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The scratching sound is at my bedroom door again. It must be Eyes.
By the time I get out of bed and open the door at 5:28 a.m., only a solo argyle sock is on the hallway floor. No cat.
I silently walk down the hall, this time being careful not to make a sound and wake up Jeremy. The guest room’s door is cracked open, so I peer in and see the cat on the bed with my friend soundly asleep. Eyes stares at me, not even flinching.
Across the hall, the office door is ajar. No doubt, that’s how the night prowler stole the sock.
After entering the room, I go to the window that overlooks the playground and the burnt swing set, questioning what really happened to those girls. Did they, like so many others, succumb to a strange virus, get stolen by spacecraft, or raptured, as Aunt Amy and James said the Bible predicted?
I don’t know, but I wonder.
Viewer, if you’re up this early, what’s your take? Which scenario do you believe happened?
Also noted is no electronic bird spying at me through the window.
Not wanting to go back to sleep or wake up Jeremy, I shut the office door so that it rests against the doorjamb. There’s no metal hitting metal in the doorknob that could cause a clicking sound. I quietly turn on the light and sit down at Denny’s desk. I boot up his computer and go to Google.
Next, I search for the name Numen. Its definition, usage, and origin are mainly linked to websites. The only company name listed is one in India that involves a virtual health platform with a conglomerate of doctors. Not the Numen I know. I also check the Source. Nothing. When trying to search further for any relationship with AI or implants, I get nowhere. Nothing.
I search for AGI or artificial general intelligence. There’s plenty on the futurist topic that’s trying to develop AI with a human level of cognition. And like something called “strong AI” (compared to current weak/narrow AI, I learn), AGI would theoretically be self-teaching and able to carry out a general range of tasks autonomously via self-control. AGI would be equal to the human brain capacity and, perhaps, surpass human intelligence.
However, I do find possible machinations involving it and mind control and brainwashing. This leads me to question if the child robot that Tom and Silvia want may be programmed to harm and destroy instead of love and cherish. All fascinating yet concerning at the same time.
In the middle of my browsing, I glance back at the office door; it’s opened, with Eyes now settled on a wing chair.
Somehow, I stumble upon something called molecular manufacturing, which is an emerging technology that’s being developed to build large objects to atomic precision quickly and inexpensively, with no defects. Unfortunately, this nanotechnology might encourage weapons of mass destruction that could self-replicate. Again, fascinating but disconcerting.
I’m so engrossed in my research that I startle when Jeremy opens the door to the Jack and Jill bathroom and enters the office. “Sorry to surprise you, Sar. Have you been up awhile?”
“Yes, I couldn’t sleep due to Eyes’s thievery. He took one of Denny’s socks and delivered it to my door.”
“What a sweet boy.” Jeremy picks up the feline. “You truly do love Sarah, don’t you? Keep at it; you may win her over, eventually.”
“Hardly.” I turn the computer screen off and swivel the executive chair around to face him. “My, it’s after eight already. Guess I should get changed. What’s our plan for today?”
“Sam texted and said some boxes arrived this morning, so maybe I’ll take the BMW, if you don’t mind, and pick them up. I also wanted to try to do some food shopping—if it doesn’t turn into a nightmare.” He strokes the cat, adding, “Do you want to come with me?”
“I don’t think so. Yesterday was exhausting, so maybe another down day would be good. I doubt you want me slowing you down by hobbling through store aisles, do you?”
“Not at all. But I won’t go for an hour or two. Also, do you mind if I do some laundry here? I’m getting low on clothes.”
He puts Eyes back on the chair and heads out of the room.
“Good idea. I need to do some, too. Could you take my basket downstairs? Pretty please?” I bat my eyes for emphasis while he complies. “I’ll go get it organized.”
As Jeremy exits through the bathroom, I walk down the hall to my room and into my closet.
The laundry basket is piled high and includes some of Denny’s clothes. Heartbroken, I stop and deeply smell my husband’s scent on one or two as I sort through the heap and get the hamper ready.
After changing into a short-sleeve Nike hoodie with a large dual access pocket in front and cut-off jeans with one Hoka tennis shoe, I put a little make-up on, brush my hair and teeth, and take another Zoloft and Motrin.
While looking in the mirror, I explicitly do not talk to D. Maybe they’ll get the hint that I’m still angry about that bird thing.
Having to take two trips, Jeremy totes my hamper and his clothes downstairs, and he starts his load of laundry.
After searching through the cupboards and refrigerator, he offers me a bagel with cream cheese from Amy’s stock along with a cup of coffee.
