Senseless by Mary Burton

bushes and inspected the windows for signs of an alarm system.
    Many rich folks had alarms but it amazed him how often they left town with the systems disarmed. Maybe they figured their nice rich neighborhoods were safe from men like him, but last he checked, an invisible fence didn’t protect the good parts of town from people like him.
    He pulled a wedge from his dark jacket and worked it under the sill. He’d know in seconds if an alarm would sound. If it did, he had parked close enough to get back down the street and out of the neighborhood before the cops showed.
    Jerking hard on the wedge, he forced the window to pop open. Adrenaline rushed as he scanned the yard behind him and waited for the beep, beep of an alarm system. He heard nothing but still waited, poised to flee just in case someone was home. But one minute turned into two and then five.
    When he was certain no one was home, he pushed the window up higher, wincing as his bruised shoulder pinched. He rubbed pain from the shoulder, and then sucking in a deep fortifying breath, wriggled his slim body into the house. He’d been breaking into homes since Joey Welch had dared him in eighth grade to break into Mr. Mullins’s house and steal milk. Even to this day he could remember how sweet that milk had tasted. Now, at twenty-five, he was a seasoned veteran who’d broken into hundreds of houses.
    He moved through the living room past Chippendale sofas and tables decorated with crystal lamps and porcelain bowls. The real payoff in houses was usually found in the master bedroom or study where owners stashed jewels and money. Folks who didn’t set alarms often didn’t hide their jewels.
    This was all so easy and so predictable. Gravy, baby, gravy.
    The stillness of the house, once catnip to him, unsettled his nerves. He couldn’t move a step forward. His feet froze as if encased in cement.
    Lenny dragged a shaking hand through his hair. The other night when he’d broken into that home in the southwest, it had been routine and easy. And then he’d heard the muffled cries of a woman coming from inside the house. The sounds, he realized, had drifted up through the air vents from the basement.
    He’d been ready to get the hell out of the house when that crazy motherfucker had come out of nowhere and hit him with a club. The blow had dropped him to his knees. The second blow to the back of his head had knocked him out cold.
    Why the son of a bitch hadn’t killed him, he didn’t know. It would have been easy to finish him off. But for whatever reason the guy had simply bound his arms and legs and left him.
    When Lenny had woken up, he’d heard a woman screaming. The scent of burning flesh had permeated the house and he’d nearly vomited. Scared shitless, he’d pissed in his pants. Double joints and a lifetime of scrapes had gotten his hands and feet loose and he’d scrammed out of that house so fucking fast his head had spun.
    Shit. Close calls were part of this business.
    Even knowing that, he still couldn’t shake the sound of the woman’s screams. Jesus only knew what that motherfucker had done to her.
    He’d considered calling the cops, but in the end hadn’t. He’d been arrested twice and another conviction would send him to jail for a long time.
    But what rattled him more now was the fact that he’d dropped his wallet when he’d hustled out the window. He’d been a dumb ass to even take the wallet. He should have gone back to get it but the idea of running into that sick son of a bitch again kept him away. Since Saturday, he’d stayed on the move, only catnapping in his car.
    “Shake if off.” He moved toward the carpeted stairs, but before he could climb the first step, the woman’s screams started echoing in his head. He jerked around expecting that crazy motherfucker. But the room was empty. “Fuck.”
    Lenny raised his hand from the banister and realized he’d forgotten his gloves. Shit. He’d left fingerprints everywhere. What the