“Nine one one operator, how may I assist you?”
“This is Monique Gaspirini,” she said, panic creeping into her voice, “I live at 1413 Maplewood Drive and there’s a man in my house.”
“Where is he now?”
“I think he’s inside the house. I shut the backdoor and it’s open now.”
“Can you get out of the house?”
“No, I’m upstairs. Well, I might be able to climb out of the window in my bedroom.”
“Does your bedroom door lock?”
“Yes.”
“Go in there right now for me, Monique, and lock the door.”
She did and leaned against it. “Okay.”
“Now I want you to go near the window and plan to climb down, okay? If you hear him come up the stairs you start climbing down but not before. Is it a long drop?”
“Maybe fifteen feet.”
“Okay, well, I’m gonna stay on the phone with you, okay? I’ve summoned the officers and they’re going to be there very shortly.”
“Okay.”
“Are you near the window?”
“Yes.”
There was a sound from downstairs; someone shut the backdoor and was walking across the linoleum in the kitchen. Silence a few moments and she didn’t breathe. The dispatcher kept talking but Monique had lowered the phone, listening intently to what was going on downstairs.
There was an unmistakable sound. It was quiet, barely audible, but having spent twenty-three years in this house, she knew exactly what it was: someone was climbing the stairs and had made them creak.
“Oh fuck me,” she said. “He’s in the house. He’s in the house right now and he’s coming up the stairs!”
“Okay, calm down, just do what I said and start climbing down the window.”
Wrapping the towel tight around herself, she opened the window as far as it would go and kicked the screen out. It fell with a ding as it hit the hood of her car in the driveway. She put one foot out and tried to hold the phone with one hand while she balanced with the other but couldn’t do it. She pinned the phone in between her ear and shoulder and used both hands to climb out.
The air was warm but it still gave her goose bumps as she pulled her other leg out and placed it on the ledge just underneath her window. She could hear noise from the interior of the house; he was almost to the top of the stairwell.
There was a small covering over the driveway and to her right. It was maybe six feet down and she figured it wouldn’t injure her if she landed on it. But if she missed it she would fall to the ground and hit cement.
Off in the distance behind her was another sound: sirens.
They were loud, and startling, and annoying…and she had never heard anything more comforting in her life.
The knob on the bedroom door turned. It flipped one way and then the other and someone pushed on the door. She screamed. The operator began yelling, asking what was going on, and Monique jumped.
She hit the covering hard and felt her ankle roll. The phone flew out of her hand and to the cement below, shattering into several pieces. She lay there, crying as she rubbed her ankle, looking up to her bedroom window.
But by then the sirens were on her street and the police had arrived: two cruisers. Two officers got out of the first car. They didn’t see her until she shouted for them and they came over and helped her down.
“He’s inside,” she said.
They ran in the house. She folded her arms and limped over to one of the police cruisers and leaned against it as another cruiser with another officer pulled up. A few of her neighbors had come out onto their porches to see what the commotion was about and she ignored them and kept her eyes glued to the house as one of the officers tried to take information from her. She could see lights going on in various rooms and then in her basement. The lights stayed on. After what seemed like an hour, but was in reality closer to fifteen minutes, the officers came back outside.
“There’s no one in there, ma’am,” one of them said.
“He was in there,” she said, pointing. “I saw him. He was in the backyard and he, he waved to me and then I heard footsteps and, and that’s when I called you guys.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t one of your neighbors?”
“I know what my fucking neighbors look like. There was someone in my house.”
“Well, we’ll do one more walkthrough and then fill out a report. Didn’t look like anything was damaged, and no one was hurt. If you see him again, give us a call.”
“That’s it? Someone broke into my house and that’s all you’re gonna do?”
“I saw the beer out. How much have you had to drink?”
“Like one bottle. I’m not drunk. I’m telling you someone was in my fucking house.”
The other officer finally chimed in and said, “There’s been some reports of thefts around here. We was at your neighbor’s house just across the street a couple weeks ago. That might be what it is. Someone’s stealing things that people leave out, stuff outta the garage, things like that. That’s probably what it was.”
“He looked crazy. He didn’t look normal.”
“Since when are criminals normal?”
The other officer said, “We’ll take your info. Do you have anywhere to sleep tonight?”
“Yeah, I can go to my boyfriend’s house.”
“Well why don’t you do that for tonight if you’re too scared to stay here. There wasn’t any damage to the door so I’m guessing it was left open.”
“No, I locked it. I know I did.”
“Make sure to lock all your doors,” he said, ignoring her statement.
The other officer looked over the house. “If he was in there, he ain’t now. We’ll do a quick spin around the neighborhood. Maybe we’ll get lucky. We’ll forward your case to a detective and he’ll probably call you tomorrow to follow up. Pay a visit to the house maybe.”
They took her information, walked through the house one more time, and promised that a report would be filed. She watched from the porch as they drove away. Turning to her house, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep here tonight. She would go to her boyfriend’s and then he would have to sleep over here with her until her parents got home.
Monique went inside to gather her things. She shut and locked the front door and then checked that all the doors and windows throughout the house had been locked as well. It was only then that she remembered she was in a towel. She had wondered why one of the officers kept looking at her chest.
She walked up the stairs to her bedroom and began to gather some clothes when she heard a sound. It was coming from downstairs.
As she stood up, listening quietly, out of the corner of her eye she saw the slightest movement inside her closet. Instinctively and without any thought, she ran.
Laughter sounded behind her as arms wrapped around her throat and she slammed into the floor.
CHAPTER 8
Detective Stephen Gunn climbed the stone steps of the government housing project and stopped at some graffiti that was tagged on the wall. It was beautifully done; an Aztec or Mayan warrior cutting off the head of an enemy with a nude woman at his feet. It took up most of the wall and over that were tagged some gang names. Graffiti had gotten vandalized.
Savages, he thought, as he continued climbing the steps.
On the top floor, apartment 4612 had a thick wooden door. He knocked and waited. Inside, he heard some shuffling, items quickly being hidden and music turned down that was playing on a stereo. He heard someone lean against the door as they stared out of the peephole and then the click of the lock and the rattle of the chain.
A woman stood there in a nightgown. She would be beautiful if not for the aging that had prematurely occurred. Wrinkles surrounded her eyes and lips and her once bright blond hair looked greasy and dull. But there was still vibrance in her sapphire eyes and Gunn looked at them a while before brushing past her and into the house.
He glanced momentarily at the porno playing on the television and went to the fridge. He got out a beer and popped the top before flopping onto the couch and picking up the remote.