“You have your cell with you?”
“Yea, why?”
“So you can call me to pick you up when you're done.”
“I’ll call as soon as I can, just let me out at the corner.”
Norman stops at the intersection and checks that no one is around and Wren slips out of the car darting toward the nearest parked car quickly becoming nothing more than shadow amidst the wet darkness. She watches the taillights of her car fade away then starts flitting from car to shrub to car slowly making her way back to the watchman’s house. As she nears his house she starts creeping from one shadow to another across his yard in the darkness. She comes to a basement window of the house and slips off her back pack. Soon everything has the now all too familiar green glow of the night vision as she shines her small flash light in through the glass.
Through the glass she can clearly see a set of shelves just inside the window. She turns the light out and moves to another window. Through this glass a washer and dryer are visible just below but nothing else. She tries the window and with a little help from a screwdriver has it open in hardly any time at all. She tilts the glass and pulls it out of the opening. Slipping in on top of the dryer she draws her backpack in after her and pulls the window back into place. She starts her search in the basement finding it unfinished and uncluttered. She slowly climbs the steps careful not to make a sound. No one should be home but why take the chance? She reaches the top and finds a locked door with a keyhole facing her in the knob.
“So you do expect me.”
She opens her pack and takes out a small flat nail bar and a hammer. She knows that any sound is risky but she has to get in. She places the nail bar against a small crack in the door jamb and taps it gently between the jamb and the casing. Slowly and carefully she pries the gap open until she has an eighth inch gap even with the knob. She sits silently listening, staring at the gap between the door and its threshold waiting for any sign that someone has heard her. After enough time has passed that all Wren can hear is her own heart beat pounding in her ears, she pulls a thin metal putty knife from her pack and puts away the other tools. She holds the door in place with her left hand and slowly slides the knife in through the gap she has just made. She feels the bolt release its grip from the strike plate and the door suddenly feels free.
She’s too nervous to open the door now as images of shotgun blasts, buckets of acid, sledge hammers and spears crashing down on her when she opens it fill her imagination. She slips back down the stairs looking for something, anything to push the door open with from a distance. As she searches she becomes more frightened by what lies beyond the door as there seems to be hardly anything in the room. When all seems lost she starts up the steps again and that’s when she spots an old cane fishing pole hanging in the floor joists. She pulls it down, carries it to the stairs and placing the tip of the rod against the door gently pushes it open. It opens without a sound into a deeper blackness beyond. There is such an absence of light that even the night vision goggles aren’t registering anything. It is as if the door opened up into complete nothingness. She can feel icy cold air rushing down the stairs as she stands there pondering what is up with all of this. Why is it so dark? And so cold?
She re-hangs the pole where she had found it and goes back to her bag to pull out her flashlight. She clicks it on, draws her handgun and starts to slowly, cautiously ascend the stairs. At the top she creeps out and looks to either side. She steps out of the staircase and into the inky darkness of the main house. The upstairs is almost as void of stuff as the basement. There are no pictures upon the walls, no rugs on the floor, no scent to the air. The front room Wren instantly recognizes as almost everything in it used to be in her own living room. The black leather and chrome sofa and chairs, the black lacquer coffee table and the large plasma screen hanging on the wall. He had added to her stuff a GameCube but it was definitely her living room. She heads around a corner and into the kitchen where like the living room there are no decorations and nothing on the counter save a dish drainer with a single bowl and plate sitting there. Her curiosity getting the better of her she begins opening the cabinets one by one. A box of cereal, a small pan, some cans of soup, a skillet, five cans of Spam.
“Doesn’t spend much money on anything.”
She pulls back a dark sheet hanging over the window to check outside and finds the window covered in plywood. In a panic she darts to the living room and finds the same thing over its window.
“Is it a trap? Why would you cover the widows from the inside?”
Wren continues to think about these questions as she continues to search the house. From the living room she goes back toward the staircase and on to the bathroom. It appears as clean and as Spartan as the rest. The first two bedrooms are completely empty, bare wood floors, white walls and air is all there is in them. The last bedroom however actually has furniture. A large bed covered in black and white zebra stripes sits right in the middle of the room. In each corner is a waist high chest of drawers. The closet is full of clothes with several security guard uniforms. As in the rest of the house the window is covered over. But now standing in his bedroom it makes sense the windows are covered to keep out the light so he can sleep through the day.
