Catharsis [Novel]

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

            Stashing the bags in a back corner of the playhouse, I slither out the window and back into the night air.  Blinking to help my eyes focus in the darkness, I watch the backyard several houses away to see if either policeman steps into view.  Within a few seconds, a tall patrolman steps around the North side of the house nearly invisible against the shrubbery.

            I smile.  "Target acquired," I say in my best cheesy movie robot voice and begin to move towards him while still crouched.  I consume the distance between us quickly even with my hunched posture slowing me down. 

            Moving from tree to tree to bush to backyard slide, I close to within twenty feet of the officer in only a few seconds.  A tree serves as my meager cover as I will it to block my body and for the tall, bearded man to not turn and look at me. 

            It doesn't appear that he is fully involved in his duty, though, as he wanders aimlessly through the backyard abjectly swinging his light across the dark windows of the house.  He has obviously just given up on finding any actual intruders and is just looking around to satisfy some other party (A nosy neighbor?  His partner? A boss?).  His dejected mumblings reach my ears, but they are too garbled to fully understand.

            What's he saying?

            I know it's not important, but the curiosity starts to nag at me.  Well, the curiosity, and the challenge of wondering if I can get close enough to him to find out.

            Sliding out from behind the tree, I pad softly (I feel like the old stories of the Native Americans I heard about when I was a kid.  I read about them walking softly over dried leaves in autumn while hunting game and never making a sound.  Somehow I now just naturally place my feet in the quietest places as I walk.  Even I can't hear me as I walk.) into the open and approach the man. 

            As I approach, the smell of cologne and gun oil mixes with the bitter reek of coffee that had already been emanating from him.  He has eaten a pizza within the last four hours.  Sausage.  And green peppers.

            I'm within ten feet of the back of him (Still standing in darkness, but completely in the exposed open.) as he shines his light into the kitchen windows. 

            He's young (maybe in his early thirties) and tall (over six feet, easily) and very strong (His uniform fits his arms quite snugly, and the vibrant smell of life is strong on him.) and very close.  He's gotten his hair cut recently, and I can see the short hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

            I step closer again.

            "Stupid old man," I hear him suddenly mumble out loud. "There's no one in this place.  No need for us to come out here."

            The suddenness of his voice breaks the trance I had been in as I had crept up behind him, and I lose my concentration on staying silent.  I inhale as I realize the stupidity of what I'm doing.  His body immediately stiffens in front of me, and I realize my bigger mistake. 

            He knows I'm here.