Breaking In

A Short Story by Christine Heather

Scott felt the latch give, hopefully he hadn't broken it.

His heart pounded and a bead of sweat traced down near his eye. He lifted his arm, tilted his head, and rubbed it away, but at the sound of yelling, he jerked up and turned back toward the noise.

It was coming from outside the small, walled patio he stood within - young kids' voices and the rolling of skateboards across asphalt. But, unaware of him, they skated past, leaving Scott to continue his late-night break-in.

Turning back to the arcadia door, he slipped his hand in, gripped the metal edge, and eased it open. He squeezed in and was struck by the comfortable coolness of the townhouse - a stark contrast to the stifling, humid air outside.

Carefully, he slid the door closed and, not moving, listened hard. But there was nothing - total silence - except for his own whispered panting. Looking down, he shook his head at the empty track. All it needed was a goddamn stick. How could anyone not be aware of such a basic safety feature? Maybe he'd get one from somewhere and leave it in there for the homeowner to wonder at.

He turned back around and studied his surroundings. He stood in a small dining room. Across from it was a living room and then the front entrance. Off to the right was the kitchen. There was a light on in the kitchen and lights on somewhere down the hall. Not good signs. But after studying it from the outside, he felt sure the place was empty; there was no car in the designated spot and the newspaper was still lying on the walk leading up to the front door. And with how late it was, surely nobody was coming home. Hopefully gone for the whole weekend. But he wasn't ready to call it until he'd thoroughly checked, so he went to the hall and cautiously started down it.

After a bit, Scott returned to the dining room, his pulse down close to normal. He'd thoroughly searched the place - downstairs and upstairs. Nobody home. Now all he had to do was go back out and retrieve his stuff from where he'd stashed it…

A couple minutes later, Scott closed the glass door again and set his things - duffle bag and shoulder case containing his laptop - against one of the bar stools sitting in front of the kitchen island. And then…

He lifted back up, scrunching his brows. Something seemed… different. He looked around, trying to pinpoint… What was it? But, no, everything was just the same as before. Finally, he rolled his eyes at himself, dismissing a thought to go check it all out again.

He ran his hands through his hair and sucked in a breath. It was a nice place he'd found. He hated breaking in, but what else was he to do? There was money in the bank, but they were closed and since his cards were gone…

He'd have to call Jack - but tomorrow or Sunday. Right now he wanted to be alone and have some cool-down time. Eat, shower, sleep awhile. Yeah, some down-time to get his thinking straightened out and shake off the spooks haunting him from all the crap that had happened.

He went to the kitchen and started things with a glass of water - from the tap of course - not the good bottled stuff in the fridge. In the door of the freezer, he found a stock of ice and, spoiling himself, he added several cubes. He shook it around, getting it nice and cold, then shook his head at himself before drinking it, thinking how crazy it was to get a kick from just a drink of ice water.

Hungry. He re-opened the fridge, and from a shelf inside it, containers of leftovers from a good-looking chicken dinner smiled up at him. He was dying to empty them, but forced himself not to think of it; he had to eat something that wouldn't be noticed. On the door was a jar of jelly still more than half-full. He took it out, found the peanut butter, and started fixing a couple sandwiches.

As he leaned against the counter eating, Scott took in more details of the place. It was nicely decorated. Leafy plants held within a variety of painted pots sat about, gifting the air with their little doses of oxygen. It was cozy, really clean, and even smelled nice. Why couldn't he just get a regular job and move into a nice place like this? If not for the love of his country…

Turning back to the sink, Scott pulled the trash out and started brushing crumbs into it, but then stopped and widened his eyes. He'd heard a noise. What? From upstairs? He waited, listening, for a good long time. But, no, it was totally quiet. Christ, he was so damn spooked.

He finished clearing up the kitchen, using his shirt to wipe up the water spots around the faucet - along with - using a towel - every fingerprint he could have made, then retrieved some things from his bag and headed down the hall to take a shower.

The bathroom's decorating was interesting with its light blue paint, sail boat pictures, and, like a string of flags at a Chinese festival, a multitude of silky, lacy bras and panties hanging from the curtain rod on little pink hooks.

The undergarments made him curious and, after carefully laying them all out around the sink, a good bit turned on.

He went back to the living room and nosed around. A stack of mail established her name: Cassandra… Several pictures adorned her entertainment center. He removed one group shot from its frame and just as he'd hoped, he found the back neatly labeled: Michele, me, Denise, Julie. He turned it back over and studied her.

She had a cute face, pretty strawberry-blond hair, and - wearing a wispy summer dress that was cut low and clinged to her chest - awesome-looking tits. He spent an extra moment checking them out, before slipping the picture back in and heading back to the shower.

Scott got in and washed up, dried off, and started shaving. He finished up, got his jeans back on, and then pulled on a dressy, button-down shirt. It was kindof lame, but it was the only clean one he had left. He rinsed the sink and wiped everything up. Christ, she kept it all spotless. It made it a nice place, but also more difficult to not leave any signs behind.

Back in the kitchen, he got his laptop out, opened it, and plugged it in to one of the island's sockets. He tried to force himself to open one of the files - actually, he needed to start a new one - but he couldn't. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep - bad. He'd just set the alarm on his watch, he thought, gazing over at the nice, blue recliner in the living room. But where was his damn watch? Oh, yeah, he'd left it in the bathroom. He took a step past the wall, turned into the hallway, and…

"AAHH!" the girl screamed.

Scott reeled in shock at the sight of the goddamn, naked girl! They'd just about slammed into each other!

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, just as she started to scream again. Grabbing her arms, he caught both her wrists behind her, pressed her up against the wall, and laid his other hand over her mouth.

The hallway went quiet except for the sound of heavy breathing. Scott stared down the hall - waiting… Finally, he turned to the girl and caught her eyes with his. She stared up at him with fear-filled eyes. Scott felt gripped with fear as well. He'd been an ass to get himself into this.

"Is there anyone else? Is it just you?" he asked sharply.

First the girl nodded then tried to shake her head.

"Is there anyone else," Scott repeated, this time lifting his hand away a little.

"No," she choked. He covered her mouth again.

She was shaking like a leaf. She started struggling like hell to break free from him, jiggling her breasts around and brushing her soft butt cheeks against his hand where he held her wrists behind her. Oh, damn, girl, don't do that…

"No. Don't move. Just… It's gonna be okay."

It killed him seeing the look in her eyes. She was terrified.

"It's okay. It's okay. I'm gonna take my hand off…" Cautiously, he started easing his hand away from her mouth. "Just don't scream - okay?"

"Please… don't… kill me," she cried.

"No. Christ, no. I'm not going to do anything to you. I swear."

They stared at each other, panting hard.

"I thought this place was empty. I searched everywhere. Where the hell were you?"

"I was… in the… tub," she stammered.

"In the tub - what? Upstairs?"

"Yes."

"Christ, I still don't… but I've been here for a while - didn't you hear any noise?"

"I was… listening to music on my… iPod."

Scott shook his head.

"Please! Let me…" She started struggling again and he couldn't block the effect of her soft, naked body squirming against him. He'd been holding his eyes on her face, trying not to look, but, hell, he couldn't resist. He dropped his eyes down and had a look at her, young, round breasts. Jesus. Then he dropped his gaze lower, eyeing her sweet spot. Scott winced. The girl had glorious, orange-blond pubic hair. The most beautiful sight he'd ever…

"Please! Damn it!" She exclaimed, trying to get her hands free.

"Alright," Scott said, lifting his eyes back to hers. "I'm gonna let you go. But don't move. Just don't move. If you move, I'll grab you again."