The night was a dark one, the street was bathed in blackness and one could barely discern the silhouettes of the uniformed red-brick houses looking over a park. They were guarded by a line of exquisite trees who’s species was lost to him. He had never really cared much for expanding his knowledge of botany; all he knew was that they could be scaled and used as a watchtower of sorts. He assumed he was invisible amongst their damp foliage.
Why was there a man in a tree? That was a question the woman from No.28 was asking herself. Her house lay at just the right angle for her to watch the oblivious observer up on his perch. A precarious looking branch was keeping him elevated, he seemed light. The woman’s name was Georgia. She had a habit of checking the street every now and again through her newly tinted bedroom window. It was more of a compulsion than a habit, really. She knew that the government was watching her, she had picked up clues that led her to this conclusion. She had, for example, noted that the clerk at the local corner shop was possibly part of the CIA, or some other such secretive organisation. Perhaps the Illuminati. This suspicion was aroused when she had bought a large amount of toilet paper. He had attempted to interrogate her: “What do you need all this toilet paper for?” He had said, flashing a bright smile. It was the smile of a predator. The smile of someone who knew too much. Knowing her rights, law savvy as she was, she had simply screamed until someone came to her aid. The clerk had done a good job of pretending to be shocked, she thought. This incident had led her to never leaving the safety of her home again. Her camera, which she had ordered online, was poised and ready to capture this tree occupying spook red-handed. Although she was still unsure of what exactly he was going to do, if anything, that would indict him.
The man in the tree was a petty criminal, although he fancied himself to be something more. The Robin Hood of his day, he liked to imagine. He sometimes gave his illegally obtained money to charity, you see. He slipped from the tree, flowing like water across the street. Three clicks, a small crack and he was inside his target. He had chosen the house right in the middle of the street by random, he regretted having spent so long in the tree. It had availed to nothing more than a dampening of his clothes. In fact it had done him a major disservice as, unbeknownst to him for now, there was a severely deluded entity about, wielding a camera and stalking him. A psychiatrist had recently deemed her a possible danger to the general public. She was now certainly a danger to one unsuspecting criminal.
Georgia had left her sanctuary; she supposed it was necessary when such an important opportunity was at hand. She plodded down the street in her nightgown and furry slippers. Her considerable weight was keeping her from moving as fast as she wanted to move. The man had slipped into the house that belonged to Mr. Peters, a docile old gentleman who, she was convinced of this, was up to something. It was all falling to together, the puzzle pieces slotting into place. However the overall picture escaped her and she was frustrated. In the hope of curing her of her delusions a psychiatrist which she had been forced to visit had told her something. He had asked: “Well Georgia, if all these people are truly involved in some sort of.. conspiracy.. what would be the purpose? Doesn’t it just seem absurd?”. He took a sip from his coffee. “Also consider this, why are you the only one who has noticed this, do you really believe you are more perceptive than everyone else around you? That no one else would notice?”. This had been the seed of her frustration. What was their purpose? “I don’t know!” Had been her exasperated reply. “But I will damn well find out”, she then had added, which caused the temporarily triumphant psychiatrist to look defeated again.
There was a rustling sound behind him, he pulled his head out of the cupboard and spun around. There was a flash. “What the fu..” his voice was cut off as something smashed across his right cheek, his vision was still blurry from the flash as he stumbled backwards into something solid. The clatter of objects cascading amplified his disorientation. He staggered forward, holding up both hands. “Wait.. I…” Before he could continue another blow landed on his right temple, there was a crack. He wasn’t sure if it was his skull or the object that had just been driven into it. He crumpled onto the cold floor.
“I knew it.” A broad smile cut her face. The store clerk lay bleeding at her feet, he attempted to raise an arm, to say something. She brought the hammer down on him again. Blood splashed across her surgically white night-gown.