The Retriever - New Chapter 1 (Segment 2 of 3 of CH.1)

The Retriever

I. Taken (Part 2 of 3)

The figure leaned at the waist, his back now propped against the western wall with his shoulders set firmly against the siding. From beneath the sill of the window, the figure, certainly a man, tall, with broad shoulders, and a lean powerful torso, reached up behind his head, placing his gloved right hand flushly against the glass. He pushed upwards, slowly, patiently, evenly. A soft, cshhhhhh, noise escaped the window, as the rubber seal at its base gave way, making a noise resembling that of opening a slightly flat bottle of soda.

Theres always one. The man thought, as he pushed the window up from the bottom, opening it as far as his six-foot frame and impressive reach allowed him from his perch on the ground. Still back to the window, he then reached up with both powerful arms behind his head. He grabbed the windowsill at shoulder width, back to the wall of the house, and like a gymnast, with impressive strength and balance, he pulled steadily upward. His feet and legs rose off the ground, his arms shook slightly as he curved his legs over his head and towards the window opening, as if doing an exaggerated straight-legged abdominal crunch, or overhead leg lift. He breathed out with accumulated exertion from his chest, and steadied his legs onto the windowsill, ankles first, then shins, thighs, then to his waste. In perfect position to balance on his waste, he inverted his hand position, and slid his feet slowly to the hardwood floor. He landed without a sound, facing back out the open window, looking into the quiet isolated back yard.

The man, pleased by his acrobatic yet unnecessary demonstration of strength and body control, grinned widely. He relished in not just the spoils, he thought, but also in the process. His face, covered in black paint, spread horizontally to reveal the glow of two perfectly white rows of teeth. He turned from the window and proceeded across the dining room and through the kitchen to the carpeted staircase. His feet moved confidently and quietly with each step. He reached out and grasped the staircase railing, stepping on the stair just inside of the rail, where the stud traditionally held firm and the wood was strongest. There was not a sound from the stairs as he expertly maneuvered like a cat on a ledge. He spread his weight evenly between points of impact, the railing, his left foot, and his right. He did so naturally, and easily. His method uniformly distributed his weight between three points, lessening the pressure on any one, ensuring a silent, secret, assent. His moves were quick, athletic and swift, but not hurried.

He reached the top of the stairs and observed briefly. A soft light glowed and flickered from the bathroom across from the room containing his prize. He crept slowly down the hall, past a door, another door, and into the bathroom. He leaned over to the source of the flickering light and blew. The soft scent of candle smoke filled his nostrils. He inhaled, breathing deeply, simultaneously containing and savoring the scent.

The man now stood outside the room that held his prize; his gloved hand settled on the doorknob, softly, savoring the moment. It was his favorite part. It was like sex for the first time, except he felt like this every time. His exhilaration peaked, and his stomach danced with anticipation. Although the door opened inward, he pulled the knob towards him before turning it. This released the tension on the doors latch, and only then did he slowly turned the knob. As the doorknob turned, so was he, he thought. On. The door opened without a sound.