Continuing her search of the house she makes her way into the garage. It is almost as much of a void as the rest of the house: a few tools, a ladder, and the door into the attic in the back of the garage. Giving her an ideal hiding place. She takes the ladder down off the wall and places it under the opening. Pushing the door up into the attic she peers around into the inky blackness. Her small flashlight coupled with the night vision gives the skeletal-like framing of the roof and ceiling a murky green glow. She quickly finds a rafter near enough to the door to tie a rope to and lets the rope down through the opening. She puts the ladder away and checks her watch. It's just after eleven thirty.
“Oh crap! He should be home in less than half an hour.”
She scrambles up the rope into the attic and is pulling the rope up as the garage door opener kicks in bathing the garage in what appears to Wren to be a brilliant white light. She hauls the rope up as fast as she can and is putting the door back as Jimmy Thatcher pulls into the garage the hood of his truck fully visible as she places the door into its frame. She dares not move for fear of making a misstep and falling through the ceiling. Yet she also does not dare to turn on her flashlight lest some stray beam of light should find its way out of some crack and give her presence away. So she sits on her ankles curled up into a tight ball one hand holding a rafter for balance the other clutched tight to her handgun, the balls of her feet barely planted on the ceiling joist. She sits there alone in the absolute darkness and heat, waiting, wondering what life is going to be like when all this is over. The pain in the balls of her feet is becoming persistent and the searing pain in her ankles lets her know she has been waiting for some time yet she knows not how long. She strains her ears listening intently for any sound. Then, finally from the other end of the house muffled by insulation comes a sound. It takes a few minutes of listening though before she can definitely make out the sound of running water. Holstering the gun she risks the little light, from absolute darkness to the tiny amount of light would be dazzling without the night vision as it is the initial light surge is as blinding as the flash of a camera to her eyes. Wren sits there for a minute allowing her eyes to adjust to the artificially intense light. She checks her watch, it is now twelve forty-five.
Wren leans forward and struggles with the door finding it impossible to get her fingers between the board and the frame. She hadn’t thought about this being a problem and the more she tries the more frustrated she becomes. Her knees are starting to ache from kneeling on the ceiling joist and she is becoming desperate when her backpack slides forward bumping into the back of her head causing her to think.
“Darn thing, why can’t you stay put?”
She starts to take the pack off and set it out of her way when a smile crosses her face. All her struggles and her tools are with her the whole time. It is almost enough to make her laugh out loud at herself for being so silly. She pulls out a straight screwdriver and tries to catch it between the door and frame but it won’t lift enough to get a grip before it slips loose again. She takes another look and decides on trying the nail bar. Placing the crooked end in the gap she rocks the bar upward, the teeth slipping effortlessly under the board. With the bar hooked the door pulls up and the cool air of the garage rushes up to greet her. She lowers the rope back through the opening and slides back down into the garage. Silently cautiously she approaches the door to the house. Placing her ear to the door, not a sound can be heard. Drawing the pistol from its holster she slowly turns the knob.
The icy air of the house immediately rushes through the opening. The room seems nearly as void of light as when she started into the house. With the fear and trepidation learned from past mistakes she steps into the house. Quickly, quietly she steps over to the bathroom door. Standing outside the door she can still quite clearly hear the shower running as she slowly reaches out and turns the knob. Slowly pushing the door open, his silhouette becomes clearly visible through the thin plastic shower curtain directly across from her as she takes aim with her handgun. The shot is fast, accurate, and almost silent unlike her victim.
The bullet enters his skull on the left, exiting on the right and then leaving the neighborhood through the adjacent wall. He hits the floor of the tub with a loud crashing thud pulling the shower curtain down on top of him. Wren reaches over and turns off the water then turning out the light she shuts the door and leaves the room, glad that unlike the others she did not have to witness his death. She heads back through the house to the garage, gets the ladder back out and packs away her rope. After returning the ladder she slips her pack back on then heads to the kitchen and out the back door. She crosses the backyard with the light rain turning to mist as the quarter moon peeks out through the occasional gap in the clouds. The added light bothers Wren but she checks her surroundings then heads over the rear fence and into the cemetery behind the house. She almost crawls through the cemetery as she heads from one tombstone to another within sight of the road along its edge; she rests for a minute and removes her pack to retrieve her phone.
“How’s it going?”
