I longed to say something back to her, but I wasn’t responding to anything because it might come too close to an admission of guilt.
“I don’t have anywhere else to put these,” Aly said, loud enough that both the microphone on her laptop and the one attached to the camera in her bedroom picked it up.
The delivery man’s response was muffled.
“No, I know that’s not your problem, but come on,” she said.
My amusement faded. Was he being rude to her?
Keep driving, stupid, I told myself. I couldn’t pull over and teach him a lesson about politeness right now. That would ruin everything. But maybe I could figure out who these guys were and find some digital way to show them the error of their ways.
“How about this,” Aly said. “Take them to the nurses’ station at Prescott Memorial.”
The response was muffled again.
“Fifty bucks to drive them ten minutes away?” she said. “Are you serious?”
I grimaced. Well, this was backfiring.
A heavy sigh came through the speakers as I parked a street away from hers. “Let me get my wallet,” I heard her say.
I yanked my phone from its dock just in time to watch her stomp into her bedroom, looking pissed. Fred was lying curled up in a ball on her comforter, nonplussed at all the noise.
Aly grabbed her wallet from her handbag and paused long enough to scratch Fred between the ears. “I hope you bit the Faceless Man.”
Fred made a little chirruping noise in response. I chose to interpret that as him defending my character. Weren’t pets supposed to have some sixth sense and could always tell the good people from the bad? He hadn’t so much as hissed at me. In fact, he wouldn’t leave me alone the whole time I was there, and I eventually had to shut him out of Aly’s room so I could film in peace. I took that as a sign that I wasn’t as damned as I thought, and a little light, okay, heavy stalking wasn’t enough to condemn me.
Aly paid the delivery driver and shut her front door hard enough that my speakers rattled.
Great, she typed a minute later. On top of being a pain in the ass and way over the top, your gift just cost me fifty bucks.
I slid down in my seat, wishing I could apologize but knowing I shouldn’t. Oh, wait. Didn’t Aly have a payment app? I pulled one of my anonymous accounts up on the tablet and found her on the app, sending her fifty bucks via the same stolen credit card I’d used to buy the flowers.
Seriously? she asked. You think that makes up for all this hassle?
I drummed my fingers against the dashboard, frustrated about my inability to communicate with her. I almost brought my burner phone, but I’d left it behind, telling myself it was too early to text her from it.
A loud ding-dong came from my speakers. Her doorbell? I pulled up my tracking app, and sure enough, my other gifts had just arrived.
I heard a door open and then, “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to deliver a package to Alyssa Cappellucci?” a man said, mangling her last name.
She didn’t bother to correct him. “I’m she.”
“Sign here?” he said.
“But I didn’t order anything.”
“So, you’re refusing delivery?”
“Uh…no?” she said.
“Then please sign here.”
“Who sent this?”
“No idea,” was the response. “We don’t get that information. Do you want the package or not?”
“Fine, yeah.”
It got quiet for a minute, and I assumed she was signing.
“Here you go,” the man said. “Have a good day.”
The front door closed again, and I heard more muffled sounds.
My phone pinged a second later.
Did you send me something?
Several somethings, but she’d figure that out soon enough.
It better not be a bomb, or I’m coming back as a poltergeist and finding some way to ghost-murder you.
I grinned. Aly was just as snarky as her thirsty comments made her out to be, and I was here for it.
Suddenly, she appeared on my phone screen as she entered her room. She went straight to Fred, scooped him up, and put him in her bathroom.
“Sorry, bud,” she said. “But you have to stay here. Mom is about to do something stupid, and I don’t want you to get hurt if this goes sideways.”
She shut the door on his protesting meow and left her room.
I tried to drum up some remorse as I leaned forward in my seat and listened to her open the packages, but I was too excited. Plus, I knew it wasn’t a bomb. Obviously.
“What the –” she said. “What is all this? Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”
My phone pinged, and I immediately opened her messages.
You sent me home defense tools?
After breaking into my house?
Are you serious right now???
Keep going, I wanted to tell her. On top of buying her burglar-proof wedges with built-in alarms that could be shoved beneath her doors, I’d gotten her titanium bars that braced against knobs way better than a chair could, extra locks that couldn’t be manipulated with magnets, and an entire in-home security system complete with cameras for her front and back doors.
Lastly, because some small part of me believed in fairness and wanted to even the playing field, I got her a high-tech camera detector. Watching her had been fun and was fulfilling a surveillance kink I didn’t even know I had until now, but it’d be even more fun if Aly decided she wanted to be watched.
I heard more rustling and then, “This motherfucker.”
Why did you get me these things? she demanded. To make it harder for yourself the next time you try to break in?
Are you some sort of sick fuck who likes the challenge?
Also, you saved me the trouble of having to buy them for myself later today, like planned, but if you’re waiting for a thank you, you’re shit out of luck, buddy.
A solid minute of silence passed.
“Answer me, goddamnit!” her voice echoed through my car.
I know you’re reading these messages, you bastard. I can see the read receipts.
Before I could stop myself, I sent her a kissy-face emoji. One day, I would learn to stop being such a smartass, but today was not that day.
The growl that rumbled out of my speakers in response was adorable.
“That’s it,” she said. “I change my mind. I’m calling the cops on his ass.”
Don’t, I typed back, the same single word from before.
This couldn’t be traced to anything she’d written, and if we ever ended up in court, it would be her word against mine that my response was to something she said. I really hoped it didn’t come to that. I was having way too much fun with her.
“What the fuck?” she said. “Are you listening to me somehow? How the hell do I disable the microphone on a laptop?”
Well, I’m certainly not telling you, I sent back.
“I hope you’re enjoying yourself, you son of a bitch,” she snarled.
Immensely, I responded, adding a smiley face emoji for good measure.