He clears this throat.
“Is this the residence of Daniel Briggs?”
I stare at him for another second, blinking a few times, as if my mind is trying to shake itself from a stupor. I don’t know if I heard him correctly—he’s looking for Daniel? When I don’t answer, he speaks again.
“We got a call from Daniel Briggs ’bout thirty minutes ago asking to install a security system at this address.” He looks down at his clipboard before glancing at the street sign behind him, as if checking to make sure he’s at the right place. “Said it was urgent.”
I glance behind him at the car parked in my driveway, the Alarm Security Systems logo printed across the side. Daniel must have called the company himself as soon as he got in the car—it was a sweet gesture, well intentioned, but one that also lured Bert Rhodes directly to me. Daniel has no idea of the danger he’s just put me in. I look back at this man from my past, lingering on my doorstep, waiting politely to be invited inside. The realization dawns on me slowly.
He doesn’t recognize me. He doesn’t know who I am.
I hadn’t noticed it before, but I’m breathing rapidly, my chest rising and falling violently with each desperate inhale. Bert seems to notice at the same moment I do; he’s eying me suspiciously, rightfully curious as to why his presence is making a stranger hyperventilate. I know I need to calm myself down.
Chloe, breathe. Can you breathe for me? Breathe in through your nose.
I imagine my mother and close my lips, inhaling deep through my nostrils and letting my chest fill with air.
Now out through your mouth.
I purse my lips and push out the stale air slowly, feeling my heartbeat slow. I clench my hands to stop them from shaking.
“Yes,” I say, stepping to the side and gesturing for him to come in. I watch as his foot crosses the threshold of my home, my sanctuary. My safe haven and my escape, carefully crafted to exude normalcy and control, an illusion that instantly shatters the moment this presence from my past steps inside. There’s an atmospheric shift in the air, a buzzing of particles that makes my arm hair bristle. Standing closer to me now, inches from my face, he seems even larger than I remembered, despite the fact that the last time I was in a room with this man, I was twelve years old. But he doesn’t seem to know that. He doesn’t seem to have any idea that I am the twelve-year-old girl who shares blood with the man who murdered his daughter; I am the girl who screamed when the rock he threw came crashing through my mother’s window. I am the girl who hid beneath my bed when he showed up on our doorstep stinking of whiskey and sweat and tears.
He doesn’t seem to have any idea of the history we share. And now, with him standing in my home, I wonder if I can use this to my advantage.
He steps farther into the house and looks around, his eyes scanning the hallway, the attached living room, the kitchen, and the staircase that leads to the second floor. He takes a few steps and peeks into each room, nodding to himself.
Suddenly, a terrifying thought washes over me. What if he does recognize me? What if he’s just checking to see if I’m alone?
“My husband is upstairs,” I say, my eyes darting to the staircase. Daniel keeps a gun stashed in our bedroom closet, in case of intruders. I rack my brain, trying to remember where the box is, exactly. I wonder if I can make an excuse to run upstairs and grab it, just in case. “He’s on a conference call, but if you need anything, I can just go ask him.”
He squints at me before licking his lips and smiling, shaking his head gently, and I get the distinct feeling that he’s laughing at me, mocking me. That he knows I’m lying about Daniel, and that I am here completely alone. He walks back in my direction, and I notice him rubbing his hands against his pants, as if wiping the sweat from his palms. I start to panic and consider bolting outside before he twists around and points to the door, tapping it twice with his index finger.
“No need, I’m just assessin’ your entry points. Two main doors, front and back. You got lots of windows in here, so I would suggest we install some glass-break sensors. You want me to take a look upstairs?”
“No,” I say. “No, downstairs is fine. That all—that all sounds fine. Thank you.”
“You want cameras?”
“What?”
“Cameras,” he repeats. “They’re tiny little things we can place throughout the property, then you can access the video from your phone—”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, quickly, absentmindedly. “Yeah, sure. That’ll be good.”