#break-in

Like the shadow he drifts in and out like, the man fades into the background of your life. Your day off shoots by too quickly and you’re back at work. You slog through the days and each night come home to an empty apartment. Your life rolls back into the usual pattern. 

The only blip on your radar is a work party. Nothing big, a small get together to send off Kendra to her new job. You go down to a bar just around the corner from the office and have a round of beer and well wishes. You’ll miss the bubbly new graduate but you’re happy for her nonetheless. Better than staying six years, working and living the same day in and out. 

Randy and Darren leave first, they have families. You stay behind with Morgan, Kendra, Aaron, and Jill. It’s easier to limit yourself when you’re the one paying but your coworkers are far too generous and you won’t refuse a free drink. It’s been so long since you let yourself indulge. 

After you polish off a shared plate of greasy nachos, you disperse. It’s late. After eleven. This is going to do you now favours tomorrow. You foresee a painful morning beneath fluorescent lights and the glare of a spreadsheet. 

As you turn onto your street, the soft haze of your drunkenness recedes. You’re suddenly very aware of your surroundings. A woman, drunk, walking home in the dark. You should have had some water. You can’t tell if the echo of your steps is in your head or a drunken illusion. 

You turn your head and check your peripheral. You are not alone. Your heart beats picks up. You’re paranoid. Other people can be out on the street. Even so, you hurry to get to your building. 

The second pair of steps don’t follow you inside. You get past the interior door and the heavy clunk of the lock comforts you. You head upstairs and drag your feet down the hallways. You shuffle inside and slide the chain into place. 

You drop your purse and your keys and yawn. You don’t make it to the bedroom. You fall onto the couch, ready to pass out. You’re saved from falling asleep with your shoes on by a clatter. Your head pops up in the lull that follows and you listen.  

The balcony door clicks and grinds. You sit up, bobbling, as it opens from the other side. A screen claws in your chest but you can’t get it out. That man enters. He doesn’t look happy. 

You blink and stare. He slams the door and you wince. He looks around the apartment without expression. 

“Hi?” You blabber. 

He looks at you. He doesn’t say a word as he comes forward. He passes behind the couch as he unzips his jacket. To your surprise, he hangs it over yours by the door. He picks up your purse and keys and puts them on the square table. 

He unties his boots and leaves them on the mat. He turns and nears the other side of the low coffee table. He stands across from you as his hand goes to the knife sheathed from his harness. You gulp. 

“You’re drunk,” he accuses. 

Your eyes round and you nod. 

“And late.” 

You nod again. 

He doesn’t say anything else. He disappears into the kitchen and you watch him over the counter. You shake your head and giggle. This isn’t real. You’re that drunk. You’re probably still face down and dreaming. 

He comes out of the kitchen but turns down the hall instead. Your bedroom door opens on its squeaky hinges and you hear a heavy clink. When he returns, he nears you. You have no time to react before he scoops you up. 

“Woah! Hey!” You can’t help but giggle again, this time nervously. “What are you doing?” 

He doesn’t answer you. He carries you to your room and puts you on the bed. He grabs the glass of water beneath the glow of the bedside lamp. “Drink.” 

“I’m fine.” 

He moves the glass closer, hovering it in front of your face. You relent and take it. He's right. You drink, still convinced it’s some twisted dream. 

He backs up and goes to your tall dresser. He opens a drawer and you choke. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” 

He ignores you again. When he approaches the bed, he tosses down a pile of fabric. You glance down at the plain white tee shirt and checkered pajama shorts. You grimace, “thank you?” 

He taps the side of the glass. You sigh and finish the rest of it. He retreats to the door and stops in the frame. His broad shoulders fill it easily. 

“Sleep on your stomach.” 

He leaves you with those words and an open door. You set the empty glass down. It’s helping dilute the alcohol but being sober means being aware. This is strange. It’s like he’s mad at you for not being there. He said you were late? For what? 

