D.C Martin - Issue 37

D. C. Martin is an emerging writer who lives in Guelph, Ontario. He hates the winter and people who don’t signal lane changes. His writing is known for its quirky, endearing characters who find themselves in highly unexpected predicaments. His stories are featured in Mobius Blvd Magazine, Meet for Tea: The Valley Review, Books & Pieces Magazine, Umbrella Factory Magazine, Blood + Honey, Exquisite Death Magazine and Infinity Wanderers. Mr. Martin teaches Grade 4 and lives with his wife, daughter and cantankerous cat.

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Reflection

Peyton Simmons exhaled hard and focused her eyes on the doorknob. It had the word Weiser engraved on its golden finish that was scratched to hell. Probably installed in the eighties, she thought. Her eight-hole, steel-toe Docs kicked in the door easily. In fact, it barely caused any damage, apart from some busted trim scattered around on the inside of the mud room. She was doing these people a favour; they needed a new door, and a much better lockset. Besides, she was only going to take a bunch of shit they actually didn't need. 

These days, most people have a security camera in front of their house. Maybe it’s a Ring doorbell, or some cheap tacky white thing with wires wrapped around the porch. In the back of the house, there was nothing, not even a deadbolt. She usually ended up at the back door. But it was after a lot of research on Insta, that’s where she got most of the information she needed. 

There was a presence behind her. Jack, breathing down her neck. 

Click.

It was the sound of his lighter. It was a metallic click, almost a clang, but very distinctive. Unforgettable. She would jump at the sound, then swing around, and he’d be there. Peyton shuddered. He’d light a cigarette and remind her about how much money she owed. 

“This time I mean it, Pey. This time I’m out for blood. They’ll never find you. They’ll never even bother to look.” 

He’d keep the Zippo open and bring it close to her cheek—the terror in her eyes painted on the lighter's reflection. His smile would blaze in the warm orange light. His fingers would close in around her. She’d feel his hot breath press against her neck.

Peyton closed her eyes and counted silently: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

She turned and stared down an empty hallway. It was just the air conditioning switching on. Her breathing settled. 

Peyton opened the door to the garage and watched the motion sensing lights cast a shine on the Mercedes-AMG SL roadster parked in the three-car garage. Stealing the car’d get her caught for sure. Peyton needed to steal stuff that would help her, and she had to be smart about it. It was an investment, and she only invested in things that were safe and lucrative. Tools, clothes. When was the last time anyone wondered if their purse was hot, or their reciprocating saw? They were just happy they got it so cheap. But a car? That requires a crew. She wouldn’t go down that path again—too many betrayals. There’s an expression about that. The truth is: there’s also no honesty, no code, and no decency among thieves. 

Peyton had rules about maximizing her return, while minimizing her risk. First, take stuff everyone wants and no one questions. Peyton surveyed the garage. The hedge trimmer was an easy choice. Lightweight, plus a brand new battery. One hundred bucks. Second, take stuff that is lightweight and easy to carry. After grabbing a few more power tools, it was time to get some designer shoes and purses from upstairs. 

Third, clean up your own mess. She set about fixing the trim on the back door. It's not like the movies—it's best to leave a crime scene looking like there was never a crime. Nobody's calling the cops unless you trash the place or leave broken glass. These people are rich; they may never even know they were ripped off. The missing hedge trimmer might tip them off, but probably not until the weekend. 

Peyton’s shopping cart was full, so it was time to make her escape. She covered all of her treasure with her tarp and wheeled out of the garage, pushing it down the street. A beautiful runner with a ponytail glared at her. You'd glare, too, Peyton, if you lived here.

She started making her way back. Back to where she would drop off her stuff. Back to where she got to settle briefly. Where she got to forget about being on the run. She was almost there. She passed a creepy old house with an old lady on its porch, dressed way too fancy. Like she was about to go off to a wedding. The estate rose up behind her, tall and complicated. The bottom corner of the lawn had an enormous willow, with tiny leaves lush and green almost touching the grass. Wrought-iron fence surrounded the huge property. Retaining walls along the sidewalk had their parge covered in overlapping spray-painted tags crumbling away. There were hedges in serious need of a trim, grass out of control. She made eye contact with the woman as her cart hit a rut close to the house. Peyton often struggled to find words, but this was like trying to speak a different language. 

