Night fell. I changed into dark clothes and pulled a ski mask over my head. I had a small pocket knife that I intended to use for the actual work and a silenced pistol as a back-up in case the situation went out of control. I had no intention of letting things get to that point, however. Your average burglar wouldn’t have a weapon like that, and it wouldn’t do to give the local law enforcement a reason to believe anything out of the ordinary had happened.
I left my car, moved as quickly and quietly around his home as possible. The neighbors in the house to the west of his were gone on vacation, and it would be easier to sneak through their yard and break in through the rear. As a matter of course, I’d already scouted the location, taken note of first story windows, easily accessible second story windows, and the like. But first I checked the patio, because there’s never a reason to climb a wall when you can just walk through a door.
It was unlocked.
The kitchen floor was tile, presumably over concrete, but my steps were soft enough that it made no noise. The rest of the house was carpeted. I did a quick sweep of the downstairs and couldn’t find the professor, so I turned my search upwards, scaling the furniture and the banister rather than risk making the staircase creak.
The first room I checked turned out to be the professor’s study, and I found him there, sitting at his desk in the dark, dimly lit by the full moon shining through the window. He had the barrel of a small-caliber revolver.
Despite being a professional, this was so unexpected, I didn’t know how to react. Neither did the professor. We stared at each other in silence until at he last he lowered the gun, his arm falling limp at his side, his face a mask of confusion.
And then he smirked. “Well. You’re certainly not what I was expecting.”