N3161 Virginia Street
West Asheville, North Carolina
10:01 p.m.
He thought of himself as a magician. A great illusionist. Ever since he’d been a kid he’d liked magic. Now you see it, now you don’t! It all had to do with disguise and trickery and misdirection.
The first magic show he remembered was back in fourth grade when some guy had come to his school to perform tricks for the students.
“Watch as I make a red bandana appear out of nowhere,” the guy had called into his portable PA system. And the children had watched, just as they were told, until the cheap sound system squealed loudly and all the kids screeched along with it.
A moment later he pulled out a green bandana and the kids laughed and pointed.
“Oops,” he said. “Aha. There!” He pulled out a purple one this time. The kids laughed again. Then it was pink. More laughter.
“Now, watch and be amazed,” he said. “As the Magnificent Marty attempts his next trick.” He showed them his empty hands and then walked out into the audience, right up to the Illusionist. He looked down at the boy, smiled, and then reached down and pulled a bandana out from behind his ear. This time it was orange.
The kids laughed as the Magnificent Marty walked back onstage, looking very disappointed. He folded the bandana and stuffed it into his right hand. Then with a flourish he pulled out a blue bandana, and the orange one was gone. The children all gasped and clapped and whispered to each other, “How did he do that? It’s magic!”
Then he pulled a dove out of a balloon, he escaped from a set of handcuffs, and finally, at the end of the show, as he was bowing, he pulled the red bandana out of his nose, and the kids erupted in applause.
And that was when the Illusionist realized that the entire show, from start to finish with all its feigned mistakes and slick banter, had been perfectly planned, carefully rehearsed. The show itself was one big illusion. And the magician had been in control the whole time. He’d crafted each moment to misdirect the children. He was always one step ahead of the audience. One step ahead of the world.
The secret was all in misdirection. While you’re looking over here at this hand, I’m hiding the coin in my back pocket with this one. Watch and be amazed!
The light in the living room flicked off, and the game began. He edged closer to the window and waited. He was a master at waiting for just the right moment. He could wait an hour or a year. And that’s what made him who he was. The Illusionist. Always one step ahead of the world.
Time ticked by, and he waited. More lights in the neighborhood blinked out. The dogs stopped barking. Crickets began chirping from everywhere and nowhere. He stood motionless, entombed in the shadows. Always in the shadows. Just like those crickets. A man at home in the dark.
At last the bedroom light went out. Minutes passed. Then hours. He listened to his own soft breathing until the night stopped moving and sleep spread her wings over the neighborhood. Finally, it was time.
The Illusionist pulled on his ski mask and slipped on the latex gloves. Then he glided his leather gloves over the latex ones. He knew that latex gloves can snag or rip. Fingerprints and DNA from the sweat on your fingertips can be lifted from some types of latex. He knew that too. That’s why he wore both pair.
He stepped across the footpath to the garden and leaned up against the scratchy brick wall of N3161 Virginia Street. It was an anonymous middle-class house in an anonymous middle-class neighborhood in an anonymous middle-class town.
But it wouldn’t be anonymous for long.
He already knew about the alarm system. And he knew how to disarm it. The Illusionist knew where the motion sensors were, where Alice McMichaelson kept the spare key for the neighbors when she left town. He knew it all.
There’d been a break-in at Locust Security Enterprises last week. A flat-screen computer screen had been stolen. Apparently, nothing else had been touched. But he’d gotten what he was looking for. Always misdirection. Look at this hand while I put the coin in my pocket with this one. Look at the broken window and the missing monitor and don’t notice two sheets of paper missing from the copy machine. No one would notice something that small. And besides, the papers containing the security codes and wiring layout for the McMichaelson home had been put back in the locked file cabinet exactly where they belonged.
He glanced at his watch: 4:03 a.m. Perfect. People usually sleep the soundest from 3:00-5:00 a.m. See? He knew that too. He knew everything!
He walked onto the back porch, past the plaid Martha Stewart lawn chairs, past the gas grill, to the patio door and peered inside the sleepy house.
Lots of people forget to lock their porch doors and just lock the front and garage doors, as if a thief is going to walk down the street and just roam up the driveway and try the front door. Porch doors are the most vulnerable. The Illusionist knew that too. But he was prepared either way. He was always prepared.
He reached out a gloved hand and tried the door. It slid open easily, even easier than he had imagined. Part of him was disappointed. It was always better when it was a challenge.
He stepped across the welcome mat and entered the code to disarm the alarm.
There.
Now he had the whole house and the rest of the night to himself.