Trespasser (Part XIX)

It was probably a mistake that he had come to be here.  He wasn’t the man that he had been twenty years ago; full of youth and free from pain.  If the home’s new owner were to come home earlier than he had expected, there would be no explaining why, or how, he came to be inside.

The floor creaked beneath his feet, and even though he had been inside this house many times in the past, it had changed into something completely foreign to him. Where there had been memorabilia from the war was now empty space.  Dust collected on the wall where pictures had once been, rectangular reminders that someone had once cared enough to hang something there.

His breathing was slow and uneven.  Fear crept into his bones as he stood in this place where he no longer had any business being.  It was his home now, if you could call it that.  There was nothing here to suggest that anyone even lived in it at all.  Only two rooms showed any indication that someone had recently been in them.

The living room, where an old war veteran once proudly shelved his many achievements, where he often shared a beer with his friends, and where he was known to host the occasional football party, was now void of all items save two; an old Victorian chair, and an equally decrepit end table.  The latter rocked on wobbly legs.

Both were positioned before the large picture window that faced toward the community.  From here, one could see every house down the street.

“Of course you can,” Davie mused silently.  His eyes had fallen on the binoculars that rested on the small table.  He had seen many pairs of such devices before, but nothing quite like the ones before him.  They were black, compact, and could be worn around the head by use of an adjustable band.  There were switches on the side, and when he held the lens before his eyes, he discovered that one activated a night vision feature, while the other illuminated everything in red.

Carefully, he returned them to where they originally lay before moving on.

The only other room that appeared to have been used was the wash room.  Several rolls of toilet paper were stacked inside the linen closet, toiletries were carelessly tossed upon the counter, and a single towel hung over the shower door.  Aside from the fact that this person invested more in toilet paper, than he did in food, he might almost be normal.

Davie was turning to leave with something caught his eye.

At the end of the counter, on the floor, and between it and the toilet, was a small wicker basket.  At first, he might have mistaken it for a fancy trash can, if not for the pictures that were laying inside.  He couldn’t quite make out who the subject was in the top picture, but it appeared to have been professionally taken.

“Of course it was,” he growled as he remembered the other morning, watching as he snapped pictures of Vanessa, unaware that someone was watching his every move as well.  He stepped into the small room and leaned forward to get a better look.

He sucked in his breath with a hiss as he realized that the picture was, indeed, taken of his neighbor’s daughter.  His heart began to pound in anger, causing his blood pressure to rise, and his vision narrowed on the image before him.  As he lifted it with shaky hands, the thought occurred to him that he was going to kill this little pervert.

The thought never had a chance to finish; at that exact moment, something heavy came down on the back of his skull, and everything went black.

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