With Cruel Intent (18 page)

items from the refrigerator and sat them on

the counter. Carefully opening the

cupboards he used his LED penlight to

search for a bowl and some cereal. He

assumed every home in America surely

would have some type of cereal. It didn’t

take him long to find everything he was

looking for, however, he was not entirely

pleased with the brands of cereal that

Katie had available, but he settled on the

Raisin Bran and poured himself a small

bowl, covering the flakes with milk.

Sitting at the table in the dark he

drank his glass of juice and ate the cereal,

always listening for any movement from

the back bedroom. Nothing came as he

polished off the snack but before cleaning

up he positioned his Polaroid camera

across the table from himself, lined it up

so it would take the image from his mouth

and down, showing the juice glass in one

hand and a spoonful of cereal in the other,

as well as capturing the bowl on the table

with his torso behind.

He positioned the penlight in such

a way to help illuminate the picture

without providing additional clues as to

who he was, but wanted to send a message

that he could come into any home and do

whatever he wanted. The picture turned

out exactly as he had hoped, not too much

detail but enough to see what he was

doing. The Polaroid went back into the

backpack and he removed the digital

camera.

The living room was just off the

kitchen and at the front of the house. The

main entry led here and the room was

fairly dark, even with the large bay

window curtains open, due to the

abundance of trees outside blocking most

of the light from the moon and stars. He

crossed the room, closed the curtains and

found a small table lamp, which he turned

on. Not enough light to alert a sleepless

neighbor but enough to help him

accomplish his task at hand.

In the room she had two recliners

positioned across from a 42” television

sitting atop an entertainment center that

was full of DVD’s and a sound system.

There were two oval end tables, each

topped with small lamps, and a telephone

atop its’ charger on the stand nearest the

kitchen. A coffee table was positioned

between the recliners and had a dirty plate

and glass resting where she’d left them

before going to bed, a small couch sat

perfectly between the recliners and behind

the coffee table. The piece looked like it

didn’t get used much as she still had it

covered with plastic.

The intruder imagined how he

might like to rearrange the furniture and

once he had the picture in his mind he got

to work. He used the small square cuts of

plastic to put under the legs of the larger

furniture pieces and was able to slide

them, with minimal noise, into place.

Before long the room looked entirely

different but still very well kept and

stylish. The dirty dishes were taken to the

sink where he washed them, along with

the ones he had used, setting them on a dry

dishtowel next to the empty sink. Before

moving the furniture he had been sure to

take a ‘before’ picture, then once

everything was where he wanted it he took

an ‘after’ photo. He was really having a

good time and was thankful that the

slumbering Katie was none the wiser.

The nighttime interior decorator

had almost forgotten about the spray paint,

but seeing it sitting on the kitchen table

reminded him that he had a few more

things to get done. Taking the paint in hand

he stepped from the kitchen into the

hallway and was about to enter the living

room when he saw a light suddenly appear

under the door at the end of the hallway.

His heart jumped into his throat

and he froze, unable to move or breathe.

Slowly, he backed up retracing his steps

until he had reached the kitchen table.

Rummaging around in the pack he found

what he was looking for, and removed the

can of pepper spray he’d picked up in a

hunting store a few months ago when he’d

been traveling through Kentucky. Seems

they use it there for defense against black

bears but he suspected it would be just as

effective against middle-aged women in

nightgowns as well.

One side of him was screaming to

get the hell out of there and the other was

pushing him beyond limits he’d never

known. How could he leave yet, still

didn’t have any pictures of what really

interested him personally. The work he’d

been paid to do was pretty much taken

care of but he wanted it all. At any

moment he expected her to open the door

and come walking down the hallway, but

it didn’t happen. Patiently he listened as

he inched his way down the hallway to the

point that he was standing just outside her

door again, this time with the pepper

spray in one hand and his camera in the

other. If she was going to get a face full of

this stuff he wanted to document it for

later review.

Intently he listened and then he

heard some movement coming from inside

the room. He tried to imagine what was

happening on the other side of the door, he

strained for clarity. The sound of her

moving about on the bed was followed by

the box springs squeaking as he pictured

her sitting on the edge of the bed getting

ready to stand.

“What’s she doing in there?” he

thought. “Does she know something is

wrong? Do I bust through the door and

pepper spray her into oblivion or simply

wait?”

He chose the latter, inched as

close to the door as he dared, closed his

eyes and focused on the auditory signals

coming from the bedroom. Time stood

still as he listened and waited. Another

sound, this time the opening and closing of

a drawer in rapid succession, followed by

an

unmistakable

quick

‘CHKKK

CHKKK’, metal sliding smoothly against

metal in a finely engineered mechanism.

