"I don't know," I responded. "I used it last night and put it back in its usual place. You mean it's not there?"
After some careful searching around the house, Tom, Lindsay, and I flopped down on the chairs to brainstorm. If someone had taken the laptop, bag and all, why wouldn't they take a bunch of other stuff just lying around the house?
That's when I noticed one of our bookshelves looking suspiciously empty. "Hey, guys... where are our Nintendo DS's?"
Three pairs of eyes widened as Tom murmered "oh shit..."
We flew up out of our chairs and started frantically scanning the house. The back door was unlocked. Lindsay's iPod was gone. Tom's digital camera was gone, as was Lindsay's. We checked to make sure passports weren't stolen, and called the police.
After the whirlwind of filing a report with the officer, having an evidence technician take fingerprints of the handprint found on the kitchen window, and trying to concentrate during Ben's recital just to make it through, I was pretty exhausted by Friday night.
And it's not the stuff, really. You can always get new stuff. It's the fact that someone was there, in our apartment. A stranger, who saw our torn up screens (thanks, stupid landlords) decided to break in, grab everything they could carry, and escape out the back door. We don't know who this person is, and they have our really private stuff that is never meant to be seen by anyone else.
It's an incredible violation, and my stomach gets queasy just thinking about it. No more ground level apartments for me.
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