20:00: Nick began his trek as dusk painted the horizon
in the West with broad brushstrokes of golden orange to cadmium red against a
backdrop of a cerulean blue sky. He’d come to a place where travelling up the
creek wasn’t going to get him any further. From there on it was a damned near
straight up-hill crawl to West Mountain Drive. He didn’t like the idea, but he
was forced to hike on Sycamore Canyon Road where he would surely be noticed by anyone
out for an evening stroll. Fortunately, only one dog barked on the way. He felt
comfortable, once night set-in, knowing he would see headlights of cars and
taxis approaching in time to ditch to the side of the road. Otherwise he hoped he
would appear to be just one of the residents of the area taking his
constitutional walk. The further along he got, the more growth on the side
afforded him cover.
He knew Miguel’s house was still quite a hike
and that he’d best take it easy. He also knew the single action revolver he’d
packed in his belt was a toy compared to the arsenal that awaited him.
Regardless, he was moved by something primal against all his better instincts
to do something… anything. They would be watching for him but the words of his karate
instructor from the Citadel became his direction. The Sensei quoted liberally
from Miyamoto Musashi, The Five Rings, at every session and these words from
the part called “Crossing the Ford” percolated from the center of his being, “In
the midst of battle, it is essential to ‘cross the ford.’ Sensing the state of
opponents, aware of your own mastery, you cross the ford by means of the
appropriate principles.” Nick would find a place and wait for the appropriate
principles and, when the time came, he would act. He would cross that ford.
Nick caught his breath after that hike. He had
to find an occupied house after the lights were doused and the folks there were
sleeping soundly in their McMansions high above the sparkling night lights of
the riff-raff below. He needed a cell phone to contact Miguel and maybe locate
where Adrienne was kept if she was still alive. It was going to take everything
he knew and practiced as most of these homes had alarms. He had to find one
that didn’t.
His first house on Barker Pass Road was a
no-go. As soon as he approached the sliding glass door on the pool side of the
house a damned lap-dog of some sort started yapping. Lights came on and Nick
quietly sank back into the shadows through a bougainvillea hedge. The second
house up the hill from there on Via Alicia fared better. He loved sliding glass
windows and doors. It didn’t matter whether they were locked or not. He popped
the screen off, lifted the window, and slipped it out and off its rail. He was
in the living room. Now the tricky part... to made his way down the hall
towards what would be the master bedroom. He knew better than to stand at the
door once he entered. It is a peculiar phenomenon he would never fully
understand, but, if you stand at the door too long.... no matter how quiet you
are... presence will be known.
He went to his knees and fore-arms. His eyes
adjusted to the dark. He thought, thank the gods for night lights. He could see
clear enough the shape of a woman alone in the bed and on the night stand he
spotted a purse. He watched her breathing... she lightly snored. The sounds of
her breath suddenly stopped. Nick drew himself closer to the side of the bed.
There was no way he could fit the bulk of his body under it. She rose up on an
elbow, “Who’s there?”
Nick was relieved that she didn’t get out of
bed. She must have decided that she was imagining things and rolled over
turning her back to him. He would have had to snuff her if she caught him. At
that thought, he got an erection as he lay there waiting for her breathing to
go back to the familiar sounds of sleep. No, he said to himself, there is no
time for fun... I’m here on business. He was already out of the house by the
time he began regretting that he couldn’t have raped this woman properly... it
was so very tempting. About a half hour later he checked the purse. It was
packed with the usual woman’s cosmetic crap, a wallet, complete with about a hundred
dollars in cash, a cell phone, and mace. He got safely to cover back at his
spot above Coyote Road, far enough from her house and any alarm should she
discover his break-in. Underneath all of those dark thoughts was an
undercurrent of pride that he had been able to resist the temptation.
Nick didn’t think of himself as a psychopathic
serial killer... Psychopaths don’t do that. Nick excused himself saying it was
a disease like alcoholism... it was in his hard-drive... it was just his way...
he wasn’t sure why, but, it was just because his libido was triggered by his
disease. Maybe, he thought, I am... maybe getting past that... Unlike the
common assumption that psychopaths don’t feel empathy or guilt, Nick did. He
knew he got a rush out of his murderous inclinations, and he couldn’t exactly
call it guilt, but he did sometimes wish that he was like other people and feel
what he’d mostly feigned his whole life. However, an undercurrent stronger than
his frightfully macabre perversion ran deep down within a maze of his soul. He
cared for Adrienne and he knew that caring for her would be his bane. These
thoughts carried him to a place across from the gate and its two guards and he
didn’t need a plan. Nick once read a story about Napoleon in which he said he
never gets bogged down and committed to a strategy... tactics win battles, not
games on a board.
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