The shimmering blond sister

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The Masked Avenger waited until he was absolutely positive she was asleep before he slipped soundlessly out of bed and tiptoed out of the bedroom-a man on a mission. Maybe his most critical mission to date.

Hell, there was no maybe about it.

His home lay in darkness. Outside, all was still and silent, even though it wasn’t that late. Dorset was a bedrock New England town. Early to bed, early to rise, makes you healthy, wealthy, and… astonishingly boring. The Masked Avenger let himself out the back door and started across the lawn, his ears straining for a noise, any noise. He heard only the crickets.

He’d assumed other superhero identities over the years. Two of them. Secret identities that not a single living soul knew about. His first had been the Silent Thief, back when he was six years old. The Silent Thief operated in the quiet of Sunday mornings at dawn. He’d rise in the early light and creep down the upstairs hallway in his pajamas to the closed door of his parents’ bedroom. Six mornings a week they awoke before he did. Sundays they slept in. He’d ease the door open carefully. Listen for their deep, steady breathing. Assured that they were asleep, he’d enter their room. An ocean of carpet lay between the Silent Thief and the chest of drawers next to his father’s side of the bed. Mindful of the creaks in the floorboards, he’d slither his way across the room on his stomach, working his way deep into enemy territory, his heart pounding, mouth dry. It would take the Silent Thief five, sometimes ten, minutes to make it all the way around the bed. Then came the truly dangerous stage of his mission. The part that was absolutely not for the faint of heart.

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