Content Disclosure: Mild Violence, Suicidal Themes
The door opened, near-silent from the fresh coat of WD-40 applied by Randy. He peered through the small crack, gloved hands already slipping the lockpicking kit into one of the many pockets covering his cargo pants. Only the usual background sounds met his ears: the slight rustle of the trees lining the street outside, the distant bass rumble of passing cars punctuated by the occasional birdsong. Quiet, deserted, just the way he preferred it.
In his honest opinion, and Randy tried to be honest as much as his life and current chosen career would allow, daytime hours right before lunch were the perfect time to commit crimes. Most people were at work, and no one ever seemed to expect anything to happen during the day anyways. This home had appeared just as empty as the last few homes he’d hit in this sleepy suburban neighborhood today. He’d done his preliminary checks to be sure. No cars in the driveway or garage. No toys lying around, which meant no kids, so no potential stay-at-home parents or babysitters. No obvious signs the people living here were retired or elderly. There had been an uptick in people working from home, but again, no cars parked in or around the house, and it was almost unheard of these days to not have a car.
He padded on quiet feet into the common areas of the house, all senses on alert. Nothing of interest here. He headed in the direction the bedroom was likely to be in. He opened one door, but it led to a hallway closet. Towels were not valuable enough. He moved to the next door, opening it only to stop in shock at the man sitting inside, face lifting to greet him, hand coming down to mark his place in the book open on his lap.
“Oh shit,” Randy said, holding up his hands, “my bad.”
He was already backtracking, ready to
