I keep my eyes roaming for any kind of valuable things-money, rarities, the family jewels (some people do just leave them lying around-you’d be surprised at how often that happens). My feet barely graze the floor, as I slide, Mission Impossible style, through the brownstone, carefully avoiding obstacles that threaten to expose me (chaise lounges, huge sofas, glass coffee tables: I’m looking at you!). Just to be safe, I snap the curtains shut and move further into the house.
Darkness blankets the city, and I can’t see anything in the alley underneath the windows or the building just across from where I stand. I immediately rush to the windows, delicate as a deer, brush the curtains open and look out.
I begin to move forward, into the brownstone, when I hear a loud clang from outside. I only took what they had and wouldn’t miss in addition to the things they told me to take, things that my sister and I would cherish and use, unlike these rich people who barely noticed all they had. (And yes, I do realize this is the most cliche scheme in the book, but it wouldn’t be a cliche if lots of people didn’t do it). So that’s why I find myself, every Monday night without fail, using my trusty hairpin to pick the locks of the homes belonging to the New York elite. To myself and my employers, that weren’t originally mine, but that the current owner certainly doesn’t deserve to have. I prefer to be called a Remander of Lost Things (and Ideas) or just The Vigilante if you’d like. You see, I’m what you’d probably call a burglar.
I linger by the door, covered head to toe in black, like a thief, intent on stealing from a bunch of fancy rich people. Gray’s darkened brownstone, searching for any sign of life or light that might give me away. I stretch my vision through the darkness that is Mr. I spin my bobby pin between my gloved index and middle fingers, feel a smile twitching at my lips, and then shove it back into the midst of the sleek bun I always wear for these types of jobs. The lock clicks, and I gently push the door open.
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