Page 28 of Beneath the Light of the Moon

Picked Lock(et)s

Unknown

You knew every action had consequences.

Forgotten keys led to being late for work; befriending strangers led to memories you might’ve originally missed out on; dried blood beneath your fingernails pointed to the moment your anger got the best of you.

But it was all an illusion of choice.Fate.

Fate, the ever present puppet master, pulled the strings connected to every outcome before laughing at us for believing there was anything greater than our own minds.

Perhaps that was what erased the feeling of adrenaline mounting in your gut as the locked door before youclickedfree. If the universe hadn’t wanted you here, then the door tohispenthouse wouldn’t be swinging open and beckoning you in.

Or maybe…if Fate existed, it wasyou.

Who else could reign over you so wholly? Who else would you let control your life so thoroughly?

Maybe long ago, there’d been a time when someone held power over you, making you wish for a different life, but now?

No.

Never again.

Never again would you suffer at the hands of someone else. It was yourturn to wreak havoc on those who deserved it. Revenge licked at the tips of your fingers, craving retribution, itching to show the world why you were to be feared.

Not yet,you softly chided.

The restlessness was almost unbearable, but you’d made it this far. A little longer wouldn’t kill you.

Play the game,a muscle in your jaw twitched,always play the game.

Until then, you’d never cease to terrorize those who sought to end you. After all, you were beyond saving, the vileness in your heart eating away at the tender flesh around it. Gone was the young child who had stared at the world with wide-eyed wonder, and in their place…

No. No. Not now.

Snapping back to the present, you cleared those thoughts away. You had a task to complete, preferably before the owner of the penthouse came back. Stepping over the threshold, a shadowed darkness and faint twinkling city lights enticed you to walk closer. Trailing a gloved finger over the closest table, you noted its contents. The glass top was devoid of dust and clutter and contained only a sleek lamp and a decorative bowl for keys. One item rested in it.

A key fob with a locket attached.

Among the flashes of sterility in the space you’d gathered thus far, this seemed like a deviation—a clue.

Your fingers closed around the keys, silently picking them up and cracking open the locket. Curiosity flared in your gut; this was a private moment, a sliver within time that would’vemade anyone else feel guilt, but not you. This glitch had been constructed for you,byyou, and you’d be damned if you wasted it.

And the little faces staring up at you, the locket’s contents barely revealed, made your teeth clench.

Searching for the light switch, you quickly flipped it on, uncaring if the flash of warm light drew attention to you. You needed to be certain of what you were looking at. Whatever digital footprint you were creating at this moment could be deleted, your knowledge in the matter unparalleled. Despite living in a technology centered world,everythingcould be erased. Especially with the right tools.

With narrowed eyes, you confirmed it. The woman and young boy staring up at you had your chest constricting.

You’d come here to ravage this man’s home, to leave a message in your wake, but this…

This was too delicious to pass up.

Thiswould hit them right where it hurt.

Tucking the locket and key fob into your pants pocket, you rummaged through the rest of the penthouse; you left papers scattered on the countertops, chairs moved slightly to the right of their original position, and couch cushions on the floor.

The first step was supposed to be the hardest, but you felt like you were free falling, whipping past all the barriers deeming someone’s character as good or evil. Being in someone else’s space felt like a twisted sense of home, of solitude. Or maybe that was residual from knowing how pissed this specific person would be when they finally returned.