7 One day earlier. Friday, 1.00am.
He took the key from his pocket and felt the cold steel against his fingers, the sharp ridges and notches now as familiar as an old friend. When he ran his finger across it, it reminded him of the ridges on an old music box. Except this one played the sweet song of revenge.
He slid the key into the door and held it firmly as he turned it slowly, letting his hand absorb the clicking of the latches. After three turns, the door was unlocked.
He pulled down gently on the door handle and let himself inside, keeping the door handle pulled down as he pushed the door gently to, before slowly lifting the handle back up.
He was inside.
He made his way across the carpet towards the kitchen, feeling for any creaky floorboards.
There weren’t any.
He tried to ke