Stripes that blended into the blinds until the burglar wasn’t even sure if the cat was there at all. Maybe they were just staring too long into windows.

Regardless, the lights were out for hours before the burglar finally worked up the courage to shimmy down their little pine tree, sap screaming across the front of their black hoodie and catching at their long hair, before their feet hit the ground, greeted by damp, muggy leaves. 

They moved to the house as swiftly and simply as they could, sliding a thin, metal ruler into the gap between the window and sill, persuading the latch to oonch a little more little more littttttle more to the right with tiny nudges and taps until it finally popped free. 

Carefully, they pressed the window up, careful to touch only the pane, not the glass. It creaked and shuddered as wood ground against wood, but they kept the ascent as smooth as possible.

In a moment, they were able to curl upward, heaving themself over the edge and setting one soft foot onto the hardwood of the living room.

Their eyes skittered around the room, immediately searching for any sign of threat or notice. A flick shocked through their silent body as eyes flashed in the darkness - kitten perched on the piano with those haunting yellow eyes shining at them. Just watching. Uncaring and all knowing. 

The burglar swallowed, snugging the window back down to avoid outdoor noises that might alert their victim of their presence.

Carefully and silently, the burglar began to shift through the house. Checking. Stashing. Silver spoons, identified by the tarnish. A slightly outdated but still valuable console. An ipad that they tucked under their arm - not wanting it broken by the other contents of the bag. They needed to wipe it before they left anyway in case there was a tracking option on it. 

They moved carefully, plucking up small electronics and…..stepping around the damn kitten that insisted on weaving between their legs as they moved. “Shoo- shoo, I need to nodontgothere-” the burglar groaned as the kitten started climbing up their leg. 

They stumbled as a tiny claw dug into their leg, hissing at the pain as they clattered to the ground. Evidently their main priority was cradling the ipad like a baby- keeping it perfectly safe while the burglar landed on a bag full of sharp, cold, and hard. They managed to keep their yell to a minimum as corners and edges bruised into their back and side, pinching the kitten by the scruff and setting them aside. 

Floorboards creaked above them, the owner of the house shifting out of bed. 

“Fuck-” that was a lot of noise- shiiiiiiiit- they pushed up to standing and slipped into the closest closet they could find, pushing the kitten out after them as the staircase groaned and shuddered under the oncoming footsteps of doom. 

The burglar’s breath slammed so hard against their ribs as they stood behind the door they didn’t dare close completely - it would make too much noise to latch, focusing instead on the -fucking KITTEN TRYING TO CLAW IN AFTER THEM - SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHI- 

Without thinking much, they found a random, jingly cat toy at their feet and flicked it through the crack between door and pane, holding painful breath in tight lungs as the sound echoed through the moonlit house.

The kitten followed, skittering and pouncing on the fuzzy thing.

The burglar heard a sigh - footsteps wandering up to the kitten. They could barely see a hand reaching into frame, scritching behind the kitten’s ears. The little terror, in turn, rolled over, grabbing and biting playfully at the hand in a viciously harmless attack. 

“Precious thing, you need to learn to be quiet at night..” the voice was soft. Groggy from sleep. Clearly a little relieved it was ‘just a kitten’ they heard. 

The burglar took a small step back, away from the crack in the door lest the owner glance up and see the streak of light glinting off a wide brown eye through the crack.

Panic snapped through them and their breath caught as their heel dropped into nothing. In a flash, all the burglar could see was them tumbling - stumbling and flailing through the darkness into a cool, cavernous pit of nothing - bones crunching against stone as they hit the bottom. 

But they didn’t fall.

Their hand slipped to the side, gripping a wooden rail their instincts must have deemed there. 

They turned, eyes wide in the darkness now illuminated by that strip of light. 

….not a closet.

Basement stairs. A landing.

The burglar took a deep, shuddering breath.

