I crawl to another corner of the living room, keeping myself as low as possible. The smell of night air hits my face—which is all wrong, since my house is closed up tight with air conditioning. After allowing my eyes to adjust, I can tell the window on my kitchen door doesn't look right. It's ragged and open around the top.
Someone must've broken it.
Which means they also could've reached in, unlocked my door, and stepped into my home. They might be inside right now, even though I don't hear any movement.
I sit like a frozen lump, my dark hoodie pulled tight over my head. I can't shift position, much less check my phone to see if the house alarm has done its job and notified the police.
As the wailing continues, I reason with myself. Surely an intruder would've made a run for it the moment they heard all the commotion.
I rise onto my hands and knees, preparing to speed-crawl into the bathroom, where I can lock the door and wait until the police arrive.
Before I can make a move, the doorbell rings. I glance at the front windows, but don't see any flashing blue lights in the driveway.
This could definitely be a ruse, a clever way to lure me outside. I write romantic suspense, so I'm no idiot to criminal machinations. I stay in place and hunker lower to the floor, in case someone shines a flashlight in the window.
During one of the alarm's pauses, my neighbor's muffled, insistent voice sounds outside my wooden door. "Alex?" he shouts. "Alex, are you okay?" He pounds on the door.
Relief floods me. Thomas is in his fifties, and he and his wife, Patty, have spoken with me several times. He's the kind of person I can trust.
I hurry to open the door, beckoning him to come inside. Once he's safely standing in my darkened living room and I've locked the door behind him, I explain, "Someone tried to break in. Would you mind staying until the police get here?"
"Of course. You've already called them?" He sticks his fingers in his ears and raises his voice. "Why is it so dark in here? Did your power go out?"
I throw a glance toward the kitchen. "I'm keeping it dark so no one can see me. And my alarm system was supposed to notify the police, although I don't know why they haven't gotten here yet. Let me check my phone. Maybe I can figure out how to shut off the alarm, too."
With Thomas' presence bolstering my confidence, I grab my phone and pull up my security system app. It tells me that the police have been notified of a disturbance and should arrive soon.
"Soon" isn't soon enough for my liking.
I enter the code to shut down the screeching noise. The thick silence that drops on us is somehow more deafening than the alarm.
Thomas speaks up. "Maybe we should turn on the light and check for anyone in the house. I can look around."
Taking my time because I'm not convinced Thomas' idea trumps my lights-off plan, I reluctantly flip on the lamp near the couch. Just as Thomas heads down the hallway, a police car pulls up.
Relieved, I call out to him. "Wait! The police are here. Why don't we let them search?"
Two officers jog up to the porch, and I open the door for them. After giving them the rundown, I point them toward the kitchen.
They promptly begin a sweep of the house. Thomas and I sit down in the living room, waiting in anxious silence.
As one officer heads toward the hallway, the other approaches the visibly damaged kitchen door. He pulls gloves from his pocket before picking something up from the floor. He holds it up for me to see and says, "It looks like they used this to break your glass, Ma'am."
It's a large brick.
Thomas shoots me a horrified look as the officer strides to my side, notebook in hand. "Do you have any idea who might have done this?"
My thoughts fly to Renard. Would he try to hurt me, even though our divorce had been finalized last year? He knows where I live. I'd certainly had some choice things to say when he managed to swindle me out of thirty-five percent of continuing royalties on the books I wrote when we were together. My lawyer was still shocked the judge had ruled in Renard's favor on that particular asset.
The only other option would be my letter-writing stalker, but there's no reason he should act on his threat until my final book comes out next year. Only then will he discover that I'm not closing the love triangle the way he demanded.
The officer turns the brick over in his hands, and before I can articulate an answer, he says, "There's a little note taped to the bottom."
He cautiously unfolds it, then skims the contents before extending it for me to read.
It's another printout, but this time the font is huge, like the author chose a header setting on Word.
It reads, "There will be repercussions if you don't do what I asked. I'll be watching closely."
This time, it's signed "Highly Invested Reader," leaving me with no doubt as to who threw that brick. My stalker has just raised the stakes, letting me know that physical violence isn't out of the question if I don't take him seriously.
With a concerned look, the officer asks, "Do you know who this person might be?"
I shake my head. I don't even have a decent guess.
THREE
After nailing a sheet of plywood onto my gaping window frame, the police finally head out around 2:15. Thomas lingers behind, probably to give me some peace of mind, which I appreciate.
"I've told Patty what happened, and we'd both feel better if you'd stay at our place tonight," he offers.
It's a thoughtful gesture, but adjusting to an unfamiliar sleeping arrangement would only intensify the panic I'm already feeling. I'd rather my neighbors didn't see that desperate side of me. Since I'll get little to no sleep at either place, I might as well stay home and try to get back into my writing routine as soon as day breaks.
"I'll probably stay here, but thank you. It should be okay now. The police have been crawling all over the place, which should repel anybody lurking around." I try not to ponder the possibility of someone hiding behind cars or in bushes, just waiting for me to walk out my door.
His forehead crinkles, and his eyes fill with concern. "I don't feel comfortable leaving you here alone. Would you want me to stay on your couch tonight? I can let Patty know."
Some small sense of relief flows over me, and I can't stop myself from accepting his offer. "Actually, I'd appreciate it if you could stick around." I glance at my messy kitchen, trying to think through the next steps I should take. "Let's see. I've set the alarm again, and I have some knives if you need them." I trudge toward the kitchen counter, gesturing to the knife block before sliding two large ones out for myself. "I'll stay in the bathroom tonight."
