Page 28 of The Silent Night Stalker
Chapter 11
Constantine
EnriqueEscarrahasahouse in South Chicago, located off 80th Street. Once I had his full name, it didn’t take long to find his records online. His home is a little bigger than Enzo’s place, and it looks old with two stories and a front porch.
The evening has Christmas lights blinking on nearly every house, except Enrique’s. The decorations are nearly enough to induce seizures and vomiting. My head throbs, but I push on. I’ll be like this until after the New Year, when everyone takes their dang stuff down for the year.
At the same time, they distract me from Enzo. I can’t believe I actually sucked his thumb, but it felt right. I mean, he wanted me to do that, right? Was that why he stuck it in my mouth? While I’d been embarrassed, it really turned me on. As soon as I got home, I had to rub one out while imagining being on my knees, sucking him off. It didn’t matter that I had already come earlier. My face feels like it’s on fire. I can’t believe I came from him barely touching me. I’d been so hot for him with his thumb in my mouth that a simple touch set me off.
Focus, I order my brain.
Under the cover of darkness, I scope out the house. There aren’t any lights on inside or out, so it keeps me in the shadows. The yard doesn’t have a fence, so I can easily walk around, but fences also help mask my presence.
My biggest challenge is security systems. It’s why I generally don’t break into homes if I don’t have to. I usually get close to those I’m helping, and they allow me inside their place. With Enzo, like one other, I hadn’t known how to get close to him.
Searching around the windows, doors, and small garden, there doesn’t seem to be any security company signs or stickers. That doesn’t mean there isn’t an alarm, so I still need to be careful, especially if Enrique was a criminal. However, it seems Enzo doesn’t have one.
Next, I check all the windows. If one is unlocked, then I’m in luck, but unfortunately, all the windows are tightly sealed. My next step is to check around to see if there’s a hidden key. Nothing. But that doesn’t deter me. I have my tools to break in, which I’m carrying in my backpack. Always check for the simplest way inside, but be quick about it. The longer I’m snooping around, the greater the chance of getting caught.
At the back door, I’m in luck. The door only has a lock on the handle and no deadbolt, which will be a breeze to break into. Inside my backpack, I pull out the thick strip of plastic I’d cut out from a water bottle. I ease the curved plastic through the doorjamb above the handle until it’s completely through, then I wiggle it downward in a back-and-forth motion. It takes only a minute for it to slide over the bolt, and the door clicks open.
Perfect. The best way to break into someone’s home is not to leave evidence behind like a broken window, as I’d done at Enzo’s place, but I had no other options that night.
I don’t flip on any lights, but I go around the house, making sure the curtains are drawn, just in case. Then, I pull my night vision goggles from my backpack and slip them on over my head. Once I turn them on, I’m flooded in green, but everything is clear to me.
Confident no one saw me enter the house, I take my time going through Enrique’s things. There’s mail sitting on the kitchen table. A few envelopes are unopened, while others contain opened bills. The rest is junk mail.
I’m sure his family has been through his things already, but I have no doubt they didn’t find everything. People like Enrique, Enzo, and I have places where we hide our special things. It could be a safe or a hidey-hole. If Enrique has a safe, then my plan is over, and I’ll have to think of something else to find his killer. That’s one thing I can’t break into because it’s not money I seek when entering a home.
With Enzo in the back of my head, not bothering me after our encounter earlier today, I focus on finding hidden spots that were hopefully missed.
I work quickly, but proficiently as I search cabinets, behind paintings, possible faux books, hidden boxes in the attic, and inside toilet water tanks.
None of the usual spots yield any clues as to what happened to Enrique, and it may not, but I have to start somewhere. Once I have the killer wrapped up in a bow for Enzo, I know he’ll want me back. He’ll be grateful I caught his brother’s murderer when no one else could. He seems attracted to me, but I doubt he recognizes our connection yet. I’m confident he will.
The sudden epiphany slams into me, stopping my heart for a second, leaving me gasping. It’s the first time in my entire life that I wanted to bring a gift to someone during the holidays. Sure, Christmas is over, but still… I’ve never cared about doing that for anyone. That only proves Enzo belongs to me. How easily I changed and adapted just for him.
Despite my excitement, the task is daunting, and I start to doubt I’ll find anything. I’ve moved furniture around, looked under beds, pictures, and rugs, but there’s nothing.
My last stop is the finished basement, where Enrique created a TV and game room. With the space having no windows and the door above shut, I remove my night vision goggles and flip on the light.
I blink at the brightness before my eyes adjust, and I start looking around the large area. I move the leather sofa away from the wall, and there it is—a loose brick in the wall. The walls aren’t drywall, but painted brick. I know this isn’t just a broken brick because the rest of the wall is very much intact and freshly painted.
Finally!
I move the sofa even further away and kneel in front of the loose brick and pry it from the wall. Inside is a stack of letters and cards tied together. I pull them out, scan inside the small hole, and find a tiny black box. Interesting. I take the letters and box, close the hole, and put the room back together exactly as I found it.
No more time to waste. I need to get out of here. I’ve lingered long enough.
After exiting the house, I scan around, looking for anyone who could catch me, but there’s no indication of anyone looking or walking around. The dog walkers are the worst.
Once I get home, I strip off my coat and beanie, then I sit on the beat-up sofa and place the letters and the small box on the equally beat-up coffee table.
First, I open the box to find a beautiful diamond ring. I don’t know much about relationships or marriage. The only one I’m most familiar with was the abusive one I grew up in. But I know enough torecognize that this is an engagement ring. Why would Enrique conceal such a thing so that it would never be found? Hiding it from his girlfriend wouldn’t be hard. It seemed extreme to go to such lengths.
I set the box down, untie the stack of envelopes, and pull out the first letter. I’m not the smartest person in the world. My grades in school were shit. Everything I know now was learned after I killed my stepfather. Never had I spent so much time studying and learning on a computer at the library until I eventually got one of my own. However, I know enough to realize that people don’t send each other letters like this anymore. It feels… old-fashioned. Then again, once something is put online, it’s hard to erase, so maybe this was the best way to hide something. And none of the envelopes have stamps, so there was probably a drop-off point.
E,
