Sam Berger was alone. It was night.
He felt the summer heat that the bricks had retained burning on his back as he glanced around the corner. Above the hedge, he could see, in the distance, the neighboring house. Lonely, on a hill, behind a cluster of trees – darker than the night itself. It was the brightest season of the year. The night lasted no more than a couple of hours. But the night was what he needed. He needed the darkness. Because in the darkness there was the truth. Berger took a deep breath and started. He crouched through the hole he had found in the hedge and continued uphill towards the hilltop. As he approached the cluster of trees, he drew the pistol from the holster on his shoulder. This June night was unusually silent; all the sounds he heard were his own. In the solitude, the only thing present was the undeniable scent of a summer night.
He carefully crossed the cluster of trees, checked around for security cameras, saw nothing. There was nothing to see anyway. The night covered everything. But he couldn’t take out the flashlight and turn it on. Not yet. Despite the difficulties, he managed to silently approach the building. He couldn’t see what color it was, nor even what materials it was made of. He stopped for a moment, felt the cold of the pistol against his chest, the warmth of the wall on his back. His breathing became normal. To the extent that anything was normal anymore. A glance around the corner. He barely made out a basement staircase that seemed to end at a door below ground level.