“Norman, it’s time. I’ve just come through Lakewood cemetery and I’m headed toward Mackenzie.”
“I’ll see you in just a few minutes.”
“Go slow and watch your mirrors for me.”
She puts the phone away and slips the pack back on. Heading right she slowly makes her way back toward Mackenzie then she crosses the road and hides between two parked cars as she watches for Norman. Soon there is a car coming down the road and she watches it closely as it slowly drives by. When it is clearly Norman she steps out from between the cars and into the middle of the street. The Mustang stops its taillights are reflected upon the wet rubber of her suit as she runs up to it and climbs in. As soon as she is in Norman is back in motion not even waiting for the door to shut and making the loop back out.
“I was starting to get worried about you.”
“Piece of cake really. The worst part was waiting for the right time. Now if you don’t mind I’d really rather not talk about it.”
“That’s fine because I really don’t want to know.”
At two thirty in the morning they pull back into their garage. Wren climbs out of the car as Norman watches her.
“You’re staring at me again.”
“Sorry, I never thought about how sexy you would look in your super hero suit.”
“Well, you want a chance to sleep with another woman?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean if you find the outfit appealing the Predator is willing to try it out for other purposes.”
“I don’t know sleeping with the Predator sounds a bit risky to me.”
Wren walks up to him and runs her fingers up along his neck as the barrel of the jacket gun brushes up the side of his face. When the barrel stops moving its pointing at the base of his neck and she cups his chin in her rubber covered hand. Forcing him to look deeply into her emerald green eyes as in a slightly raspy, and velvety soft voice she speaks again.
“Only if you’re her prey.”
Four in the morning finally finds the super hero suit lying on the floor and two young lovers passed out from exhaustion in the bed above.
At seven thirty the alarm goes off and Norman finds Wren is missing from the bed. He starts searching for her and finds her sitting on the patio table with her eyes closed in a full lotus with nothing but a set of headphones on. He stands there for a few minutes staring at her before he turns to go take his shower.
“Leaving so soon?”
Norman jumps at the sound of her voice.
“I thought you were deep in a trance or something and didn’t want to disturb you. Besides how did you know I was here?”
“I was in a different plane but your presence brought me back. As far as how I knew you were there, I smelled you.”
“I know I need to shower but I don’t smell that bad do I?”
“No, but your cologne still lingers and then there is your own underlying scent.”
“You're scary sometimes, you do know that don’t you?”
“Only to those who know me. Besides I’m a hunter, differences in my surroundings are keys to success. You go ahead and clean up and I’ll make you some breakfast.”
“Nothing fancy this morning, just toast and coffee will be fine.”
Norman heads back into the house with Wren close behind him. She follows him back through the house leaving him at the bathroom. She slips into a pair of jeans and a tee shirt and heads back to the kitchen. She is just setting a plate of scrambled eggs and toast on the table as Norman enters the kitchen.
“Toast and coffee really would have been just fine.”
“I wanted some eggs.”
They sit and talk as they eat their breakfast.
“How long had you been up?”
“I got up at about four thirty, set the alarm then went out where you found me.”
“But I remember seeing the clock just before I fell asleep and it said three forty-five so you couldn’t have slept more than half an hour.”
“I know.”
“I know I’ve asked this before but don’t you ever sleep?”
“And as I have answered before, sometimes. But honestly it’s a little hard after you have just blown a person's brains out.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t think of that. What were you listening to?”
“Songs of the Rainbow World'' by Nakai. He’s a Navajo flute player.”
“Doesn’t seem like your normal choice of music, seems a little soft for you.”
“Depends on my mood. Am I still meeting you at three-thirty to go to the court house?”
“Yes but if we can be there earlier it would be better. You just want to come with me?”
“I’m sorry but I need to get some sleep.”
“That’s alright I need to get going anyway.”
They get up and Norman gathers his things for work and after a long hug and kiss he is off. Wren heads back to her room where she finds her suit still laying on the floor. She picks it up marveling at how something that feels so stiff and heavy to hold can be so flexible and light when worn. She lays the suit upon the bed and starts turning it inside out. She slips it onto a heavy hanger and carries it to the basement and out the back door. Hanging it from a hook on the deck she gets out the hose and starts rinsing it off. Soon she has a bucket of soapy water and is giving it a good washing. She leaves it hanging there to dry and heads back in to bed.
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