An oval dining room table loomed before him; beyond that, the living room sprawled back into the darkness. He paused and listened to the gentle sounds of a house speaking to him that all was calm. All was still.
The Illusionist moved quickly and quietly through the dining room and then into the kitchen, letting his eyes adjust to the thick darkness. The vague outlines of the living room furniture slowly materialized to his right. On his left, a large dark opening told him the hallway was there, but he already knew that. After all, he’d memorized the blueprints for the home.
He could hear the sounds of a hamster running on a squeaky wheel in a nearby room. Brenda’s room. She was eight years old and had just started third grade at St. Catherine’s Catholic School out on Sweeten Creek Road. Her teacher’s name was Andrea Brokema, but the students all called her Miss Andi.
The Illusionist entered the hallway and approached Brenda’s bedroom. She would be sleeping with Wally, the stuffed walrus she’d received on her fourth birthday.
He stood in her doorway for a moment and watched her sleep in the pool of pale light that found its way through the window. Wally was lying beside her bed.
Hmm. Must have fallen out of her arms.
The Illusionist eased into her room as silent as a dream, picked up the walrus, and slid it gently into the arms of the sleeping girl. He had to lift her left wrist slightly to do it. She squeezed the stuffed animal and rolled over onto her side. The Illusionist smiled and backed out of her room.
There. That’s better, Brenda. Much better.
A few steps ahead, the night-light in Jacob’s room spilled a green glow into the hallway. How thoughtful of you, thought the Illusionist. Providing me just enough light to see.
A fifth grader, Jacob liked Spider-Man video games, was good at math, and had been the highest scorer in his soccer league last spring. He played for Andy’s Sub Shop. The Illusionist knew everything.
He knew about their mother too.
Because, really, that’s why he was here. Not for the kids. For her.
Nobody would notice a missing prostitute. He knew that much already. He’d found that out years ago, as a matter of fact. But a soccer mom who serves on the PTA would be all over the news. Especially one as good-looking as Alice. Just like he wanted. The news media loves a missing beauty. Especially a white woman. They’d be running her story for weeks.
With the help of the night-light in Jacob’s room, the Illusionist could see the pictures on the hallway wall… a picture of Brenda dressed up like a giant carrot for her school play… one of her standing on the beach with a pink shovel in her hand… the whole family sitting in a photography studio… Jacob holding a largemouth bass beside a lakeside cabin with Garrett next to him.
That picture made him sick.
Garrett.
The man who’d left Alice for that sleazy little tramp six months ago, and then kept showing up again to threaten her and the kids whenever he was drunk. But he didn’t stop with the threats. One night he nearly broke Alice’s jaw.
Garrett.
The man who’d left a note on his building contractor’s desk last month telling the boss that he was through working for such a lowlife and was leaving to find work where he could be appreciated, somewhere warmer, in Florida. It wasn’t uncommon for people who worked construction to move farther south as winter rolled in, so of course his boss wouldn’t have been too surprised. He was probably just glad he didn’t have to pay that loser Garrett McMichaelson for the last two weeks of work.
Of course, the handwriting wasn’t Garrett’s.
But the Boss Man wouldn’t have noticed that.
Garrett, Garrett, Garrett.
Yet despite how the picture disturbed the Illusionist, it also made him smile slightly. Garrett wouldn’t be bothering Alice anymore. He wouldn’t be bursting into the house drunk, or pushing her down the stairs, or punching her in the face ever again. No, he wouldn’t be bothering anyone anymore. A man who would treat a woman like that didn’t deserve to exist. A man that vile didn’t deserve to be buried alive deep in the Appalachian Mountains. He didn’t deserve a death that gentle.
But the Illusionist was a compassionate man.
It was, perhaps, his only flaw.
He had made it to the end of the hallway now, and of course, there on the left, was her room. Alice’s room. The door was shut.
Walking lightly across the amber carpet that lined the hallway, the Illusionist stopped just outside her door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the plastic bag he would need for the job.
His heart was beating faster now. It was always this way. Relax. Don’t get too excited.
But it was exciting. It was always exciting!
Beyond the door he could hear the soft rhythmic breathing of Alice McMichaelson, the thirty-one-year-old redheaded receptionist at the Law Offices of Brannan amp; Seeley. That’s where they’d first met. He could remember everything about that day. She was wearing a yellow dress the color of sweet lemonade. And that’s what he’d thought of when he first met her-sipping iced lemonade together beneath a spreading tree. Tall cool glasses. Warm afternoon sun. Smelling the summer. Looking into her bright laughing eyes. As they spoke that day, he’d caught the scent of her perfume as it drifted across the counter. And as he inhaled her fragrance it had become a way for him to touch her all throughout their conversation without her knowledge.
It had been exquisite.
He eased the door open and stepped into Alice’s room.
Through the faint glow of the streetlight outside the window, he could see her lying on her side, her lush red hair splayed all around her head. In the dim light, her hair took on a darker color, almost the color of dried blood. How odd that he would think of that now, how strange that he would think of blood at a time like this.
He wondered what she was wearing beneath the thin sheet draped so lightly across the curves of her body. He knew she liked to order from Victoria’s Secret. Her customer number was N672-9843-G. He knew all of these things from sorting through her garbage. She always left it out the night before it was supposed to be picked up. How fortunate for him.
He wondered what she would look like. Right now. All he had to do was pull back the covers. All he had to do was cover her mouth with one hand and grip her neck with the other. He could do that right now. Right here.
His heart began racing. Everything could happen tonight, in this moment. Just like he’d imagined it happening so many times.
Her breathing never changed. It was so soft and rhythmic. Like music to his ears.
Oh how he wanted to touch her! But he didn’t go toward her. He didn’t even move. He was in control. Always in control. And he wasn’t allowed to touch her tonight. He was here for something else.
I’ll be seeing you, Alice, he thought. I’ll be seeing you soon.
The Illusionist picked up the thing he’d come for, took one last look at Alice McMichaelson, and slipped down the hallway. He heard the hamster squeaking in its cage before he tapped the code into the security system and left the house. Then he eased back into the shadows of the sleepy neighborhood. No one noticed him. No one would ever know he was here. No one would suspect anything.
Because he was one step ahead of the world.
Watch and be amazed!