Clean Up Your Act

I picked up my coffee and took a sip without looking at it. It was black, bitter and getting a little too cold. My eyes were glued to the video feed on my phone. The camera swept over the foyer, showing that Mrs. Smith had indeed left the front door unlocked again, as she normally did on her evening walk. I went back to the main page of the IRobot app and started a new job. The video showed the little Roomba turning to the bedroom. No lights were on. Mr. Smith was still at work. I had about an hour. One more look at the map in the app to confirm the layout of the house before I shoved my phone into my pocket. Draining my coffee, I pushed myself out of bed. 

My legs felt tight from sitting criss-cross for so long, and I stretched from side to side. “Dean, I’m going out!” I shouted at my husband. He didn’t reply, so I walked to the kitchen. He sat at the table playing solitaire.

“Did you hear me? I said I was going out.”

He looked up from his cards. He had his glasses on for the night already. The little smirk he gave me told me he had heard. “Again?” he said. 

“I just need to get out of the house, you know?”

“I know, babe.” He went back to his cards. I kissed him on his forehead and hurried out into the night. 

It was risky stealing in my own neighborhood, but I couldn’t help myself. When I saw the little robot vacuum box in their trash I looked up their information on impulse. I didn’t need or want anything, but it had become an obsession. I had found myself with a lot of time lately, and after I hacked the IRobot customer data and didn’t find myself immediately in jail, I started stealing at least once a week. It was just so easy with access to the cameras on so many of the new models. 

I walked right up to the front door like I owned the place and stepped inside. It was dark, but I had memorized the map. A few steps to the right, and I was in the master bedroom. I had been watching the Smith’s all week. The little robot going right under their feet as they wound down after work everyday. I had seen Mrs. Smith take her wedding ring off everyday before her walk and set it on the nightstand. I reached forward in the dim light and felt the gold and diamond in my hand. I slipped it into the pocket of my black leggings.

Next I made my way into the kitchen. Mrs. Smith had bought her husband a custom cake from a local bakery for his 38th birthday tomorrow. I had seen her put the pink box in her fridge just this morning. I took it out and grabbed and opened the lid. The scent of cocoa drifted to my nose. I took a fork and began eating it straight out of the box. That was another thing I had more of lately, an appetite. Time and an endless hunger were something I needed to fill. I have probably put on twenty pounds in the last few months alone. But I didn’t care, none of it mattered. Just this delicious cake mattered right now. I shoveled it into my mouth until it was almost half gone. My stomach was full to bursting as I shut the lid and put it back in the fridge. I set the fork in the sink before I left and brushed the crumbs onto the floor. I took out my phone and sent the Roomba to clean up the kitchen.

The temperature had dropped in the short time I was inside. The thin, black t-shirt I was wearing was no longer enough. I picked up my pace to get home. 

I set the ring on my bathroom counter. Dean had never once asked where these things were coming from. The growing pile of oddities on the dining room table sat undisturbed. Sliding into bed I put my arms around my husband.

“You’re so cold,” he mumbled half asleep.

“So are you,” I said before I fell into a chocolate cake induced coma. 

The first thing I did when I woke up was grab my phone. I began researching my next target. It wasn’t healthy, I knew that. But I had to. If I didn’t, then I would have to deal with the extra time. So I spent my daylight hours spying. I took a break to get some coffee. Dean was standing over the sink looking out the window. 

I snuck up behind him and wrapped my arms around his torso. He turned and gave me a kiss. “You should get out today. Enjoy the sunshine,” I told him.

He just shook his head, “You know I can’t do that. There is so much to do around the house.”

“Suit yourself, babe. Do you want any coffee? I’m about to make a pot.” He nodded.

The sun had set on another fruitful day of Roomba spying. I drove my car to the next target. It was an older subdivision. The home styles were very 1960s but well maintained. I parked a few blocks away and stepped out into the night air. The owner of this house was older and clearly only believed in cash. He had it squirreled away all over his house. Under the teapot, in his underwear drawer, behind the grandfather clock. He also had an at home nurse come every morning. I had seen her bring him a treat earlier. A plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies.

When I entered the home the smell hit me in the face. It was musty and reeked of an old person. I tiptoed to the couch and lifted up the cushions. A fat stack of twenties found its way into the sleeve of my hoodie. I visited a few more of his hiding spots but decided to leave most of it. I had found myself with a surplus of money this year. 

In the kitchen I found the plate of cookies. Lifting off the plastic wrap, I dug in. The salty sweetness falling into my cavern of a stomach. After the fifth cookie, I went to the cabinet and poured myself a glass of milk. I dunked cookie after cookie into the milk. My stomach still wasn’t satisfied even when the plate was empty. It had become to hard to fill the void. I sighed and put the dishes in the sink, remembering to start the Roomba before I left.

I began the walk back to my car when a police car rounded the intersection in front of me. Lights and sirens blaring. Another came up from the other direction effectively cutting off any escape I had. The brakes screeched as both cars slammed on their brakes five feet from me.

“Freeze!” An officer shouted as he jumped out of his cruiser. The other walked up behind me with handcuffs.

I sat in the interrogation room. I had seen an entire legal team’s worth of lawyers from IRobot’s payroll. My court appointed attorney had pretty much told me I was screwed. Yet another officer came into the room and took a seat in the chair in front of me. There was something like pity in his eyes.

 He began to speak very gently and quietly, like I was a cat about to run away from him.

“Jean, you’re in a lot of trouble. I want to help you. Please let me help you.” He slid a cup of water over to me.

I took it and gulped, wishing it was lemonade or something else filled with sugar.

“Let me call my husband,” I said again for what must have been the thousandth time that day.

The officer bit his lower lip and chewed on it for far too long before he answered me.

“You and I both know I can’t do that. Your husband has been dead for months, Jean.”

I glared at him. How could Dean be dead? That wasn’t possible. We were a young couple. Death was not something we planned for.

When it became clear that I wasn’t going to respond to him, the officer got up. 

“We’re sending you in for a psych evaluation tomorrow morning, Jean. I hope you get some rest.” The door clicked shut quietly. 

He had left a pen on the table. I grabbed it and clicked it a few times before slipping it up my sleeve.