After going through the Christmas decorations, I check my phone. Much more time has passed between my meeting with Derrick and going through the storage unit than I expected. I still have several things I need to do before getting back to the house to pop the cinnamon rolls into the oven and head across the street for game night. I hate the thought of Sam not being there. But I know he's doing what he has to do. And if Janet chooses Monopoly for tonight, him not being there means I can snag the top hat.
Deciding I'll come back later when I have more time, I put the top back on in the box and close the storage unit door. The new lock I brought along with me is bigger and stronger than the original lock. It clicks solidly into place, and I give it a tug for good measure. I’m satisfied with myself, but a crawling feeling up the back of my neck from the fence tempts me to turn around. The fence and the tree line behind it are unchanged. There's no indication of where the person came over the fence or if they came out of the woods. It's entirely possible they just walked around from the front of the building and followed the fence until they came to the shadowy space between the two light poles.
I glance at each corner of the building. Metal braces bolt small black cameras to each corner, pointed so they would cover the entire space in front of the units. Derrick told me the units weren't covered by security cameras, that the only cameras were the ones at the front gate recording the people going in and out. That means the cameras on the corners of the building are dummies. That's not all that uncommon. Most people would be shocked to know just how much of the security they see in public places is nothing more than props. Reflective domes on store ceilings housing nothing, stickers proclaiming protection from alarm systems that don't actually exist, prominently positioned security offices more likely to contain coats and set-aside merchandise than officers.
They act as a form of behavior control. People are less likely to take a risk of doing something illegal if they think strong measures are in place to snare them. Creating the idea of security is often just as effective as actually having it. Except in this circumstance. It would have been nice for those plastic shells to actually contain recording technology.
Ticking off the next few items on my to-do list takes me right up to the time when I need to get my cinnamon rolls baking. I grab a few bags out of my backseat and head for the front door. When I get to the front porch, I look over at the neighbor's yard again.
A flicker of black goes around the corner of the house. It might have been a dog, or a shadow, or even my imagination. But I don't think it was. It looked like the man I saw earlier. The man who I couldn't have seen.
Yet I know I did. He was right there, standing at the corner of the yard and staring back at me. And in that brief moment, my heart stopped. Because I knew his eyes.
They were exactly like my own.
Chapter Nine
Him
He pressed back against the wall and waited. He learned the patterns of the people who lived in this house and knew they wouldn't notice him dropping down into the rounded cinderblock vault surrounding the basement window. The spot had become his refuge, his hiding place when eyes lingered too long on him.
Like hers. He knew she saw him. That morning and just moments ago. He couldn't help it. As much as he told himself he had to be careful and stay away from her, to keep his distance until the right time, it was getting harder. It seemed like the more he saw her, the more drawn to her he was. It happened so long ago. All he wanted was to go to her. But she wouldn't know what to do if he did. It would be too dangerous. For both of them, really. Especially now. His last plan was an incredible disaster, and he was still trying to pick up the pieces. When he found out what happened, he would ensure the ones responsible were punished. It was his most basic principle. Wrath before death. He learned it fast, and he learned it well.
For now, he would concentrate on Emma. She was still in Sherwood, still in the house he never thought she would step foot in again. There were no signs of the old hesitation on her face when she walked up the steps and through the front door. Her hand didn't shake. Her body stayed relaxed. She clicked back into place easily in the weeks she spent here. It made him uneasy.
This wasn't where she belonged. Of course, there was a time when more people thought she did than didn't. They saw her on the sidewalks. Waited on her in the diner. Cleaned her dropped popcorn off the movie theater floor. Graded her papers. She was one of many, and because of that, they had no question this was where she fit. But she wasn't one of many. In the entire world, there was just one. Only her. And she was so much more than just another ripple in the slow-moving water.
They didn't know what made her extraordinary. How could they? She didn't even know. But she would. One day. One day soon, she would know that she was set aside for something more than she could have ever imagined. More than the world could imagine.
As he stood in the stone vault to wait, he glanced in the basement window. Not all the houses around here had basements, but the ones that did fascinate him. They struck him as something from another time. Attics made sense to him. Stashing away unneeded items away in the top floor of the house was like tucking thoughts into the back of your mind. They were still there. Not really hidden, only put out of sight until they were needed again. An attic was memories. Not always good. Not always ones you wanted to explore again. But important enough to be set aside and kept close.
A basement brought to mind fear. It was a hiding place. Basements were where you fled to weather a storm, when the threat of the wind and destruction outweighed the gloom. Secrets were kept in basements. Ones cast into corners to be forgotten. Ones left to disintegrate. Ones that breathed. Kept underfoot. They weren't a part of life.
That wasn't every basement, of course. Some pretended their basements were extensions of their homes. Curtains in the below-ground windows. Painted walls to take away the dank. Furniture scattered in spaces with glaring bulbs to chase away the shadows. They opened the door to the rest of their home and let the life of the upper floors flow down.
The basement of this house was so dark he could barely see anything. Not enough sunlight filtered through the uncovered glass to illuminate what was stored there, and the dark forms hunkering among support columns could be monsters.
He was drawn into the image of the basement so much he nearly lost the time. He had to time himself carefully, so she wouldn't see him again. Another glimpse might make it less likely she would leave the house. He needed her gone. Not for long. Just long enough for him to get inside.
She was at the storage unit earlier. He caught her there only by chance. The woods had become another useful spot, a place he could stay for the hours he needed to be away from the main streets but didn't want to be too far away. No one ever went in except for teenagers looking for a place to drink and have sex where they wouldn't be seen. He hazarded getting close to the fence surrounding the lot, so he could look at the unit again. He shouldn't have. By now, the manager would have called the police to tell them about the man he found trying to break in and nearly caught. Them keeping an eye on the area was probably the same thing that made the teenagers who called attention to him flee from the trees.
It was a transaction. They traded him for their own reputation. Sounding the alarm when they saw him hop over the fence and run for the unit was admitting they were in the trees, but that didn't sink in for the manager. He only knew they called frantically, and he got to the back of the buildings in time to stop the intrusion before the lock hit the ground. The manager wouldn't think about the parties in the trees now. It was curtains on a basement window.