The lamp wouldn't turn on. She must have damaged it when she fell and she kicked the small wooden table it rested on in frustration. "Damnit!" she whispered to the empty room. "Damn, damn, damn!" Then she felt ridiculous. Imagine throwing a tantrum like that when she had other things to do, such as search the room, find the treasure, get out with all her bodily organs in tact... That sort of thing.

Not daring to switch on the main light and not able to use the lamp, she pulled her lighter from her pocket and flicked it on. There was the rug she had tripped over, and there was the table she had bumped into, cracking her shin painfully. And there, over by the window, was the box. That's what she'd come for. That's what she was going to take, nothing else, despite the temptation of the antiques surrounding her. She wasn't being paid for them.

She sneaked forward, letting the lighter go out since it was burning her hand. She memorised the way and didn't crash into anything else. Grabbing at where the box was, she touched it, the smooth dark wood cool under her fingers. Taking it up, she turned, ready to leave, but was blocked. "What the-?" she began before a sharp blade entered her chest. No more words for her. She fell to the ground, the box spilling out its contents.

The man, turning on his torch, bent to pick up the treasures. Old photos. Nothing more. Just old photos of some child. He wondered who it might be.