With Cruel Intent by Dennis Larsen

flash, at
    least on the ones in the bedroom,” he
    thought, reflecting back on the exhilaration
    he’d felt as he’d taken pictures of his
    ‘victim’, so still, so unsuspecting and
    totally at his mercy.
    The pictures taken in the living
    room were much better, he’d felt safe
    enough to turn on a small lamp so the
    picture quality was significantly enhanced,
    however, he kept going back to the lower
    quality, dimmer images taken of Thelma.
    On a pad to his right he carefully wrote
    under a header he had already scrawled
    and underlined across the top that read:
    Next Outing
    extra Polaroid film and camera
    (disable flash)
    small
    digital
    camera
    (check
    batteries)
    thin nylon rope
    hunting knife - sharpen
    gloves (no powder)
    new socks
    cloth and alcohol
    backpack (electrical tape over
    metal)

    He sat back in his chair, tapping
    the side of his jaw with the pencil, “What
    else, what else?” he said, closing his eyes
    and trying to imagine what was missing
    from the first ‘outing’.
    He hadn’t thought he would enjoy
    it as much as he did, the excitement of
    being in someone's home had always been
    a thrill but being there while they slept
    was ‘magical’. Beyond that, taking their
    picture seemed so much more invasive,
    exponentially more personal than merely
    stealing a few valuable items, getting in
    and out as quickly as possible.
    Last night had gone better than he
    had planned but looking back he knew he
    could improve. The information he had
    received had been valuable, the layout of
    the house was exact, the area dark and
    quiet, door had been unlocked - no need to
    use the key they had provided, no dogs or
    children. He hated little unexpected
    surprises in this line of work, but he was
    always prepared for such emergencies or
    at least he thought he was.
    He’d made a career as a burglar
    all over Southern Georgia and had
    managed to avoid capture thus far, and had
    no intention of spending any time behind
    bars in the near future. Always waiting for
    one big score, a valuable diamond, a gold
    brick, anything that would bring big bucks.
    Who would have known that his big score
    would involve putting on women’s
    underwear in the dead of night then taking
    pictures of himself as he went. He’d been
    instructed only to take the one picture to
    be left behind on the pillow but once he
    got started he kind of got carried away.
    Putting on the clothing was, at
    first, odd and uncomfortable but doable; it
    was the taking of the pictures that he had
    not expected to give him such a rush.
    Looking back at the images splayed before
    him he reached for his favorite, very
    grainy but still enough in focus to make out
    what was captured. He stood very close to
    the bed, hovering over Thelma, wearing a
    black bra with white lace trim, matching
    panties, his face very close to hers with
    his tongue extended, almost touching the
    tip of her nose.
    “She would've shit a brick if I’d
    left that one on her pillow,” he said aloud,
    laughing to himself, then more raucously.
    CHAPTER SIX
    The short walk from the bus stop
    gave Blanche time to put the day’s events
    into perspective, she enjoyed the light
    breeze, the old homes lining the street and
    the sight and sound of fireflies breaking
    the darkness before her. Arriving at
    Caroline’s well after everyone else had
    gone to bed, Blanche entered quietly,
    slipping her shoes off at the doorway, and
    tiptoed up the stairs to her room.
    Squinting, she rummaged through her
    purse and finding the old skeleton key
    aimed it at the lock, when a hand lightly
    squeezed her shoulder. The key dropped
    to the floor, ping, ping, ping, as it danced
    across the wood, Blanche shrieked,
    pulling her purse to her chest and spinning
    in the same moment, pressing her back
    firmly against the door jam.
    “Ms. Carmichael, you ‘bout gave
    me a heart attack!”
    “Sorry deary, but I wanted to let
    you know that you have new neighbors.
    The newlyweds were across the hall