“Ma’am.” She nodded and wiped a little sweat from her brow.

“Afternoon,” the old woman replied. It seemed more like a question than anything else.

Peyton nodded a little and then started rolling away. She felt strangely compelled to stay but carried on. There was a silent moment. 

“You may notice my hedges are in a state of disarray.”

Peyton waited before speaking.

“I wonder…” the old woman began. “I wonder if I could hire you.” She gestured to the blade of the trimmer poking out from under the tarp on Peyton’s cart. “You could make it look…beautiful again.”

This was what Peyton had needed all along. A steady paycheque, plus every valuable thing in the house. It would be filled with more than just shoes and purses. Fancy dresses, antiques. There would be art. There would be silverware. Easily resellable things. Things people don’t ask questions about. No more debt. No more Jack. 

“I have a hedge trimmer.” Peyton jumped to the top of the retaining wall. “I would start by cutting this back.”

“The boxwood?”

“Yes. The boxwood. I am impressed that you know your hedges. Most people don’t even care.” A pause. “I would bring the boxwood back to about here.” Peyton pressed her fingers to just above her chest. She was starting to think about how much to charge, how long she could stretch it out. She took out her phone and looked up “boxwood,” while the old lady thought she was calculating the cost of the hedge trim.

Peyton looked back up at her and saw inviting eyes. “I could do the whole hedge for 450.”  

“Splendid. Start tomorrow?”

“Sure.” She paused. “I’m Peyton, by the way.”

“Lilith. Nice to meet you, Peyton.”

#

Googling: “hedge trimming hacks” will quickly tell you to just get a long piece of string and tie it to two posts. After that, plough through the leaves and twigs and bits parallel to the string to make sure it’s straight. The trimmer jammed a couple times, but the whole hedge was done in a few hours. The result was perfect. Peyton looked at the boxwood from a distance and smiled. She went down to the end of the driveway to get some pictures. As she walked back to the house, the old woman came outside and sat in her rocking chair. She placed her hand on the chair beside her. 

“Is your, um, husband at home?” Peyton said.

The old lady forced herself into a smile. The sun lit her face.

“It’s just me here. My children visit sometimes. Mostly to make plans about selling.”

Peyton was thinking about how many fancy dresses the old lady had hidden in her house, how many she could carry out without raising suspicion.

#

Peyton returned the next day to trim all of the shrubs on the property. There were lots of them, and you couldn’t just use a string. She also had to rake up all the little bits. It was hard work but satisfying. At the end of each day, she would drop her trimmer in her cart, wipe the sweat from her forehead with the collar of her shirt, and walk up to the porch to talk to the woman of the house. She was always there, except for today.

“Ma’am?”

Peyton opened the front door and walked up the stairs. 

“Lilith?”

She passed framed photos of the family. They were older than the pictures in most houses. More formal, too. The master bedroom was enormous but extremely dark. She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling curtains and pulled them all back. The sun struck the room ferociously. Its intense light was filtered with tiny particles that flowed and swayed gently as they made their way to the floor. Peyton stood there for a moment, settling. 

There was a walk-in closet. When Peyton saw the shoes, she nearly fell over. They could have filled her cart twenty times over. There were Bottega Veneta, Prada, Louboutin. This was going to be a very good haul. She raced down the stairs to look for house keys. There was a keyring close to the door. She took off the silver Schlage and replaced it with another from her collection so it wouldn’t be missed. All she needed to do now was get it copied for continuous access, without any sweaty yard work. 

Peyton gave up looking for the old woman and pushed her shopping cart back down the hill. The shadows grew menacingly from the trunks of trees. They stretched out farther than her own. She kept looking back, kept speeding up. Ready to see a shadow emerge beside her. Ready to ditch the cart and run. There were footsteps. They picked up speed. She felt hot breath on her neck. She stopped and let her breathing settle. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.

