Catharsis (Book 2): Catalyst by D. Andrew Campbell Page B

I'd been watching him previously, I'd been across from his house on the other side of the street.  After taking off my helmet and hanging it on the handlebar of my bike (Once again I know the protection would be useful, but I prefer to have full access to my senses in a fight like this.), I use the outlines of the houses around me and check them against my memory to orient myself.  Once I've figured out which one is Chadwick's, I let Ren know and take off at a slow jog between two of the houses.
                "So what's your plan once you get there?"  He asks me as I approach the backyard's white fence.
                "Don't have one yet," I tell him simply.
                "How are you planning on getting in to see him without him knowing you're coming then?" 
                "No idea," I continue and drop my voice to an absolute whisper.  "But something will come to me.  I have faith."
                "Uh huh," he mutters in a low breath, but at least he stops chattering at me.
                Crouching down in the slight shadows cast by the fence, I study the house and let my mind analyze what I'm seeing.  There are lights on in the house all over the place and all the blinds are pulled, so I can't tell what room he's currently in.  Watching the lights in the house for a few minutes I see no changes so he either left them all on on purpose or he just really wants to commit to his wanton waste of electricity.
                Normally even from this great a distance my ears would only be minimally useful, but tonight it is even worse.  Chadwick has left music playing in the house at a decibel level that even a normal person could pick out easily from across the yard.  With my enhanced senses, the volume is nearly unbearable.  I'm guessing the music is only being played at a "house party" level, but to me it might as well be front-row-of-a-stadium-concert level (And it sounds like some kind of poppy boy band - what else would a predator have on his stereo?).  It's just loud enough to be annoying to people and make conversation almost impossible, but not quite enough to warrant a noise complaint from neighbors.
                With both my senses of sight and hearing nullified, I attempt to tap into my last available useful sense.  Before I even attempt to suck in a lungful of air and taste it for hints of what may await me, I get a wisp of something coming from the brightly lit carnival of lights in front of me: a smorgasbord of scents.  An overwhelming nasal cacophony of different (frighteningly competitive) odors begins to slap at my nostrils as soon as I start paying attention to them.  Apparently my brain had been so focused on what I could see and hear that I was subconsciously tuning out my third sense.  But as soon as I allow myself to focus on them, I immediately want to stop.  The smells are myriad and strong.  The image of a candle factory delivery truck crashing into a grocery store and the whole thing burning down comes to mind.  I'm not even sure how one building can generate so many different (and potent) smells.
                So essentially I have no way of knowing where he is in the house or what he is up to or what is going on on the other side of those brick walls.
                "Hey Renny," I whisper in my sweetest voice.  "Bad news.  Either we have one heck of a coincidence occurring here, or this guy is prepared for me somehow.  You may be right about that 'caution' thing."
                "What do you mean?"
                "Well," I continue slowly thinking about the situation as I relay it in case I can see any obvious chinks in this psycho's prepared defenses.  "All the lights are on in the place so I can't tell where he's holed up.  Plus there's music blaring over a stereo so I can't hear a thing going on inside.  Those are both a pain, but they're not the biggest