And as usual, he asks Alexa the five hot topics of the day, and she answers:
A solar flare of X25.57 caused major blackouts along the East Coast, affecting over a hundred million people’s phones. The Magnificent Seven, comprised of Alphabet, Amazon, Apple, Meta, Microsoft, Nvidia, and Tesla, are in joint agreement to improve the environment and ecology by establishing a viable one-earth system. Open source software (OSS) has advanced knowledge and technology exponentially, allowing its use, modification, and distribution so any innovator, young or old, can become instantly successful. In many US cities and towns, the National Guard has been called up to stop the increase of violence and destruction, especially along the country’s borders. Locally, yesterday’s demonstration against faith-based entities in downtown Los Angeles turned violent when four individuals were mercilessly killed in a ritualistic guillotine-style execution.
“Yikes,” I comment, “that was a bit detailed this time. I’m glad, though, that the government and some of these mega-rich companies are starting to come to our aid.”
“Only if it’s done right,” Jeremy says. “And what if it’s not? Will we all become like those in George Orwell’s 1984, where Big Brother is watching you every second? Or robots, so we have no control or consciousness?”
As he puts my meal on the counter, I say, “Ah, don’t be so fatalistic. It’ll never get that bad, will it?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to look more into that OSS thing. I’m skeptical of things like deepfake—you know, where someone digitally alters an image or video of someone’s face or body, and it’s used to spread false information. What if someone does that to one of my videos? I’d be pretty upset. Maybe I can invent a program to easily discern fact over lie.”
“That would be cool. And you could get rich and live off the land with zillions of acres on an island in the Pacific.” I smile at the fantasy.
“Don’t laugh. It can be done to your photos, too. There’s probably already a fake of one or two of your shots online.”
With that kind of talk, I open my laptop and go to the Source, searching for my name on any articles. I select the Image button and scan through my photos. Thankfully, I find none altered and tell Jeremy so.
Since my mind flashes back to the LA demonstration that Jeremy and I snubbed discussing, I ask the Source for more data.
I read an article aloud. “Over a thousand attended the event. The four victims were three men and one woman, ages twenty-two to seventy years old. Supposedly all were street preachers, stating the virus and alien abduction conspiracies are cover-ups. They promoted Jesus raptured His saints and that Tribulation is coming.”
Jeremy and I talked about how sad it was that the four had no proper trial, but they were martyred for their beliefs, here in America, because the crowd demanded it. So sad and wrong.
I find another Source article. This one says that several denominations and churches around the world are excited now that the “bad” Christians are gone, leaving them to properly “love thy neighbor as themselves.” They have banded together to start something called PEW for Peace Endowed World, where those of all religious beliefs can join as one, offering their spiritual gifts to make a better world. What an interesting take!
To change to a more uplifting topic, we spend the next hour talking about different projects we did over the years at work, which ones we liked the most and why, and how technology such as phone cameras and microphones have improved.
When Jeremy’s laundry is finished and mine is in the dryer, he takes Denny’s car keys and heads out to run his errands. Eyes (who is back on his spot in the bay window) and I have the place to ourselves once again.
After folding my laundry and stacking it neatly back in the hamper, I spend most of the morning making phone calls.
I touch base with Silvia, and she gives me Dave’s wife’s phone number in Oregon, so I connect with my parents. Tiffany has me talk to Mom, but not Dad since he’s sleeping. Both Mom and Dave are worried about the wound getting an infection because Dad has a slight fever. Mom has been taking a holistic concoction for her asthma that Tiffany put together that contains garlic, ginger, ginseng, and turmeric, which seems to be helping a little. Plus, Mom is downing hot caffeinated beverages to help reduce her airway constriction. Anything to help it go away!
During my call, a text comes in from James, again asking if he can stop by. I delete it. He’s probably wanting me to get him a job at the paper.
I’m so done with him.
I call my insurance company and leave a voice message about my two auto claims, Denny’s life insurance claim, and to verify the cancelation of his health insurance. I also call Zoey to chat, but she is unavailable. Probably doing something romantic with Amir.
Another task I accomplish is checking my bank account. Sure enough, my payments have somehow been applied, and instead of a low balance on my checking account, it’s now five figures, which makes me smile. I check Denny’s and my student loans—neither one shows up on the screen. Nice.
Around noon, I go in the kitchen and make two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (one is placed in a Ziplock bag for Jeremy), plus open a La Croix. I’m thankful for the quietness, but I’m getting restless and bored, so I go out to check the mail again.
Since I rarely use my scooter now, I brave the walk down the pathway to the mailboxes. While the Rapture flyers have been removed, those depicting the missing remain. The metal units have been smashed and dented, with many open and empty. So much for getting my mail.
