Next Outing
extra Polaroid film and camera (disable flash)
small digital camera (check batteries)
thin nylon rope
hunting knife — sharpen
gloves (no powder)
new socks
cloth and alcohol
backpack (electrical tape over metal)
He sat back in his chair, tapping the side of his jaw with the pencil, “What else, what else?” he said, closing his eyes and trying to imagine what was missing from the first ‘outing’.
He hadn’t thought he would enjoy it as much as he did, the excitement of being in someone's home had always been a thrill but being there while they slept was ‘magical’. Beyond that, taking their picture seemed so much more invasive, exponentially more personal than merely stealing a few valuable items, getting in and out as quickly as possible.
Last night had gone better than he had planned but looking back he knew he could improve. The information he had received had been valuable, the layout of the house was exact, the area dark and quiet, door had been unlocked — no need to use the key they had provided, no dogs or children. He hated little unexpected surprises in this line of work, but he was always prepared for such emergencies or at least he thought he was.
He’d made a career as a burglar all over Southern Georgia and had managed to avoid capture thus far, and had no intention of spending any time behind bars in the near future. Always waiting for one big score, a valuable diamond, a gold brick, anything that would bring big bucks. Who would have known that his big score would involve putting on women’s underwear in the dead of night then taking pictures of himself as he went. He’d been instructed only to take the one picture to be left behind on the pillow but once he got started he kind of got carried away.
Putting on the clothing was, at first, odd and uncomfortable but doable; it was the taking of the pictures that he had not expected to give him such a rush. Looking back at the images splayed before him he reached for his favorite, very grainy but still enough in focus to make out what was captured. He stood very close to the bed, hovering over Thelma, wearing a black bra with white lace trim, matching panties, his face very close to hers with his tongue extended, almost touching the tip of her nose.
“She would've shit a brick if I’d left that one on her pillow,” he said aloud, laughing to himself, then more raucously.
CHAPTER SIX
The short walk from the bus stop gave Blanche time to put the day’s events into perspective, she enjoyed the light breeze, the old homes lining the street and the sight and sound of fireflies breaking the darkness before her. Arriving at Caroline’s well after everyone else had gone to bed, Blanche entered quietly, slipping her shoes off at the doorway, and tiptoed up the stairs to her room. Squinting, she rummaged through her purse and finding the old skeleton key aimed it at the lock, when a hand lightly squeezed her shoulder. The key dropped to the floor, ping, ping, ping, as it danced across the wood, Blanche shrieked, pulling her purse to her chest and spinning in the same moment, pressing her back firmly against the door jam.
“Ms. Carmichael, you ‘bout gave me a heart attack!”
“Sorry deary, but I wanted to let you know that you have new neighbors. The newlyweds were across the hall but they wanted a room with a view so I had to move them next to you. Hope you don’t mind,” she whispered.
“Mind? Why should I mind?” Blanche replied in a hushed tone, her heart still thumping in her chest.
“Oh, I don’t know but I didn't’ want you to be upset with me.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it will be just fine. Can you see my key anywhere?”
Both looked to the floor and the shadows cast by the dim hallway lamp.
“Here it is,” Caroline said, after only a few seconds of looking.
“Thanks, guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes, seven sharp, don’t forget.”
“How could I?” the tired librarian whispered to herself, as she opened the door and stepped inside, gently closing it behind her.
Washing her face was a nighttime ritual that she both loved and hated; loved the feeling of having a fresh clean face, free from makeup and the oils that inevitably cover one’s skin by the end of the day, but hating the few minutes it took, especially after a full day. Pulling her hair back and wrapping the knitted bandana around her forehead and ears, she grabbed the cleanser with her left, cotton ball with her right and began the process of removing her makeup. The bandana, although not stylish, was a girl’s best friend when it came to this process. Holly had made it for Blanche as a going away gift, hoping it would make her think of her best friend each night before bed. It had worked.
Blanche reflected on the past few days, realizing she had not even taken the time to call, only a few hurried texts had been sent and received.
“I must remember to call her tomorrow,” Blanche thought, reaching for her phone and putting a reminder into the notes.
The job finished and too tired to shower she removed her clothing, hanging the slacks in the closet and tossing the blouse into the pile of dirty laundry. Reaching behind her back, she unclasped the bra and let out an audible ‘Ahhh’ as she laid the garment aside and rubbed under each breast where the strap had indented the delicate skin. Neatly folded and placed at the foot of the bed were her pajamas. She couldn’t remember leaving them in that condition, in fact, she was sure she had quickly taken them off and thrown them in a heap on the bed before getting ready earlier in the day.
“That Caroline, she really is a sweetheart,” Blanche thought.
Slipping the silk over her left then right arm, pulling the material together to be buttoned up the front, Blanche closed her eyes enjoying the silk as it caressed her body.
“Mmmmm, that does feel good,” escaped her lips, as she pulled the bottoms up and made a quick knot in the drawstring.
Ready for bed, she fluffed the pillows, pulled the light switch on the end table lamp illuminating the adjacent space and lifted the book that would be her companion for the next hour. ‘Mandingo’, it had practically leapt off the shelf the morning after meeting Jasper but she was careful to put the paperback in her purse without anyone at the library knowing. The story had captured her imagination; slaves, helpless white women, strong black men all set against the background of the civil war. Blanche pulled her knees up, her feet flat on the bed, resting the book between her thighs. Opening the book to the marker, the story once again jumped from the pages, drawing her into its grasp and filling her head with images of the Old South. Almost holding her breath in anticipation of what may happen next she dared not turn the page…. then it started.
Initially, Blanche thought she must have been hearing the distant sound of people arguing. She tried to ignore it, going back to her book, reading a few more lines, concentrating on the images formed in her head, but the incoming sound seemed to ebb and flow, soft, muffled then building then dropping off again. She placed the book on the bed and listened more intently trying to figure out where it was coming from. There were two distinct voices, male and female, but the exchange didn’t make much sense. She would periodically pick up a word here and a word there but nothing that could be associated with typical dialog. The more carefully she listened the more concerned she became, it sounded as if the woman was being assaulted.
“Should I phone someone or wake up Caroline?” she thought.
“No, no. No, no. Stop, stop, stop! Give me a minute!” she heard the female voice say louder now.
Blanche held her breath. Suddenly, there was a knock on the wall directly behind Blanche’s head, startling her and making her drop ‘Mandingo’ to the floor, then another and another that worked into an unmistakable rhythm. The words of Ms. Carmichael immediately came again to Blanche’s mind, “newlyweds …moved next to you…hope you don’t mind.”