It was the perfect night. The sky was covered by clouds, darkening the world to a point where vision hardly even exists, where anything could go unnoticed at any moment that they envisioned necessary. The soft rumbles of thunder couldn’t hurt an attempted break-in either. He’d studied the thunder thoroughly for a few moments and determined that it grew louder and occurred every 24 seconds, give or take a few here and there. It had been a ritual for him this week, constantly driving by this house, slowly but inconspicuously and at different times of the day to determine the inhabitants’ routine.

Rich people he thought, they make it almost too easy.

This family had a schedule all right; the sonsabitches were like clock work, every morning the family of three was up at 7:05 am on the dot, and did their usual morning routines; shower, eat, brush their teeth and head off to work and school, obviously engrained into their subconscious, becoming an obsessively fixated habit. All remained quiet on the home front during the day time, with the exception of the paper boy and the mailman. The mother would casually return home around 3:30 pm along with the son, and the father would stroll in the yard in his fancy Lamborghini and his business suit, while picking up the paper and the mail along the way to the front door.

He’d be such an easy target to pick off.

Dinner always began at 5:13 pm, every single night, which became border line disturbing to him, that the family was that well organized in their daily planning. The woman always cleared the table of the dirty dishes and the father and son cleaned them in the sink together, with occasional bursts of uncontrollable laughter from the two.

A happy home no doubt, made this even easier. They’ve got nothing to fear or hide.

Lights out was promptly at 9:15 pm, however the movement within the home never fully ceased until just before ten. Just a week of watching them made him furious with rage. There was far too much order and consistency, and not enough chaos. There was way too much love and not nearly a hint of hate. This routine, this love, and this trust in the world had to be distinguished, and quick.

He played off the sounds of the thunder roaring, as he softly shut the drivers’ side door of his black notchback Sedan. He started towards the walkway to the gigantic house, as he pulled his ski mask over his head and put on his black gloves. With a slow movement he hid the knife in his pocket, just in case he was forced to have to use it, although he only planned to steal some jewelry, and maybe a wallet or two. The damn walkway to the house was practically like the entrance to the Coliseum. Thick high bushes surrounded the pavement along its edges, clearly maintained by a professional gardener, up to the front door; and the façade looked like a fortress that had never been tested, in the shape of an enormously decorated triangle that extended up into a point near the roof.

Stupid rich prick, he thought again, can’t share the damn wealth?

The front door seemed like a long shot to be a possibility of entrance, especially at this time of night, but he figured he’d give it a chance regardless. He grasped the knob firmly in his left hand and turned as slow as he possibly could counter clockwise and then clockwise.

Locked.

Damn, not so trusting after all.

He stepped away from the door, and looked the house up and down, still attempting to get his eyes adjusted fully to the darkness he was engulfed in. This was an area of expertise for him, his uncanny ability to notice things. It not only helped him figure things out that were most effective, but it also helped him read difficult situations and people. The trees were located at too far a distance from the house to even consider approaching. There was no form of entrance on either side of the house, with the exception of windows, all of which were locked and appeared to be unbreakable. He studied the walls frantically, and finally noticed a white criss-crossing fence almost hidden amongst shrouds of ivy plastered all through it, leading directly to the porch of the sons’ bedroom.

He sighed and determined, this is now my only option.

With a tight grip on the wooden pattern of fence, he began his ascent of the side of the house. Still inadvertently using his knowledge of the thunder, he made terrific effort not to make noise and risk the fence buckling under his weight and waking up the whole damn neighborhood. The climb felt like it took hours, before he finally reached the railing of the kids’ porch, as the clouds eventually gave way to the rain and began soaking everything around him. He pulled himself up with the greatest of ease onto the top of the railing and carefully placed his left foot down on the base of the porch, followed by his right. The thunder grew louder and the rain became fiercer, as he scanned the entrance to the boys’ room. His silhouette looked almost demonic in the reflection of the porch long window and sliding door, and he almost had to laugh at the fact that the kid slept with his curtains opened to the night. The kid slept like the dead, despite all the thunder and devastatingly heavy rain that was occurring.

