Story code: ST-000777
Part 4: Unfiltered Air
The foyer was perfectly silent, save for the wet rattle of Arthur’s breathing.
He lay on his side, his cheek pressed against the flawless quartz island. His manicured fingers clawed weakly at the oak flooring, slipping against the glossy finish. The bruised purple in his face rapidly drained into an ashen gray.
Chloe stared down at him. The blinding panic that had ruled her morning was gone, replaced by a strange, glacial clarity. She watched the wealthy owner of fourteen empty properties writhe on the floor of a house that smelled of ozone and citrus. The brass putter lay a few feet away, resting against the jagged gouge it had torn into the wood.
“Chloe,” Mark whispered. His voice was hoarse. He was still standing near the hallway, the steel framing hammer hanging heavy at his side. He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes darting from Arthur to her. “Chloe, what do we do?”
Arthur let out a strangled gasp. His arm twitched, his hand dragging clumsily toward the inside breast pocket of his tailored jacket. A black smartphone slipped free, tumbling onto the floorboards.
It slid across the smooth oak, stopping three feet beyond his outstretched hand.
Arthur’s terrified eyes rolled up to meet Chloe’s. His unassailable authority had vanished. He was no longer a titan defending his portfolio; he was just a dying man on a clean floor. He let out a pathetic whine, his fingers stretching toward the phone.
Chloe looked at the sleek glass rectangle. She thought about dialing emergency services. She thought about waiting for the paramedics, explaining the muddy boots, the hammer embedded in the drywall, and the trash bags. She pictured the police taking one look at Arthur’s tailored suit and Mark’s frayed clothes, then locking them in a cell.
She remembered their old landlord changing the locks in the rain. She remembered Arthur raising a golf club to split her head open just for existing in his empty space.
She walked toward Arthur. Her sock-clad feet made no sound.
Arthur wheezed, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish, a flicker of desperate hope in his gaze.
Chloe stopped right beside the phone. She looked down at him, her face completely unreadable.
“We don’t know the address here,” Chloe said softly, the words dropping like stones into the quiet room. “We aren’t supposed to be here.”
She didn’t reach down. Instead, she lifted her foot and gently tapped the edge of the smartphone with her toe. It spun across the slick floor, sliding smoothly until it bumped directly against Arthur’s twitching fingers.
Arthur let out a shuddering sob of relief, his hand instantly clamping around the device. He curled inward, pressing the phone to his chest, his thumb frantically smearing sweat across the glass screen as he tried to dial.
Chloe turned her back on him.
“Grab the bags,” she told Mark.
Mark blinked, staring at her as if she had suddenly spoken a foreign language. He looked at Arthur, who was wheezing and tapping the screen with a trembling finger, then back at Chloe. Slowly, he nodded. He let the steel hammer drop to the floor. It landed with a dull, heavy clank.
They walked into the dark laundry room. Chloe grabbed the thick plastic knot of the heaviest bag, the one holding their rusted toaster and framed photos. Mark hoisted the other two over his shoulders.
They dragged them out into the foyer. The thick plastic rasped loudly against the immaculate floorboards, leaving long, dull streaks across the glossy finish. Chloe didn’t look down. She didn’t care about the scuff marks. She didn’t care about the house rules.
They passed Arthur, who had managed to put the phone on speaker. The tinny voice of a 911 dispatcher echoed from the floor, asking for his emergency. Arthur could only answer with a wet gasp.
Mark grabbed his mud-caked boots from the entryway, tucking them under his arm rather than putting them on.
Chloe reached for the heavy mahogany front door and pulled it open.
The blinding afternoon sunlight washed out the pristine interior of the mansion. A hot summer breeze swept through the foyer, carrying the smell of cut grass and hot asphalt, destroying the curated scent of ozone and citrus.
They stepped out onto the expansive concrete porch. Chloe pulled the door shut behind them.
*Beep.*
The smart lock chimed its cheerful, electronic tone as the heavy deadbolt slid into place, securing the empty asset once again.
Chloe and Mark stood on the sidewalk of the impossibly quiet, wealthy neighborhood. The sprawling lawns were meticulously manicured. The driveways were empty. Three massive garbage bags rested at their feet, containing absolutely everything they owned in the world. They had no money, no car, and nowhere to go before nightfall.
Chloe tilted her head back, closing her eyes as the warm sun beat down on her face. Her hands were empty. Her wrists no longer ached from wringing out sponges. For the first time in weeks, she drew a deep, full breath of unfiltered air, and she didn’t care who heard her exhale.