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Back 3 a.m.
Chapters (67)
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

I turn and face the house. It is silent, as if the wrought iron gate surrounding it protects it from all threats, even sound. I pull my hand into my shirt sleeve and fiddle with the lock atop the gate. It unlatches and the gate swings open with a soft creak. I know what I'm about to do is wrong, both ethically and legally, but what if there is a woman in the house that needs help? It had been nearly twenty-four hours since the scream; she could feasibly still be alive. Right? Either way, you might be asking yourself, why wasn't I calling the police to come check it out?

Simple.

This was the most exciting thing to happen in my 14,000 hours of being awake.

I slide through the opening in the gate, then tiptoe up the steps. There are two narrow panes of glass running vertically along the door and I lean forward and peer into the house. My eyes are still pinging with the light from the streetlamp and I can't make out a single shape. I lift my hand, still covered by my sleeve – I have no plans of leaving any fingerprints – and push down on the wrought iron handle. It gives and the door pushes inward.

I wiggle my foot in the space and push inward until I can fully slip my body through. The door eases shut behind me. I pull out my cell phone and click on the flashlight app. The room brightens.

Breaking and entering. Check and check.

From the shape of the house, I know the garage is left and the kitchen, living room, and bedrooms are to the right. I take a deep breath and whisper, “Hello.”

No one answers.

I begin moving slowly through the house. It is bigger than it appears from the outside, stretching back nearly double what I would have predicted. The house smells clean and tidy and it is. The kitchen is spotless, save for two dishes in the sink, which I deduce once held grilled cheese and tomato soup. The refrigerator is full. Some healthy items. Some not so. There is a large sectional in the living room adjacent to a flat screen TV that I assume, by the 3D glasses next to the remote, is one of the newer models. There are two small bedrooms and one master. The master is the only one that appears lived in. Trinkets, mostly of elephants, fill every imaginable surface.

The bed is made. The pillows perfectly plump and arranged.

My phone vibrates and I realize it is the alarm I set. Knowing full well there was a good chance I might end up inside the house across the street, I'd set the alarm to go off at 3:50.