THUMP thump, THUMP thump,

THUMP thump, his heart hammered

against his chest wall making it almost

impossible to hear as the sound echoed in

his ears. His blood pressure rising, and

with it the swishing sound of blood in his

own head. Footsteps! Yes footsteps, he

was sure of it! Getting louder, moving

toward the door, then stopping. Had she

heard him or noted the door to her

bedroom was now closed? He was

overcome with fear but the adrenalin

blasting through his arteries kept him

rooted in place, finger on the button of the

pepper spray.

“Here it comes!” The night

crawler readied himself for the assault but

the opportunity never came. A few

minutes passed and he could hear a toilet

flush and feet moving back to the bed.

Quietly he waited, held his breath

and listened, expecting the light to be

turned off and the sound of intermittent

snoring to begin again. Instead he could

hear the box springs giving way to her

weight, then again the metallic ‘CHKKK

CHKKK’.

“Does this woman go the bathroom

with a shotgun?” he thought, not wanting

his initial impression to be true.

There was nothing he could do but

wait. His back ached from having to stand

so perfectly still for so long. His

imagination was running wild, conjuring

up all sorts of outlandish possibilities,

each of which had a very negative impact

on his health. He shuffled his feet,

lowered the camera and spray to allow his

muscles a quick break. They’d be useless

in a fight if it came to that. Ambient

sounds from the bedroom could again be

heard coming through the door, the rustling

of sheets and covers and bed springs

reacting to her trying to get comfortable.

The noises continued for a second or two

before there was complete silence. He

took a deep breath in and slowly blew it

out continuing to be absolutely motionless

and quiet, then as quickly as it had all

started the light under the door vanished.

He waited, huddled by the door,

until he could make out the delicate

sounds of her sleeping and then returned to

the work at hand. Time was running short

and he had to be out of there soon to make

it back to the van and home before the sun

came up. He anticipated all hell would

break loose in the morning once Mrs.

Criddle woke up and discovered his

antics of the night.

Methodically he packed up his

things, matching everything that went back

into the backpack with a list he had

created earlier. Once he was sure that he

had all his belongings he took the paint

back to the living room and wrote in large

bold letters above the couch, ‘We’re

Back!’. Last but not least he needed a

picture of the heart-stopping Katie. With

the digital camera in hand he crept back to

her entry, took a preparatory deep breath

and put enough pressure on the door to

swing it open.

The gap was just big enough for

him to get through but he didn’t slide in

until he ducked his head around the edge,

checking to make sure she wasn’t sitting

up in bed with a shotgun aimed at the

door. He was relieved to see her lying on

her back with her right leg again under the

covers and her left leg slipped out from

the sheets and lying bent into a figure four

with the other.

Emboldened, he entered the room,

lifted the camera and took a couple of

pictures of his victim, as she lay so

exposed to his penetrating eyes. Suddenly

she shifted, pulled her left leg back under

the covers and rolled over on her right

side, her face now directed to the

bathroom and the diffuse light coming

from the partially open door. She pulled

her knees to her chest and hugged herself

in a fetal position before her steady, even

breaths returned.

The intruder waited for her to

settle down before moving even closer to

Katie. He moved slowly and deliberately

to the side of the mattress, careful not to

bring his feet down too heavily on the

hardwood flooring. Rounding the end of

the bed, he could see a book and a pair of

spectacles on the night table along with an

alarm clock that read 3:18. Keeping his

eye on the Criddle woman he swung his

right foot forward, and in the same motion

brought the camera up to get a profile

picture of his sleeping prize. Without

warning his right foot slammed into

something shadowed at the base of the

bed. Pain shot through his stocking clad

toes, radiating upward through his leg and

sending signals to his brain to scream in

agony. Rather than uttering a string of

blasphemies, he dropped to his knees,

grabbed his aching foot and rubbed the

injured digits. Katie had not budged and

her slumbering remained stable as he

nursed his throbbing extremity.

Once he regained his composure

the prowler looked for the instrument of

his discomfort, and there lying next to his

swollen foot, was a prosthetic leg.

“Now I’d say that was some vital,

need-to-know information,” he thought.

The attachment was skin-toned,

designed for coupling at the knee with a

metallic latching mechanism near the top.

He considered taking it as a reward for

his efforts, but excused the thought when

he imagined himself walking down the

road with a leg sticking out of his

backpack. Finally rising to his feet, he

took one last parting shot of Katherine and

backed from her room.

The long walk back to the van

would be agonizing but at the least the