The Intruder

His eyes scanned the text before him, searching for the information that would allow him to finish and get out of there. He was alone, of course, and no one knew he was there. It was ugly business, but business nonetheless, and had to be done.

He continued to scan the papers in front of his eyes. He’d been there a long time, perhaps ten or fifteen minutes already. Perhaps too long already. Time plays tricks on you, he thought to himself. It was easy enough to lose track of time. The clock be damned, though. He had a job at hand, and was determined to finish it, regardless of how long it took.

He was beginning to perspire. God, is it ever hot in here! He glanced around nervously. He had everything he needed to finish the job. Everything, that is, except what he was looking for. Where is it?!? He threw down the papers in his hand and grabbed some others. Immediately his eyes began to scan back and forth, back and forth. A drop of salty sweat ran down his forehead into his brow.

He paused. What was that? Was someone coming? He thought he heard - sensed - movement on the other side of the door. He remained still, a virtual statue, as he listened intently. No one came. He released the breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, and went back to scanning the papers.

It HAS to be here! He’d done this kind of job a thousand times before – probably more than that. He had promised himself that he’d quicken his pace, that he’d finish sooner than the time before. But each instance, he’d made himself out to be a liar. Was it his age? Was he getting slower as he grew older? He shrugged it off as he continued to peruse the papers before him.

Some part of him wished that he didn’t have to do it anymore, wished that he could just stop. It was dirty work. “It stinks, “ he mumbled aloud, and resumed his quest.

‘A-HA!” he screamed, as he finally found what he’d been searching for. “The sports page!” A smile of relief broke out on his face.

Just then, a knock upon the door; “Anybody in there?” he heard his wife ask.

“Uh, yeah, honey...it’s me. I’ll be out in a minute,” he replied, as a frown quickly replaced the smile.

He threw down his newspaper in frustration and grabbed the Charmin. This operation was over; his business was finished. He would try again the next time.

There was always a next time.