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Huge boulders acted as a staircase leading up to the back patio. I felt exposed as there weren’t any shrubs here, so I walked quickly until I reached the back of the home and pressed up against the stone wall.
I checked the garden doors first. They were locked.
Damn!
The basement was dark, so I decided not to duck below the windows as I crossed over to the side of the house, but ran as fast as I could instead.
But as soon as I rounded the corner, I found a man smoking on a balcony above me.
I ran back and flattened myself against the cold stone of the house again.
That was close!
But maybe that could be my way in. Perhaps they kept that door unlocked for smokers.
I watched the man’s reflection from the neighbor’s window. He brought the cigarette to his mouth, and an orange light flickered on the blunt. Then he dropped his hand down, resting it on the stone balustrade. He took his time with his drag.
Finally, he dropped his cigarette and stomped on it before turning to go back inside.
I waited only a few minutes before running along the side. A set of concrete steps led to the top of the balcony. Slowly, putting one foot in front of the other, but keeping myself flat against the wall, I climbed the staircase.
Muffled voices reached my ears, but they sounded far away. My heart pounded as I risked a look inside.
The room was empty.
I checked the door, and it was open.
Yes!
Slowly, I turned the knob and prayed that the door didn’t creak.
Silence.
I hopped inside and hid behind the curtains.
My heart raced. My legs shook. I could barely catch my breath, worried I would faint.
What the hell was I doing?
My brain knew this was crazy, but I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to know what was going on.
I heard the voices again. I dared a peek, pulling the curtains aside. When I was satisfied there were no footsteps, only voices, I walked out.
Hidden in darkness, I tiptoed across the room. Finding the hallway empty, I crossed it.
Then I heard my father’s voice. My feet moved toward the familiar sound and stopped just outside the door. It had been closed, but not completely. I could still peer through a small open slit.
“Did you bring it?” The man with the deep voice asked. I could see him clearly this time. He had jet-black hair and an olive complexion. He wore a black suit and a white shirt, but it didn’t make him look refined, only restrained. Like a jaguar in a tuxedo. His features were sharp, his nose perfectly straight. He could have been the superhero in a movie if his voice didn’t sound more like the villain’s baritone. Several ornate rings covered his fingers and he tapped them on the table. Subconsciously it seemed. The sound reminded me of a clock tower bell tolling.
“I did. It’s right here,” my father said, and held up a black knapsack.”
The man curled his ringed fingers twice, summoning the bag.
Hesitantly, my father took a step forward and dropped the bag onto the table. Another man, one of three that I saw through the crack, pushed the bag toward his boss.
Unzipping the bag, the man smiled just before he pulled out an object from the bag.
I gasped and pain shot across my chest, feeling as though my insides had been ripped in half.
