Page 55 of The Intruder

One thing is very clear now though. I’m never going to fall asleep if I keep thinking about this.

I climb out of bed and pull on a pair of relatively clean jeans and a hoodie. Once I’m dressed, I reach into the top drawer of the small dresser next to my bed, which is mostly filled with pens and pencils. In fact, the whole dresser is mostly pens and pencils. Whenever my mother finds a sale on stuff to write with, she buys it and stuffs it in this dresser. She’s always so excited about it—she keeps saying she’ll never have to spend money on pens ever again, except every few weeks, she brings home more of them.

But I’m not looking for a pen or pencil. I’m looking for something stuffed all the way in the back of the drawer. Something my mom doesn’t know about and she’ll never find, because she never bothers to wade through all the crap.

It’s an X-Acto knife with a retractable blade.

I stole it from my arts and crafts class last year. The weird thing is that the teacher didn’t even notice it was gone. Or maybe she noticed, but she was scared she’d get in trouble if she reported it missing. Anyway, by the next morning, the knife was safely tucked away in my room.

And now I stuff it into the pocket of my hoodie.

I creep out into the hallway. It looks like my mother is either asleep or has gone into her bedroom. As quietly as I can, I move past her room and over to the stairs. The stairs are kind of scary to walk down in the dark with all the crap on them, but I hold on to the banister, and I make it down okay. I follow one of the little clear trails to the front door, where I put on my sneakers.

I’m not planning on going anywhere in particular. I just need to take a walk to clear my head and get some fresh air. It’s perfectly safe. We live in a good neighborhood. And just in case something happens, I’ve got the knife to protect me.

It’s a little chilly, and I’m glad for the light jacket I took with me. I meant to just walk around the block, but once I get to the end of the block, I don’t turn to follow the circle. I find myself going somewhere very specific.

I still remember Brittany’s address from the class list. It’s not even that far.

I’m not sure why I’m going there. I can hear Anton’s voice in my head, telling me I’m being stupid and I should forget about that family. But how can I when they’re my family? The family I was never allowed to be part of.

It takes me only fifteen minutes to walk to Brittany’s house. It’s two stories—white with a blue trim—and a lot bigger than my house or the apartment where Anton lives. It’s not a mansion or anything, but it’s nice. There’s even a white picket fence surrounding the property, although it doesn’t lock or anything. I can easily just go down the walkway and up to the front door.

I’m not sure what exactly I’m doing as I sneak around the side of the Carters’ house. I mean, it’s the middle of the night. It’s not like I can knock on the door and they’re going to invite me in for cookies. That is definitely not going to happen.

I guess I just sort of want to see inside. I want to see what my life would’ve been like if I were John Carter’s legitimate daughter instead of the result of some affair nobody is allowed to know about. I want to see what could have been mine. What should have been mine.

Maybe they left the back door open.

As I creep around the side of the house, a little voice in the back of my head, possibly belonging to Anton, is telling me not to do this. This is a bad idea. A really bad idea. I should turn back.

But then I wrap my fingers around the X-Acto knife in my pocket and keep walking.

40

The back door of the Carter house leads to the kitchen. There is a large window on the back door, and I can see the refrigerator and stove. It doesn’t look anything like my kitchen though. It’s hard to see much because it’s so dark, but I can tell that the floor isn’t sticky and cluttered with cans and plastic bottles. The counters are clean, and you can actually put food and plates on them. You can actually cook. It looks like…a normal kitchen.

I wonder what they have in their refrigerator. I bet they don’t have any expired yogurt at all. Not even one container.

I wonder what breakfast is like in the Carter house. I bet Mrs. Carter makes something fresh on the stove every morning, because hers isn’t covered with pots and pans and expired food. I bet when she makes pancakes, they have smiley faces formed from blueberries or even chocolate chips. If I were eating with them, I would ask for chocolate chips in my pancakes.

As I imagine it, I can almost taste the chocolate morsels melting in my mouth. My stomach rumbles.

My left hand is still gripping the knife as I place my right hand on the doorknob to the back door. I didn’t really think it would be unlocked, but to my surprise, the knob turns. Gently, I push open the door.

I shouldn’t do this. I really shouldn’t. But would it be so awful just to take a quick look around? I mean, if John Carter is my father, it’s really sort of my house too, isn’t it?

I wonder what Brittany’s room looks like. I bet her bed is neatly made by her mother every morning. Her dresser is probably filled with folded clean clothes, which smell of nothing but laundry detergent. She surely has a desk, which might have a few of her textbooks on it, maybe a computer, and definitely not a fish tank.

All of a sudden, there’s nothing I want more in the whole world than to see Brittany’s room. And it would be so easy. The door to the house is unlocked, so it’s not like I’d have to break in. If I’m really quiet, I bet I could creep upstairs and find her bedroom. It’s so late, she’s surely sound asleep. I bet I could look around without her ever waking up.

And if she does wake up? Well, I’ve got my knife. Not that I’d stab Brittany or anything like that, but if I showed her the knife, I bet I could persuade her not to scream or tell her parents.

But before I get the door more than cracked open, I hear a burst of angry barking. My legs turn to liquid as I slam the door shut, my plan to visit Brittany’s room completely forgotten. Oh my God, they have a dog. A big angry dog with lots of saliva dripping from its mouth.

That is my cue to start running.

Thank God, the dog is shut inside and can’t come after me. I run as fast as my legs can carry me, far away from the Carters’ house. I only dare look back once, and when I do, one of the lights in an upstairs bedroom overlooking the backyard has turned on.