Bad move kid he thought, you can’t trust what lurks in the night.

His only hope to get in this house, rested on whether this kid was as dumb as he looks; dumb enough to leave his sliding door unlocked. Approaching the barrier carefully, he reached out for the door handle and grabbed it firmly with both hands. Taking a deep breath, he pulled down softly on the handle and began to attempt sliding the door to his right, expecting failure, when he suddenly realized it wasn’t locked. The door was going right along with his movement, as he continued to perform it with a quiet ease.

He chuckled lowly under his breath, another bad move.

His eyes were getting perfectly adjusted to the darkness, he could see practically everything. The kid was to his right on a very large bed, too big for a kid of his age. Clothes, games, and books were scattered around the floor in every direction, leading to the door to the hallway. He began to head silently toward the door when he noticed on the kids’ mantelpiece of his bed, a wallet and a picture. The wallet was the first thing to catch his attention, although morally he found stealing from a kid as wrong, but stealing from the kid’s rich parents perfectly acceptable, he figured this spoiled little brat didn’t need whatever he had hidden away in there. The fingers of his right hand fiddled with the blade in his pocket, as he picked up the wallet that had ‘Jim’ engraved in the leather, with his left and opened it carefully.

This kid’s freakin' loaded.

He counted nearly three hundred bucks in his wallet alone, spoiled little punk.

As he pocketed the wallet and started to head for the door again, he glanced at the picture directly above Jims’ sleeping body. A family picture of the father, the mother, and Jim apparently enjoying their selves at a picnic. He hated this kid more then ever now, not just because of the wealth that the family had, but because this kid had the one thing he had always wanted and never gotten growing up, a family who loved him. Hate and pain was boiling up in his blood, as he grabbed the picture and thrust it to the floor, shattering the framework into thousands of pieces.

Jim flinched and then startled himself to reality. Rubbing his eyes and glancing around the room, he initially found nothing out of the ordinary until he saw the picture on the floor next to his bed, and his cat that had been sleeping in the corner, picking at the glass pieces.

“What the heck Fritters? Why do you gotta go and break my stuff while I’m sleeping?” asked Jim, clearly upset about being woken up from his dream, “Now I’ve gotta clean it up.”

Jim lazily got out from under the covers and grabbed the trash can near is door. With a quick peak out into the hallway he checked to make sure his parents’ hadn’t been disturbed by the noise. Their room was dark and silent, almost like it were deserted. Jim closed his door slowly even though his parents dislike him closing the door to his room. Fritters looked at Jim in an astonished gaze for a cat, as if he understood the consequences of disobeying those wishes.

“So I’m breaking one house rule Fritters, big deal.”

The cat decided not to have any more to do with the situation and disappeared into the bathroom.

“Damn cat, always leaves me to pick up his messes.” Jim said as he neared the base of his bed where the broken glass was scattered all over. On his hands and knees with the trashcan, he started to pick up the pieces, when he heard a yelp that started high and then became muffled and finally stopped. This startled him and forced him to accidentally cut himself on one of the pieces of glass. Jim turned around and looked in the direction of the bathroom where the noise had come from. It was as dark as the night in there and he had remembered Fritters disappearing in there not moments ago.

“Fritters? What’re you doing now?” he asked as he headed towards the room, “You better not have made another mess for me to clean up!”

Jim entered the bathroom with caution, half expecting the cat to pop out of nowhere and scare him to death, as they usually did in horror movies, right before the killer strikes. But my life’s no horror movie he reassured himself.

“Fritters? Come on boy, where in the hell are you?”