#

When Peyton returned to the house she saw the old woman sitting on the porch, wearing the same damn dress that had just sold on Poshmark for two grand.

“I knew you would come back.”

Peyton smiled, not sure what to say.

“I think it might rain.” The old woman smiled and nodded toward the rocking chair beside her. Peyton sat down.

“I’m Lilith, by the way.”

“Peyton. Nice to meet you, Lilith.”

There was the grass to take care of next. Peyton provided an estimate and Lilith happily agreed. 

#

Peyton had never run a John Deere mower, but Professor Google provided a crash course. She hopped onto the bright yellow seat and turned the key. She rode it out of the shed and cut a perfect groove of grass. The scent was fresh and real. Peyton became really good at cutting the lawn. She would outline the perimeter, going around interior flower beds and the pond, and then groom the grass in perfect parallel lines. 

When she parked the mower in the shed she saw a grass trimmer. She referred to her phone for a moment, assessing the value of everything in the shed. So many tools and machines. She decided that she would only steal the shotgun. It was an antique Holland & Holland. A few thousand dollars, easy.

As she approached the pond she yanked the cord of the trimmer. Some blue smoke puffed out. She trimmed the tall weeds. Her line caught a stalk and snapped. Peyton heard whispers behind her. Her heart was beating hard. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

When she opened her eyes, she caught a crow perched high in a mostly bare maple. It cawed.

She cleared her throat and fixed the trimmer. It tore all the weeds down. Peyton released her grip on the trigger. Something caught her eye. She slid her safety glasses up, holding back her long, curly hair. There was something shiny in the pond, just on the edge of the water. It was probably nothing more than a speck of light, but curiosity overtook Peyton completely. She stepped onto the edge and the speck of light wobbled and disappeared. 

Peyton turned around and went back to her trimmer, pulled the cord, and took down about four more metres of shoulder-high weeds. Her grip loosened again, and the trimmer choked itself out. She dropped it and went back to the spot, the spot with the light. She took two steps into the pond, feeling the cool water travel slowly up past her ankles and calves, and stuck her hand deep below the surface, feeling nothing but soft, slippery mud. Peyton opened her hand above the water and let everything slip out instantly. She did it again but felt the weight of something. Sure enough, she retrieved the shiny thing! It felt round and cold, but she didn’t want to open her hand just yet. She put the object in her pocket and returned the trimmer to the shed. 

After her chat on the porch with Lilith, she was ready to look at what she’d fished out of the pond. Peyton opened her hand slowly. The quarter-past five sun cast a great shine on a silver locket. It had intricate patterns on both sides. It was 150 years old, at least. Two thousand bucks. Maybe more, maybe a lot more. Peyton pulled her cart over to the edge of the sidewalk and leaned against it, slid down to a seated position with her phone out, appraising the value of the locket. Her heart beat faster. The phone went away, and she pressed the latch on the locket. She shuddered when she saw the photo, and threw the necklace across the sidewalk, almost into the gutter.

It wasn’t really her. It wasn’t really Peyton in the locket. She knew that. It was a cracked, crinkled, tiny black and white picture of someone who happened to look like her. On the other side it was just polished silver, like a mirror. Before you make a decision, you have to get all the facts. Benny. He could give her more facts. Specifically, he could let her know how much she would get for the locket. Not how much it was worth, but how much she’d get. 

#

“Silver, obviously.” Benny gestured to give it over.

He seemed pretty dismissive. But then he got his jeweller’s glasses and lit them up. This was serious. He clicked the latch and looked at Peyton again. Then he started examining the stamp on the back. “Fine silver. Sheffield,” he mumbled quietly.

Peyton waited a while. “You saw the hallmark, right?”

“Right.” He paused. “I’m not going to lie to you, kid. This is a good piece. Very good. I could give you a few thousand, but I suggest you keep it and run.” Benny looked down and whispered, “He’s been here.”

The chill she got outweighed any brief sense of satisfaction about the locket’s value. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have come back. Take care of yourself, Benny. You won’t see me around here again.” 

