by Aasia, First Steps School of Arts & Sciences, Pakistan
Evelyn didn’t like this at all.
She peered at the weathered yet jaunty building, which showcased a bedazzled plaque blinking with rather ugly neon lights. The words ‘the gardens of Babylon ‘ were imprinted on it. Staring at the decaying state of the bar, Evelyn noted that it was quite paradoxical.
She involuntarily shivered as the Boston night air swept past. A steady warmth kept her grounded as Colette stood rigidly by her side, her chin pointed up defiantly. She could still see the faintest tremor of her fingers, betraying the ever-present facade of confidence. Evelyn had always been able to uncover the chinks in her armor.
Picking up the courage she barely had, she turned to Colette and said quietly, “Shall we go in?” Colette snapped out of her reverie, a determined haze clouding her eyes, and replied, “Yes, come on. We can’t waste any more time. Stay behind me.”
Evelyn didn’t need to be told twice, obediently falling behind Colette. Her diminutive frame, with midnight black hair, acted as a veil from the rest of the world, slipping unnoticed into the shadows. She was almost invisible compared to Colette’s radiance. Sometimes, she couldn’t help but think of Colette as the sun, her brightness cascading onto the lives of others- a true enigma of sorts, causing everyone to revolve around her. Yet, Evelyn didn’t see herself as the moon; she wasn’t even a star, just someone floating aimlessly in her orbit.
Evelyn turned to look at Colette, her face bathed in the harsh red lights, her gaze wandering among the sea of heads. She gently touched Colette’s hand, and the tension in her shoulders lessened slightly. Despite their differences, they worked oddly well together, Evelyn’s tenderness balancing Colette’s sharp edges, the soothing numbness of ice to the severe burn of flame.
Colette’s eyes had been fixated now on a dark figure who sat in an isolated booth in the corner. “It’s him,” Colette spoke in a hushed voice, her eyes sparkling.
She had the fierce look that was only reserved for people who would soon find themselves face-to-face with her wrath. Evelyn was shocked to see that he barely seemed older than them. She had not expected the orchestrator of the greatest art heist in history to be this young.
The boy in the booth did not betray any hints of surprise as the two slipped in, opposite him. His aristocratic features had no softness and his grey eyes shot them a cold look as if they were below him. With a vaguely threatening smile, he asked amiably, “So what do I owe this pleasure to?”
Colette made a face as if she had sucked on something extremely sour. “It’s over. I found out.
Once again his expression remained unchanged, yet Evelyn could almost see the gears in his head shifting. She found herself unable to fight through his practically impenetrable mask of unaffectedness. This had rarely happened before. He replied, as if confused, “ I don’t quite understand what you’re talking about.”
Colette leaned forward. “I know it was you and your little gang of misfits who stole all those paintings from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum last month on March 18.” The boy’s expression remained unchanged, but his shoulders involuntarily stiffened. An artificiality crept into his smile.
“Oh really? What’s your proof, then? Or are you just blaming every person who lives within a 30-mile radius?”
Colette flushed deep scarlet and replied harshly, “You think you can get away so easily just because darling mummy and daddy can clean up for you? Well, I’ve und everything about where you and your friends were that night, and your alibi is weak. There have been countless sightings of you near the museum in recent months, and you can claim your innocence all you want, but let’s say a court case arises. I may not have figured out how you stole those paintings, but I can assure you THEY will. You don’t want rumors to spread, do you?” Evelyn noticed that the smile on his face had vanished, but his expression was still guarded, and she wondered how he was so good at it.
Colette now wore a satisfied smirk as she said, “You could lose the court case and face a long sentence, just because of this one witness I found.” The boy returned to his unaffected tone and drawled, “And who would that be?” Colette grinned, a look of victory as she replied, “Your brother.”
For just a second, Evelyn saw the dam break; the mask crumbled as anger, betrayal, and hurt clouded the boy’s eyes, causing his lip to tremble. He quickly regained his composure and scoffed, “Of course, my brother would be suspicious of me; we hate each other.” Colette seemed unaware of this swift betrayal of emotions and continued speaking, but once Evelyn had seen the facade waver, she noticed all the telltale signs of his hidden thoughts.
His forehead was dotted with the slightest creases, and he kept playing with the ring on his finger. Mostly, she saw the betrayal in his eyes as he stared unblinkingly at Colette rambling on about trials and imprisonment. A surge of pity for the boy washed over her as she witnessed his composure slowly slip away. She suddenly grasped Colette’s shoulder and said quietly, “You should stop talking now.”
The boy jerked his head and stared at her blankly as she added, “I would dislike my brother too if he were the reason I faced life imprisonment.”
The boy said nothing and continued to study her while Colette looked at her incredulously.
Evelyn didn’t dare break eye contact as she asked him out of curiosity, “Why didn’t you steal some of the more valuable art pieces?”
“I don’t care for them,” he stated simply, and she recalled Colette mentioning that the boy came from one of the richest families in the United States. He certainly didn’t need the money, and none of the records showed him being disowned or disinherited, so why? Why had he stolen all those pieces?
Evelyn studied him again, her heavy-lidded eyes boring into him. Then, she spoke, “I love Rembrandt’s work as well.”
The boy remained silent, so Evelyn continued, “Your parents don’t like you very much, do they?”
And there it was; she had finally found a chink in his armor, but she didn’t feel victorious. A melancholia settled over her as defensiveness took over the boy. She offered him a tight smile, “It’s okay, I know what it’s like to be second best too.”
Colette stared at her, oblivious. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with this.” Evelyn sighed, shaking her head. “Colette, it has everything to do with this.” Turning to the boy, she added, “I saw the differences in inheritance and talked to your brother personally. A parent should never pick favorites.”
“You don’t know what it’s like…” he whispered.
His gaze hardened. “You don’t know what it’s like. To always be second.”
“I didn’t run away at 16; I never dropped out of college, yet it’s him they choose again and again.” While I’m the one who deals with everything once he leaves,” he hisses.
“So it’s an act of rebellion. To prove your worth or to spite them?” Evelyn’s tone was soft.
Angry tears began to build up in his eyes as he wiped them furiously. “I’ve placed the pieces at their house. One anonymous tip and an investigation, and their lives ruined.”
“Then why wait? It’s been a month already. You know what I think? I think that while you may not like them very much, they still are your parents and you care for them.”
The boy’s eyes were wet with tears now. She slowly touched his trembling hand, and when he didn’t pull away, she said gently,
“You’re not a bad person. And you aren’t worthless.”
Evelyn sat back and, after a pause, said, “We’re not going to turn you in.” She ignored Colette’s protests and the boy’s slight exhale of relief and went on, “On the condition that you return the paintings just the way you took them, before next month. And if you fail to do this, I swear to God, Colette and I will make sure you’re prosecuted.”
The boy didn’t say anything for a moment, looking down beneath the surface of the grimy wooden table. He slowly met her eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”
For the first time that night, Evelyn allowed herself to smile.
Afterwards, as they walked out into the damp, cold night, Colette squeezed her hand, “You were amazing.” Evelyn squeezed it back in gratitude.
Strangely, reassuring the boy of his value had, in return, made Evelyn realize that she wasn’t merely just Colette’s subordinate. No, she was much more than that.