Playing House

Playing House

*

I smiled when I saw the house.

The corner streetlight reflected on the metal numbers screwed to the front door, but I already knew this was the place.

I slipped through the front gate and into the garden, walking quietly around the side of the house, carrying my bag. There was a back gate, locked, but reaching over I easily found the bolt and slid it open; stepping through I closed it behind me.

The rear garden was small but tidy enough. I was more interested in the lounge window than her geraniums. Removing a long-bladed file from my bag I slipped it carefully between the cracks of the window until I encountered the catch. A twist of my wrist and the window opened an inch. I paused, holding my breath, listening.

I couldn't hear a thing over the beating of my heart. Ahh, Anticipation, my old friend. How I'd missed you. Not long now.

I slid both hands beneath the open window and gave it a tug. The damn thing wouldn't budge. I pulled again, harder, and with a jolt the window shot upwards, it and my thumb slamming into the frame with a bang. Ow. I danced around, sucking my thumb while I listened again. Still nothing. It was loud down here, but perhaps the sound hadn't travelled -- or she was sleeping heavily tonight.

I looked into the lounge. There was a sideboard beneath the window, and I set aside two picture frames before...