They were too loud. Breathing too loud. They could swear the owner of the house could hear their heartbeat slamming- echoing off the walls.

They had to get further away.

So..down the stairs they went.

Carefully - so carefully - they stood on the crosses of wood, walking only where they could see nails.

The wood was new. Unfinished. Barely sanded. Handmade.

But strong. Strong and sturdy.

It, blessedly, didn’t creak under their weight as they slowly descended into the darkness. 

Foot tapping blindly out at the air on each step, they clutched the duffle bag and ipad close, terrified of dropping either of them and making a clatter. Terrified of hitting the ground before they realized it was there. Terrified of…everything, really.

Their breaths came a little more freely the further they got from the door, quiet, wet pants all but echoing off stone walls. Close. Telling them at least that the space was small. Fairly bare. Mostly for storage, then.

….maybe there would be things there? Family heirlooms or even a safe? People keep shit like that in basements, right?

They could bide their time here while they waited for the owner to fall back asleep - which meant waiting a couple more hours to make sure they were dead enough up there that they could sneak back out the window without the hell kitten waking them up again.

Then they’d get out and it would be fine and no one could call the police and everything would be fine. 

Breath choked against their throat as their foot hit a little too hard against concrete - the bottom of the stairs now.

The little colden slit of light didn’t extend nearly far enough. Eyes still adjusting, the burglar reached blindly out in front of them, hand moving through cool, musty air. Touching nothing as they blindly shuffled forward with eyes plastered open - wide with the desperation to see.

They didn’t dare turn on a light - maybe they would if it were one on a dimmer - just to get a little glo- OH-!

They stopped, turning around the ipad in their hands. They pulled the cover around to block the flashlight, at least mostly, then opened it, swiping and flicking on the flashlight option.

A spit of light swarmed out from the area in a small arch, and the burglar clamped their hand down over it.

They just needed a glow. Just enough to know they weren’t going to hit someth-

Their heart stopped dead and painful at the sound of footsteps groaning against the floorboards above their head.

They were breathing so hard it came in a round, muffled panting breaths coming so sporadically and echoing that it almost sounded like there were two of them here. 

Eyes wide and plastered to the ceiling, they kept their breath dead still and the light clutched and covered against their chest as they blindly tracked the steps across the room. Through the kitchen. Up the stairs again. A soft cooing and chittering as they did.

They were bringing the damn cat with them.

Good.

The burglar took a deep breath, peeling back the cover of the ipad again and squinting against the fresh wash of white light as it turned around the room.

Shelves. Desk. Oddly…clean - no storage? Closet an-

The burglar’s breath clattered to a stop as the ipad slipped from their fingers at the flash of eyes staring back at them - haunted face outlined only briefly until the light fell and flickered away. 

They stumbled back against the floor, fear and panic tangling up their stomach and squeezing at their lungs in an icy, branching fire. They choked on it, breaths harsh and desperate. New threat located.

Their fingers scrabbled for the ipad again, hand raking across the broken screen to force the light back on again. Hitting the side of it with the heel of their hand as they shoved themself back - dufflebag forgotten on the ground in the middle of the room - until their back hit the wall.

When the light finally did turn back on, it was flickering - sporadic. They shoved the light at the face they saw, begging the universe to let it just be a trick of the light. A strange marking in the store or an old coat hanging strangely on a chair like the ‘monster in their closet’ when they were a kid. That they’d see the creature’s face and it wouldn’t be real at all. Please please please-

But that didn’t happen.

They saw bloodied, dirty hands and elbows, forearms crossed up over a face they couldn’t see anymore. 

Torn clothes..

On the wrists…zipties..

The burglar’s breaths were coming so fast now they were starting to get dizzy. Then softly sob - no - no that wasn’t them - no, that was the creature. The person. The person who was chained up in a fucking basement.

The burglar took several deep, shuddering breaths, keeping the ipad pointed at them.

