had arrived on the block.

  "I was going to call your cell..." his father began, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance, "...but I didn't want to disturb the neighbors." It was a euphemism, a tacit acknowledgment of Dacen's expertise in the realm of breaking and entering, which he preferred not to remind the neighbors of.

  Then, out of nowhere, Pineapple let out a single, random bark.

  "A grasshopper must’ve passed gas," Dacen's dad chuckled as he walked over to the window, picking up the book that Dacen had stepped on. Dacen observed that his silent infiltration had been quieter than a grasshopper's flatulence and concealed his amusement. Letting his dad assume his joke had brought a smile to his face, Dacen understood that perception shaped reality.

  “You want some coffee? I need some more coffee.” Sam offered as he turned to leave the room. Dacen had zoned out watching his dad pick up the book was that quickly lost in a memory.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Tojo, the other chow-chow, was the likely culprit, not a grasshopper. Named after the late Tojo Yamamoto, he possessed a ferocious nature that matched his appearance. Armed with an arsenal of experimental, vomit-inducing gas, likely a relic from pre-World War II, Tojo was also capable of drowning someone in slobber with a single lick.

  Ironically, Pineapple embodied intelligence among the duo. At fifteen years old and jet black, he was a veteran who had once thwarted a break-in attempt and even graced the front page of the news.

  Dacen reminisced about the night they had welcomed Pineapple into their lives. He and Mark had been watching old wrestling videos, specifically Piper's Pit, where Roddy Piper famously struck Jimmy Snuka with a coconut. In the midst of their excitement, Mark had yelled, "He hit him with a pineapple!" The enthusiastic pup, believing he had been christened with a name, had embraced it. In Mark's defense, he was only eight years old at the time, and there happened to be a pineapple on the table between them and the television. That night, Dacen had jokingly nicknamed his older brother "coconuts," and the monikers stuck.

  “Earth to Dacen!” Sam said as he snapped his fingers in front of his son’s face.

  "Yeah, thanks!" Dacen snapped back from the random memory, re-centering himself. He turned to close the window. “That would help a lot.”

  He’d drink the coffee. Not because he needed it. But because it would be better than sitting there watching his dad drink it alone. He replayed the conversation in his head as his father walked out.

  Leaving his phone on while breaking into a house would be an amateur mistake. Glancing downward, he noticed Pineapple rising and making his way to the water bowl, ignoring Tojo's antics.

  Dacen had met Sam's gaze for the first time in a year. Sam had witnessed him breaking into the house. Dacen had hoped his dad would attribute his skills to mere luck or, better yet, missed his ninja-like abilities entirely, assuming he hadn't been watching the whole time through the surveillance system. That must be it! Dacen tried to convince himself… or at least comfort his fragile ego. Sam had probably seen him petting the dogs from Mark's window and, to his astonishment, witnessed him entering through the second-story window as he was on his way down stairs to greet him at a more expectant entry point – the front door. No matter how hard he tried, Dacen couldn't deceive himself. He was certain that Sam believed the rumors about him breaking into old man Bill's house. Not that he hadn't done it. He had, but he had his reasons. Old man Bill was a despicable individual who deserved everything he got. Since that incident, however, Dacen's relationship with Sam had deteriorated. He was still welcome in the house, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Sam no longer trusted him, and the weight of that realization hurt. Yet, he couldn't defend his actions. Doing so would mean Mark getting into trouble.

  Although Sam often reassured him that everything was fine, the look in his eyes conveyed his belief that Dacen was responsible for old man Bill's death, just like the rest of the neighborhood.

  The last thing on Dacen's mind was Mark's request for him to feed Lucifer, the family's wicked, long, blue-eyed pied ball python, at least once while he was deployed. Somehow, Dacen had managed to avoid that responsibility for most of the year. Mark was returning home tomorrow, making this morning his final feeding-time opportunity. While they would laugh at how close Dacen had cut it, at least he would have done it. Or at least it would provide him a shallow excuse in any future argument where he would otherwise be run down with the laundry list of accusations of immaturity and lack of responsibility. What did they want? He was only 19. He actively partook in the strategy of avoiding repetitive responsibilities. He didn’t want a house… because that required maintenance and yard work. He didn’t want a pet – that would tie him down. Maybe others were home bodies… not him. He wanted freedom.

  Dacen stared into the glass enclosure, fixated on the menacing creature who would never know freedom – and that comforted him. If there was one thing in the world that truly unnerved him, it was snakes. He believed that was precisely why Mark adored them and designated him as Lucifer's primary caretaker in the event of his demise. Dacen had jokingly nicknamed her Lucifer due to his apprehension.

  Lucifer's weekly mealtime had arrived, and Dacen had timed his arrival to be the one to feed her. He knew Mark would mock him if he failed to muster the courage. And he knew if he didn’t get here at the break of dawn, his dad would steal away the opportunity – not on purpose but because it needed to be done and he would do it before leaving the house and would not take a chance on Dacen not showing up… like the last 3 plans he’s changed. Three stories for 3 different times. Although Dacen found the experience unsettling and had no fondness for toying with rodents, he understood it was part of her diet. "Fuck you, Mark," he muttered under his breath as he started at the mice.

  In his imagination, Dacen envisioned a Nike commercial, with the camera tracking shoes ascending a hundred flights of stairs until reaching an apartment where the runner stops to feed his snake. "Just do it!" he proclaimed. "And fuck you, Nike!" he added with a louder voice.

  "Which one of you does fate hate the most?" Dacen muttered, selecting a large gray rodent and gritting his teeth before grabbing it by the tail. This one was no ordinary mouse. Raising it above Lucifer's tank, he marveled at how the mouse just went limp. It just gave up. No fight – but now just stared patiently around the tank that it would soon be placed in. He admired the calm preparation of a strategy that would inevitably fail – but he wondering if the mouse actually believed it had any real chance of success.

  "Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed as pain shot through him expectantly.