Peyton hadn’t slept that night, her thoughts consumed by the woman in the locket. She kept wandering the streets, trying to find a moment to settle. It never happened. She caught a glimpse of herself in the Starbucks mirror—unclean and unwanted. That’s how people saw her. But Miss Lilith could see beyond the hair, the tattoos, the dirty clothes. She rinsed her toothbrush and tapped it on the edge of the sink. 

#

The next time she went to the house, Peyton said, “Want me to give it all one more go?”

The sun filtered through the giant willow in the front yard. Its threads swayed with leaves edged in gold. Lilith smiled at Peyton, such a kind smile. But the property was perfect the way it was, and autumn was setting in. 

“I hope you’ll come back to take care of my leaves.” The old lady brushed a tear away from her eye. “There will be lots of leaves.” She looked at Peyton with a foreign expression, just held it there, and Peyton could see the young woman from the locket.

“You're running away from something, Peyton. I can feel it.” Peyton recrossed her legs. “You don't have to tell me what it is. I just want you to promise me that when you get past it, when you finally defeat this demon of yours, you will stop running.” 

Peyton said nothing, her eyes fixed on the setting sun—the vivid pink, low to the crest of Lilith’s hill. She eventually nodded back, forcing herself into a subtle smile.

“Before you go,” Lilith began, with a note of severity, “I want you to have this.”

Lilith put an envelope on the arm of Peyton’s chair. The sun’s rays were right behind her, casting a bright silhouette as she looked down at Peyton. She walked over to the front door and turned the knob, looking back. 

“Don’t open it,” Lilith paused. “Not until you need it.”

#

Peyton waited until the trees were bare before returning to the house. She still hadn’t opened the envelope. She had a couple of rakes and an electric leaf blower in her cart this time. Today there were lots of vehicles at the house. Teslas, sports cars, moving trucks. The front door was open. She walked in. 

A woman walked by with a vase. She saw Peyton, screamed, and let it smash on the floor. 

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” said Peyton. “Is Lilith around?”

“Who the fuck are you? How the fuck did you get in here? Sam, Sam! There’s some street person wandering around down here!”

A large, sweaty man with a long beard came racing down the stairs. He stared at Peyton disapprovingly. Maybe Lilith had never mentioned she’d hired someone to do the yard work. Don’t get offended, Peyton.

“I’m the one who did all the work outside.”

Nothing.

“The grass. The hedges. Lilith hired me.”

“You stole the shoes, didn't you?”

Peyton stayed quiet and took the locket out of her pocket. She opened it.

“Oh my God! How did you find this?” Tears fell from the woman’s eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” She seemed to struggle to find words. “I can’t believe she was ever that young.”

The woman glanced back at Peyton.

“You look just like her. You look just like Lilith.”

The woman stared into the locket and then went to the kitchen and whispered to the bearded man. It took a long time. She returned with a cheque and passed it to Peyton. 

“Thanks for finding the locket. This means so much to me, to us. She loved this house, but it was never the same after she died. It’s hard to believe she’s been gone for more than twenty years.” She paused. “I can still feel her presence here every time I come back.”

Peyton glanced at the cheque—$20,000—and put it in her back pocket.

“Anything for Miss Lilith.”

Peyton turned around and walked away. She passed by the willow and didn’t look back. Her pace quickened. This cheque meant that she wouldn’t have to worry any more. She could be done with Jack. But something compelled her to return the cheque. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she also couldn’t resist it. She took out her phone and turned her camera around to look at the “street person”. Lilith saw past that when no one else could. She watched a tear form in the corner of her eye and had to look away. All of her troubles started when she took what didn’t belong to her. She wanted to be free from guilt from now on. She wrote a letter to Lilith’s family, explaining why she’d stolen their things. She sealed the cheque inside the envelope.

