ETERNAL FLAME

The Uninvited Guest

The silver moonlight cast soft shadows across the immaculate lawn in front of the elegant two-story brick house. Those who knew where to look would notice three surveillance cameras nestled in the two giant old maple trees, discretely covering the driveway, garage, and front doors, and the motion sensor lights mounted strategically for overlapping coverage. The slim figure in black had observed the security measures with approval as they walked briskly to the sheltered entryway. Twin Schlage deadbolts. Excellent choice. Virtually bump proof, and difficult to pick, but the uninvited guest was no stranger to top of the line deadbolts. Sure, a little detonation would get the job done quickly and easily, but also very conspicuously.

Perhaps simply knocking would do the trick?

Other than the security lighting, which would have been simple enough to disable, the house was dark, with only the elegant brass doorside lamps lit. While unannounced, the visitor had expected a certain someone to be home. Might as well knock anyway. The neighboring houses weren't far enough away to risk attracting attention by acting suspiciously, especially realizing that they were dressed, well, stereotypically like someone who had come to break in. All they would have needed to complete the look was a black ski mask.

Repeated knocking got no response, so the lock picking tools did their magic, even in annoyingly unsteady hands. The job took perhaps twenty seconds for the first lock, but two tries and a dropped tension wrench for the second. Less than ninety seconds, total. No time at all, really, for two premium quality deadbolts, but it felt like an eternity to someone who did not want to be noticed. Finally, the last pin clicked into place. The figure opened the door and slipped inside. As expected, the alarm keypad was on a short wall to the left of the door. Almost disappointingly predictable. A top-of-the-line ADT security system, but again no match for the intruder.

The easy part was over. Now, to wait.

But first, to find a bathroom.

The house was not what the visitor had been expecting. For starters, it was large. Much larger, more expensive, more...impersonal. Long, narrow formal dining room to the right. Even in the slim beam of a Maglite, the simple, sterile elegance spoke more of a curated setting than a home. Very much to their personal taste with the gorgeous Caracole dining set and exquisite Swarovski crystal chandelier, but hardly an environment they could picture the person they had come to call on thriving in.

A smallish library -or maybe they called it a parlor?- to the left. It had a warmer, more lived-in feel. That would most likely be the place to start, after looking around to get the layout of the ground floor.

Past the polished oak staircase on the left, a gallery opened to a spacious greatroom. French doors leading to a patio and sloping back yard with two sheds and a fenced in-ground pool. To the right, an impressive kitchen with a bar and polished stainless steel appliances. Side door presumably leading to the garage. Cozy cottagecore breakfast nook, no exit. Hall leading to an exit door, two closed doors on the side opposite the garage. Possibly a closet and laundry room. To the left of the gallery, a door opened to a modest bedroom, and a nightlight softly illuminated a half bath. Thank goodness! It had been a long drive, and an impossibly long day.

The adrenaline rush had worn off by the time the black-clad figure returned to the study. They settled into one of a pair of wingback chairs to wait. It was dangerously, seductively comfortable. Patience normally came easily, but tonight the sense of urgency, combined with sleep deprivation an a gnawing sense of dread made it difficult to sit still. Moving to the full wall Palladian window, they drew the curtains, again appreciating the quality of the material. Turning on a small table lamp, they began investigating the room. Normally the diffuse light coming through the stained glass of the Tiffany shade would have been soothing, but in the unfamiliar room, it lent a shadowy aura of secrecy. Appropriate atmosphere, they thought. It was an atmosphere the interloper was accustomed to functioning in, but tonight it was surprisingly uncomfortable.

A neatly arranged collection of photographs on the far wall invited attention. It had been years since the visitor had seen him, but the tall, bespectacled man was familiar. Wife. Three young kids: two boys and a girl. Had it really been that long since the quiet, studious young man had left for college? He had obviously done quite well for himself. An older family photo completed the time warp and confirmed that this was indeed the right house. Of course it's the right house. You don't need specialized skills to get that kind of intel, although it speeded up the process considerably. Why, then, the feeling that everything was somehow wrong, out of place?

Finally, the photo they had expected to find. Just one small 4x6 sitting unobtrusively at eye level in the wall of bookshelves behind the chairs. Familiar faces smiling. Champagne glasses touching. Two gold bands on a delicate chain draped over the corner of the simple wooden frame.

Perhaps it was memories that brought the hot threat of tears to the searcher's eyes. Perhaps it was the glaring absence of this happy couple in any other photos. Perhaps it was worry. No. It wasn't allowed to be worry. Or uncertainty. Or a sickening sense of urgency. Or-

Or the all too familiar sound of a round being chambered.

The intruder turned around slowly, keeping their arms raised and to their sides, feeling the heavy, unexpected presence of the gun. The hands holding it were surprisingly steady, the eyes aiming it hollow and unflinching.

"Francine." the familiar voice was unexpectedly cold, commanding. "What are you doing in my library?"