Breaking Point by Kit Power Page B

covered the ground to the back door. I noted on my approach that there was a pile of bricks up against the wall, standing as high as the fence, and in and around this pile was a large collection of cigarette butts. Bad Boy was a smoker, but he didn’t smoke in the house. Consideration for guests was out of the question, which made the most likely explanation that he rented the property. Not a watertight hypothesis, but serviceable for the moment. Did it matter? Perhaps. At the very least, it meant that there would be an additional set of keys somewhere, if entry tonight proved impossible.
    I examined the door and noted that it opened inwards. The blue paint was peeling from the wood and the lock was a relatively simple affair. Better and better:  no tricky double glazing to worry about. Looking through the window, I saw a small, narrow kitchen area with a closed door that led into the rest of the house. As I peered down through the dusty glass, my heart leapt in my chest once, almost painfully. The key was sat in the lock on the inside of the door. I smiled through my mask. How fitting that Bad Boy's complacency regarding home security should be the seed of his destruction! How utterly fitting!
    Having pressed my ear to the glass and heard no noise, I decided not to waste any more time. I removed the tire iron from my jacket and drew my arm back to strike. My blood was pounding hard in my ears and, when the upstairs light suddenly flicked on, I was frozen for a second, utterly rigid with adrenaline and shock. Caught, I’m caught! My mind screamed, my arm twitched and trembled, and my fingers threatened to drop the iron even as they clenched tight around it.
    An eternity passed in the scant seconds I was frozen, during which the unmistakable sound of a shower running came to my ears. Through sheer will, I forced myself to relax and considered this new information. Bad Boy was home and clearly engaged in his ablutions. This was certainly a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the knowledge that my prey was here, close, vulnerable, filled me with excitement, even a kind of panicky joy. So close!
    On the other, this made entry more problematic. Would the noise of the shower be sufficient to mask the sound of the breaking glass? Perhaps, but it seemed unlikely. Certainly risky. Was there any other way to gain entry? I couldn’t think of one. Perhaps it would make more sense to withdraw now, come back tomorrow? If his routine was to shower around this time, it was likely to be the first thing he did when he got in – cleanse the sweat of manual labour from his skin before whatever passed for his evening festivities. That created ample opportunity for me: I could leave work at five tomorrow and be in place in plenty of time for his return.
    I couldn’t decide. Precious seconds ticked by, during which I stood exposed in his garden, fully visible from the overlooking houses. I was acutely aware of the passing of time as almost a physical thing; aware that each moment was adding to my risk, further endangering my mission. In an act of desperation, I tried the door, meaning to test the strength of the lock, but really just stalling for more time.
    The door swung open, silently.
    I stood there for a further long, terrible second, frozen in pure shock, unable to credit this turn of events. My suddenly nerveless hand slipped from the door handle and my arm fell to my side as I stared into the open kitchen.
    It sounds ridiculous now, but my first thought was to suspect some kind of trap – some security feature, perhaps a dog or an accomplice who was waiting to jump me. Before my mind had fully processed my fortune, my legs took control and propelled me into the kitchen, after which I shut the door behind me, slowly. It closed as silently as it had opened.
    Once inside, I observed the open pack of cigarettes on the inside window ledge, lighter lying on top of it, and my brain finally made the connection. Of course, before hitting the