Jim had found himself in difficult circumstances before, but tonight’s situation was both physically and emotionally challenging.
Here he was, dangling from the roof of one of the rehabbed Victorians in the rich part of town; his palms digging into the top line, his feet dangling almost straight down with barely a foothold of support.
His work as, let’s call it, a Procurer or maybe Pilferer of Objects, a modern day Robin Hood, perhaps, had him in and out of the finest homes in the city, each night.
His stomach was still churning from what he had seen in the attic of this one hundred year old beauty, which, in turn, had made him inattentive to the sounds around him, and forced him out the window and onto this roof, to make an expedient escape.
He had but minutes until dawn revealed his presence.
Jim waited until his rapidly pounding heart calmed, let his hands open from their tight grip, crouched and slid unto the opposing gable, and shimmied down the drainpipe and made his getaway across the back fence.
It’s a mystery what Jim saw in that attic. What do you think it was?