The bathroom was empty at first sight, with no sign of the cat. The only place the cat could possibly be was in the bathtub, with the curtain covering its contents. Jim continued his cautiousness as if he were a police officer about to bust a drug deal. With his hand on the curtain he yanked it to the left in one quick motion and almost fainted as he fell back on to the toilet at the sight he saw. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

A pair of tweezers was sticking out the side of Fritters’ neck, and was applied with such force that the tweezers were jammed into the concrete floor of the tub, virtually impossible to remove. Blood was all over the tub and the cat was not moving, as his final fight for air obviously was relinquished long before. Jim was in total shock and disbelief, his mouth wouldn’t work; words were failing him.

How could this happen? Jim thought, who the hell did this? How did they get in my house? Crap, are they still here?

He suddenly became more aware of his surroundings at that last thought, and diverted his eyes from his dead cat to the rest of the bathroom. Slowly walking toward the door of the closet, Jim’s heart was pounding practically out of his chest, at a rate that can’t even be considered healthy. He took a deep breath to try and subdue his fright, and grabbed the handle of the closet as he turned it gently to his right and pulled it toward him.

The door creaked and then went silent.

Nothing.

Jim breathed a sigh of relief and shut the closet door, when suddenly the door to the bathroom closed behind him. Completely startled he turned around and was face to face with a man he’d never seen before in his life. Jim tried to scream, but the man was too quick and grabbed a hold of his throat and mouth while he forced him to the floor.

“Shut the hell up, you little punk,” he started in raspy voice, “shut it right now, or I will kill you.”

Jim had no choice but to cooperate, once you threaten someone’s life, reality starts to kick in, and the will to live becomes too strong to give in. The man put duct tape around Jim’s mouth, all the way to back of his head and tied his hands together behind his back with a towel from the closet. He led Jim back into his bedroom and sat him at the base of his bed. Jim watched him furiously fumbling through all of his belongings, either looking for something in particular or for something of a significant value. Nothing caught his eye apparently as he gave up destroying the bedroom after a couple of go-a-rounds.

He then sat down on the bed and stared directly into Jims’ eyes and began to laugh.

“Shoot, I must be a freakin' idiot,” he began, still laughing like a psychotic hyena, “I know exactly what is most dear and precious to this damn family. Ain’t no jewels, no wallets full of cash, not even that damn cat!”

Jim had no idea where he was going with this, but he assumed this guy dressed in a full black outfit had no intention of killing him at this point, even despite the fact that he held his knife so ferociously in his right hand.

“Can you see where I’m going with this Jimmy my boy? I don’t need to steal no freakin' possessions, what the hell am I gonna do with a dead cat and some jewelry?” his laughing ceased a little but a hint of it still remained, “No, no, I don’t need that stuff, when I gots you!”

Jim’s eyes went wide, he was frightened to the point of crying now, but he knew that if he gave in and showed his emotion, that someone as unstable as this guy might see no sympathy in the moments and end his life right there.

I gotta stay strong, he thought, show no weakness.

“You and me are gonna take a little trip, and let’s face the truth Jimmy my boy,” he cleared his throat and whispered into his ear, “You ain’t never seeing your parents again.”

The tears were ready to just flow down his cheek, but Jim was determined to win in this aspect. He was intent on not being beaten by this man’s words. The man then took a few moments to write something on the back of Jims’ picture, and he proceeded to place it on a mirror. He then came over and hoisted him up to his feet and dug the tip of the knife into his stomach as he pushed him toward the doorway. Blood was visual on the rug in numerous spots, all Jims’ blood and nobody else’s. His parents would be devastated the next morning when they found his room like this and with that ransom note, but there was nothing Jim could do about that. They reached the front door and exited into the night, now filled with a moist sense of pain and betrayal.

“Oh, and forgive me for not introducing myself,” the man said as he shoved Jim into the backseat of his Sedan, “the names Jake…Jake Strange.”

Jake Strange, Jim thought, why does that sound familiar…

And that was all Jim could manage to think before the Sedan began to speed away and he started to drift into a black and bloody fainted mess that was now his reality.