A small, hoarse voice cracked across the room, not even amounting to a whisper. “pl-ease-”

The burglar stared, beam of light trembling over the wall - shaking like a projector with far too aggressive a fan rattling the image during a grade school movie day. 

The burglar couldn’t think of a response. Couldn’t think of..anything. But they did point the light away.

They set the ipad down on the ground, light pointed up so it scattered a gray haze over the entire room. 

Tear-sparked eyes peeked out from behind shaking hands as they light moved away from the poor creature. 

They were small. Frail. Littered in bruises. Tear-tracks slid down their cheeks, cutting through the dirt, blood, and grime.

“Wh-hho a-re you-??” they dared to ask..

The burglar..didn’t know how to answer that either. “I…n..I’m not anyone- I j….wh-ats going on??”

The little human scrubbed at their eyes. “Y-oure not with him?”

The burglar shook their head in small twitches. “No- just…I….I was..no I don’t know him.”

They seemed to breathe a little easier now - eyes flicking swiftly up to the ceiling - then descending to the burglar again. “C-ccan y-ou get me o-ut-?”

The burglar swallowed down the knot in their throat. It caught on dryness and fear, but they forced it down anyway. 

“Yeah- y-yeah I can …do that-” they glanced around the room, whisper growing in pitch as they moved up to a crouch, looking around for..a key..? “..how?”

The human stood carefully, chain around their ankle chafing and rattling slightly - it echoed through the room. “Th-eres bolt cutters i-n the cabinet-??”

The burglar did not want to think about what the fuck this sicko needed bolt cutters in their torture basement.

Their mind filled in the answer to that question anyway.

Bile rose to the back of their throat, but they nodded, standing and tugging it open. They felt around in the darkness for the thick, heavy metal, and dragged it out with a grumbling scrape and a small clatter. They winced at the sound, but heaved it up against them - fuck it was heavy-

They carried it across the room to the captive, anyway. 

“..wrists first-?”

The captive nodded desperately, holding out their wrists. 

The burglar took a moment of heaving to get the teeth of the bolt cutters properly in place where they wouldn’t bite through skin, but snapped them together fairly easily. 

The captive shuddered a soft sob, relief dripping from their eyes as they rubbed at their wrists. 

The burglar didn’t wait for further instruction, they needed to move.

They knelt down to the captive’s feet, slotting one link of the chain between the thick metal teeth, then braced one handle against their thigh as their hands pulled back.

It bruised and dug into the flesh of their leg, but they didn’t stop.

The metal didn’t relent, but they didn’t stop.

Teeth grit, fueled by fear and desperation, the burglar pulled harder and harder, feeling the bruise work against the bone and listening to their back crackle at the strain. 

They shifted, readjusting - maybe just one half of the link?? It was dented- that was a good sign - but not nearly enough. 

They had to break it.

The captive rested both hands on the burglar’s shoulders, steadying both of them as the burglar groaned under the effort. They flinched hard as a hand pressed over their mouth, indicating quiet. They were making too much noise. 

They were so stupid.

Silencing their voice with a small nod, the burglar moved back to the agonizing pull, jerking the handle to and fro, desperately trying to force the iron link to submit to iron teeth, crumbling to the ground.

They almost cursed as a little body brushed soft against their leg. “Not the time-” they scooted the kitten away from their leg with their foot, resuming their posi-

…

..how did you get..h..-

The burglar straightened immediately, terrified eyes turning to the stairs.

The owner sat there, crouched in the shadows.

The softest glint shone off the barrel of the pistol that was lazily pointed at the pair of them. Footsteps moved all but silently down the stairs - heavy all the same. The burglar flinched at every muffled step.

Silence clattered away as the owner’s shoe crunched against the discarded ipad, sending the world dark.

A ‘click’ and the room flickered into blinding, garish, rotting light from the dusty orange of a dangling bulb. 

“Ohhh honey, did you pick the wrong house..”

[Drabble Masterpost]

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