Peyton waited until it was dark and stood in front of the house, lit only by moonlight. There were no cars in the driveway and no lights on inside. As she walked onto the porch, she stopped and looked behind her. She glanced over to the corner for cameras. Force of habit. She slid her key into the lock quietly. She walked to the living room, each step placed with care, as if something was about to jump out at her. It was pitch black. Her breathing was erratic, all she wanted to do was run the other way. 

She was going to place the cheque on the coffee table and leave. It was only one more step.

Click.

Jack lit a cigarette. Peyton jumped. Each fibre of tobacco singed and crackled as he inhaled. The flame of the Zippo lighter carved shadows into all of the scars and wrinkles on his face. He was older. He kept the Zippo lit and set it on the coffee table. Its flame waved sinister light and shadow up the walls and around the ceiling. 

“Pretty good deal you got here, Pey.” He was sitting comfortably in the leather wing chair in the living room.

“What do you want?” Peyton had to force each word out. She put her hands in her pockets.

Jack took a long drag from his cigarette and stood up. Peyton was reminded of how tall he was, how strong. He took a few paces towards her, the floorboards creaking with each step, he exhaled slowly. The stink of his body and the smoke of his cigarette poisoned the air around him. She could feel the heat of his breath.

“You know what I want.” He finger-combed his long bangs and flicked them back. “And I’m going to get it.” He had about four days’ worth of stubble and a new dragon tattoo that stretched from under his jaw to just above the neck of his sweat-stained beater. His voice softened to a whisper, “By hook, or by crook.” His hands were on her waist now, thumbs inching slowly through the belt loops of her dirty, stolen Levi’s.

Did he know about the locket?

“Once you disappeared, I told Benny to keep an eye out for you. I knew you’d eventually crack and pawn something. He told me everything. You were back. You had this locket.”

“It’s gone. I returned it.”

Jack grinned. It was a cruel expression. His pupils shone with the flickering flame of the lighter. He took a final drag from his cigarette and let it drop on the floor. He scraped it out with his Adidas Gazelles and returned to the wing chair. 

“Well, I guess we’re done here, then.”

Light and shadow danced on the ceiling, dominated by the whim of the solitary flame. Peyton’s fingers closed in around the cheque in her pocket, maybe too tight. She turned to the door.

“One more thing…” Jack began. 

Hard breathing. You can do this.

“I want all the money she paid you. You owe me.”

Peyton breathed out hard and made a tight fist. She advanced and the floorboards creaked underfoot as she swung at Jack. Her fist hit him square on the jaw. He fell back, knocking the Zippo onto the floor, right in front of the drapes. They blazed up instantly. Jack gathered himself from the floor and cocked his head left and right. Black smoke swirled from the floor under the bay window. Peyton just wanted to escape. As she turned to run, Jack grabbed her hand. The wallpaper caught, and yellow flames crawled up to the ceiling. He gripped tight. Peyton looked towards the door and then back to Jack. She could see Miss Lilith reflecting in the mirror above the mantel, aiming the Holland & Holland. Her eyes gestured downward. 

Peyton dropped to the floor. 

Miss Lilith squeezed the trigger. The sound deadened Peyton’s ears, and she was covered in plaster and splinters as she crawled under the smoke. The bay window exploded behind her. She finally felt the front door and escaped the estate.

The fire blazed up to the top floor, glass shattering from all the windows, even in the attic. And as Peyton walked away, coughing out heavy smoke, she walked with purpose. This was it. This was the moment that set her free. 

Away from the guilt, away from the fear. She was going to breathe it all in. Emergency vehicles passed by, and she kept walking. Toward the light of the town at the bottom of the hill. Toward the spot where she could settle down, where she could sleep. The place where she could finally feel safe. 

Lights flashed behind her, but nothing lurked in the shadows. Sirens wailed around her, but there was nothing underneath except for the gentle hum of the crickets. The moon’s glow cast a shine on the edge of her cart. She let go and walked the rest of the way without its burden. Letting go was hard, but it was even harder to see a path forward.

Peyton slashed her thumbnail across the top of the envelope and dug the page out, unfurled it. She read Miss Lilith’s words to the end and folded it back up. She would take hold of her life and live it, just like she promised. She had to.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Click.