Obsession

CHAPTER 1-2

Benny slipped his arm through the louvre and twisted it around to reach the handle on the back door. He popped the button to unlock it, opened it and slipped inside. He was in the laundry, the size of a large cupboard.

In all the years he'd been doing this, he could never get over how easy it was. Sometimes it seemed as if the occupants were inviting him to break in. Especially these workers’ cottages. The owners spent a small fortune renovating them, then either ran out of money or decided that because they lived in a trendy suburb, they didn’t need to bother with security.

Benny stepped over a mound of dirty washing into a short hallway and then into the living room. The exterior of the weatherboard cottage, painted in white with blue trim, looked fresh and new, but inside it was a different story.

The walls were stained with mould and plastered patches, and the sagging couch was almost hidden by the piles of clothes flung over it. A large screen TV on the wall looked down on a table overflowing with empty pizza boxes and beer cans. The room smelled of stale food and clothes. It was easy to see that a man lived here. No woman would put up with this mess.

Benny wandered into the kitchen. Scuffed linoleum floor, grease marks on the wall behind the stove and grubby lace curtains over the window. The sink was full of dirty dishes and fruit flies wafted around two overripe bananas on the bench.

In the pantry was a small jar of Vegemite and two tins of baked beans. Benny opened the refrigerator door. A half loaf of bread, half a soggy tomato, a jar of pickles and a block of cheese. In the freezer, a tray of ice cubes—not even a tub of ice cream. Disappointing.

He continued down the tiny hallway, poking his head into the bathroom. Drab, grotty shower, wet towels on the floor. Then two bedrooms. In the first, an exercise bike surrounded by piles of unopened boxes. In the second was an unmade bed, the covers thrown back. The sheets looked as if they hadn’t been changed for weeks and the room stank of body odour.

The small bedside table was piled high with more dirty dishes and cups. On the wall was another large screen TV, with a PlayStation gaming console underneath. So the guy was young, as well as single. Or if he had a girlfriend, he certainly didn't bring her back here.

Benny returned to the kitchen. His stomach was rumbling; he’d have to make do with what was in the fridge. He opened all the cupboard doors until he found a toaster and plugged it in.

He took out the loaf of bread and the cheese from the fridge and popped two slices of bread into the toaster. He found a knife and a plate, and as there was no butter, spread the toast liberally with Vegemite. He slid the cheese out of the packet, cut off all the hard, mouldy bits and placed a couple of slices on top of the Vegemite.

After putting everything away, he wandered back into the living room with his snack. He moved all the clothes to one end of the couch and sat down. He found the remote control under a pair of underpants and turned on the TV, scrolling through the channels.

No pay TV. The guy could afford to live in Newtown and only had free to air? Benny had forgotten to check if there was a satellite dish on the roof before he broke in. Another disappointment. He couldn’t afford pay TV at home, and he loved nothing more than settling down on a stranger’s couch, turning on the Movie Channel and finding a movie starring Errol Flynn, John Wayne or Clint Eastwood, his three favourite actors. He always imagined himself as the hero, killing the baddies and saving the girl.

As he munched on his toast, Benny watched the shopping channel. An excited woman in gym gear was talking about the Miracle Ab Exerciser. Usually these shows made him feel that he instantly needed whatever it was they were advertising, but in this case, not so much.

The woman made it look easy, but he knew it wasn't. Years ago, his Auntie Rose had one, and by the time she’d reached fifty, she was red in the face and sweating.

On the table in front of him was an untidy pile of magazines. A couple on gaming, and underneath, a pile of magazines called t**s and Arses. Benny picked one up. On the cover was a topless woman with breasts like giant watermelons and n*****s like headlights. Her tongue poked out over her luscious red lips and she was looking at Benny as if she wanted to eat him. He turned the pages, aroused, but at the same time, prickling with shame.

He remembered the first time he'd ever seen one of these magazines. He was only six and living with Auntie Vi. He found a pile of magazines under the bed in the spare room, and flicked through them, horrified, yet unable to stop looking at the women, at their smooth, tanned skin and pink, glistening bits. Auntie Vi caught him and gave him the strap.

'How dare you!’ she raged, 'That's private property, they're Uncle Russell's magazines.'

Benny had never heard her mention Uncle Russell and was too afraid to ask any further. When he told Auntie Fran about it years later, she laughed. She had a low, husky laugh, as if she'd smoked too many cigarettes, although she didn't smoke.

‘Honey, there's no Uncle Russell. The magazines are Auntie Vi's. She’s a closet lesbian, even though she won't admit it. '

Benny put the magazine down and to take his mind off his discomfort, wandered into the bedroom again. He opened the wardrobe door. A couple of shirts on hangers and the rest of his clothes—jeans, polo shirts and t-shirts—were folded in messy heaps on the shelves. Nothing formal. Perhaps he was in one of those marketing or IT jobs where you could wear jeans to work and drink coffee and lie around in bean bags. He'd seen a show about them on TV.

He went over to the bedside table and wrenched open the top drawer. Socks and underwear. Second drawer the same. The bottom drawer overflowed with bits and pieces and paperwork.

He pulled out an envelope addressed to Joshua Anderson, 12 Waterloo Street, Newtown. Inside was a letter from Your Home Property Management.

‘Dear Joshua, You are advised that there will be an inspection of your rental property on Saturday 5 November.’

Benny had to read it slowly to understand it. The date was over two months ago; he should have picked his time better. He should have broken in after Joshua had tidied the house for the inspection.

He put the letter back and spied a leather cover peeking out from a pile of burger wrappings on the bedside table. He eased it out. It was an iPad. He opened it and swiped. Up came the homepage. Brilliant, no password needed. Perhaps he might learn something interesting about Joshua Anderson.

He took the iPad into the living room, flopped on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table and started scrolling through the various pages.

As far as emails went, Joshua didn't get many. Someone had replied to one he’d sent and his signature at the bottom read, ‘Joshua Anderson, Software developer, Whoosh Development and Design.’

Benny gave an inward whoop of triumph. He was right about Joshua being in IT. Then again, he was pretty good at learning things about people from breaking into their homes; he’d had plenty of experience.

He scrolled through Joshua's f*******: feed, which consisted mostly of posts from gaming groups. He couldn’t find a mention anywhere of a girlfriend. Perhaps Joshua didn’t want one, or maybe he was too into gaming to bother. Or perhaps he did want one, but wasn’t having any luck. If so, Benny could sympathise with him.

He put the iPad back on the bedside table, then took his plate into the kitchen. Chances were that if he put the plate in the sink with others, Joshua would never notice. But out of habit, because he always left every house exactly as he found it, he rinsed the plate, dried it with the grubby tea towel hanging on the oven door and put it back in the cupboard.

He went out through the laundry, locking the door behind him. He certainly wouldn't be coming back here again.

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