Saturday, March 15th, 2014 - 1:00 AM MST - In front of someone's house - Small Town, UtahSA

"Turn the fucking camera off."

"It is off. Even if I didn't turn it off when we stole a fucking car, it would've died by now."

"No shit?"

I look away from the steering wheel for the first time since we started this little adventure, to see her nodding in silent agreement. She shakes the camera in her hand to bring attention to its black screen. I motion with my right hand for her to put it behind her, under her the front seat. Without hesitation, she obliges the request and sets the camcorder right where I asked. It's then when I unfasten my seatbelt and open up my door. Stepping out of the car is when the stiffness in my back is felt for the first time. Figures. I ignore the feeling and continue my walk to the trunk, where I decided to put some items that may or may not be useful for the task ahead of me- well, us. She - she being the woman whose name I never decided to ask, repeats the actions I took to get to this situation and stands beside me as I pop the trunk open and stare downwards into the small armory I amassed for us.

By that, I don't mean we were stocked anywhere near an army or even a street gang with somewhat decent connections, but still enough to be overgunned for the simple task of breaking and entering. Three pistols and a crowbar. I reach for one of the pistols, but her hand creeps into the trunk and takes the same one I was eyeing. Saying nothing, I grab one of the others and the crowbar. Before I can close the trunk however, she snakes her hand back in and takes the remaining weapon.

"Come on, you weren't going to grab it?" she asks, sliding the gun into her waistband. The other one she keeps in her hand, pointed downward at the street.

"Obviously not- wait, have you ever even used a gun before?"

"Duh!" she says, blushing. How fucking sad is it that even in the dead of night, I could tell that she was blushing and lying to me and I still didn't know her name? Oh well, fuck it. I slide the gun I have into my waistband and slam the trunk shut before gripping the crowbar with both hands.

"If all goes well, you won't have to prove yourself wrong," I say, taking off my sunglasses and shoving them into the hoodie's pocket. We share not a word more before embarking on our journey across the street, not bothering to look either way because in all honesty, the amount of people driving down the street in Utah at one in the morning is about as high as the number of people who knew my identity. That is to say one. We were that one car going down streets twenty miles over the limit in the middle of the night. We didn't have to worry about anyone else.

I'm content to walk at a normal pace, sudden onset apprehension I assume is tugging on my sleeve, telling me to get back in the car and leave this be. I'm tired of that. She on the other hand, is having a grand old time crossing the fucking street. She's practically dancing around in the road, waiting for me to catch up, which I only manage to do when she leaps from the road to end up on the sidewalk now opposite the one our car was parked next to.

I followed shortly after her jump, stepping onto the elevated stone like a normal goddamn person.

Without a word, we press, onto the grass outside the house I vaguely remember from fuzzy memories. Stomping the grass into the dirt was an added bonus; just another thing that I could do to bring grief onto the resident of this house.

Somewhere along in our trek, we find the circular stone path and decide we have nothing better to do than to follow the marked path. So, we do. We follow it all the way up to the door where upon approaching, I push to see if it's open. Off course not.

"I got this," she whispers, kneeling in front of the door and pulling a bobby pin from her hair. I sigh and take a look out into the street as she works her magic, sure that something's going to go wrong. It always does. What is it this time: a neighbor picking just now to fix their curtains? A man walking his dog at one in the morning? A magic police car that we didn't was following us decides to pull up, sirens squealing wondering why we were speeding and why we're currently trying to break into a house using a fucking bobby pin of all thi-

"Done."

I turn around to see the door slightly ajar, and she's putting the bobby pin back in her hair. Dumbfounded, I glare at her.

"Come on," she says, hitting me on the shoulder. I shake the rest of the disbelief out of me, and step over the threshold, into the house. As I should've expected, it's dark. Like, really dark. She follows me in and carefully pulls the door closed. From here, we're bound by the fact that neither of us knows a thing about the place. Well, that's not entirely true.

I know some of this building, but once we step out of the hall, my knowledge runs drier than the goddamn Sahara. This is all Africa's fault because the Sahara's in Africa and it's the first thing I thought of as a comparison, so obviously it's their fault that I don't know the layout of a house I haven't set two feet in long enough to take a breath, let alone mentally map out.

We both walk through the blackened abyss of a room to the right of the small hallway that the front door led into. Try as we might to be light on our feet, utterly silent, our inexperience gives us away. Our feet land hard on the ground to make sure he don't trip and fall, and after a few moments of stumbling around in pitch black, the light comes on.

I should be mapping the room, but that seems like an afterthought right about now. All I care about is the woman standing in the doorway leading into another room adjacent this one. A room we were right by.

A shocked look strikes her face, but nonetheless she yells loudly, angrily: "Who the fuck are you?"

"Does it matter?" I ask, almost forgetting that the voice modifier that I've become accustomed to having on isn't. Her eyes widen as she recognizes my voice.

"Oh my-"

"Where is he?" I ask, raising the crowbar and pointing it right at her. She crumbles on the inside, and tries her damnedest to look strong despite it. Her shaky hands can hardly keep her supported as she puts more weight on the side that's leaning on the doorway. "Well?"

"What's it to you?"

"I don't know if you can tell from the fact that you're getting threatened by two people who just so happened to break into your house in the dead of night, but it's probably really fucking important that you stop stalling and tell us what we want to know," she says, stepping forward and raising the gun in her hand to her. I smile from underneath the bandanna. She learns fast.

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

"You think I'm gonna just let you do this?"

"If you wanna live, you will." She cocks the gun. The possible victim crumbles again, physically. Falling to the ground, she clutches her knees and brings them up to her chest.

"Why are you doing this?"

"You aren't the one asking the questions here, bitch. I am. Where is he?"

"Fuck you."

"So, that's how you wanna play it?" I ask, stepping closer to her; and just like a scene out of a cliche horror movie, she crab walks away from me as fast as she can before she backs up into a wall.

"He's upstairs! That way!" she screams, pointing to a staircase that I can see in the next room over.

"Keep an eye on her," I tell my accomplice before heading into the room and up the stairs. I flip on the lightswitch at the top of the stairs. No use in subtlety now. The light illuminates the hall, revealing to me three doors. Fuck it, I think before walking up to the closest one to me and pushing it open. A shadow sits up in its bed and stares at the source of light. I flip on the lightswitch on the wall next to my left hand.

"Who are you?" asks a little boy, no older than six.

I smile again under the bandanna.

"I'm your dad."