I look over at the general parking lot and see my VW is parked next to a red minivan. From my viewpoint, my car’s hubcaps are missing, and the roof is slashed more. I sigh.
There must be an end to this nonsense. It looks like another message needs to be left with my insurance company, or maybe I should wait another day to see what else is destroyed.
On my walk back, I cross paths with the kid I saw the day of the plane crash—the teen who was throwing up in the ajuga plant.
When I ask how he’s doing, he says, “No school. No friends. No life.”
“I hear ya. Hang in there. It has to get better.”
He grunts, and I walk by my patio gate and sit down at the chair to catch my breath. I set my keys on the wrought iron table.
The Hispanic woman—the one I talked to at the mailbox days ago—says hello, and we each ask a question or two about how we are healing. But she’s too busy to sit and chat, so she moves on.
With nothing exciting happening outside, I return to my condo and walk into the bathroom.
D, I’m frustrated. How can I increase my rating if I’m stuck here, in this condo, with nothing interesting happening? I mean, the last few days had thrills and excitement. But this is downright boring.
Yes, there are lulls, just like life. Don’t worry about it. All in good timing. Maybe now is a good time to relax, take a nap, and do nothing but regroup.
I’m concerned your viewers are falling asleep here.
I leave the bathroom and lie down on the couch, placing the white throw around me.
Good ol’ Eyes leaves his window perch and walks along the back of the sofa and plops down near my feet, like he’s there to watch over me.
The only noise I hear is Adam playing his hard rock music, but it’s not overwhelmingly loud.
***
When Jeremy comes in through the garage’s inner door, I wake up.
Eyes is tucked by my casted leg, sound asleep. He perks up when Jeremy approaches my side.
“Good to see you sleeping, Sarah! It’s probably what you need.”
I tell him it was as I get off the couch.
Eyes looks lazily at me, almost daring me to move the blanket.
Carrying two filled-to-the-brim reusable grocery bags, Jeremy heads to the kitchen. “It’s a zoo out there. I picked up three boxes from Sam and delivered them to my parents’ shop. They looked like the MRE packs and bottled water, which were heavy. He also said one was damaged, so he refused it and sent it back for credit.
“I tried going to Costco to put gas in the Beemer and snag some food, but that was a no-go. There were probably fifty to sixty cars in line for gas. The store had armed guards at its doors, and you had to show your ID plus Costco card, both of which had to be scanned. And the parking lot. Lots of angry people with only a few coming out of the store with something in their carts. Based on what I saw, there wasn’t much to choose from inside. If I attempted it, it would be futile.”
He starts unloading his purchases. “The good news is Sam told me to go out to Chatsworth Park. There’s a small family-owned store that takes only cash and has a solo gas pump. He told me to tell Matt I was his friend, so I could score some gas. I raided Dad’s lock box in the shop for the cash, loaded up a few five-gallon cans, and drove out there. Matt was more than helpful and filled the Beemer and containers up. Then we went inside his store, and he let me buy this food. It’s not gourmet, but I can work with it. I spotted him a hundred-dollar bill as a tip.”
What a gracious act.
“I only wish I hadn’t cashed in that money I found in the safe. We could have used it for bartering with those off the grid, who may be easier to deal with as time goes on.”
I tell him about my coin collection in the closet upstairs, offering its use if needed.
“At least, this time we got supplies.”
“Yeah, that’s great. How come no one else knows about Matt’s place?” I question.
“Two rather large sons toting two long rifles keep watch on the place. Since it’s remote, it’s known mainly to locals, who are the only ones they help. They were skeptical of me until I mentioned Sam. Sadly, I’m sure the store will run out of supplies soon unless trucks deliver.”
Jeremy puts Denny’s keys on the half-moon table next to his wallet and phone. “Hey, I don’t see your keys here. Did I forget to put them back when I moved your VW? I am returning Denny’s, but yours aren’t here.”
He goes down the hall to the utility room, telling me that maybe he left them in the Prius in the garage.
When he returns, he still cannot find them, so he says he’s going to check the VW. He leaves quickly through the front door before I can mention the car’s missing hubcaps.
It dawns on me that I used my keys to check the mailbox and had left them on the patio table. I go outside to get them, leaving the door open.
And there they are.
Jeremy walks up the sidewalk while I dangle the keys in the air. We’re both relieved that they’ve been found.
As we go back inside the condo, we talk about my car and how it was inevitably going to get hit again. He said its leather seats were cut, so that’s another thing to tell my insurance agent when I’m in the mood to file another claim.
We both go into the kitchen and put away the finds Jeremy acquired. I get out the pathetic PB&J sandwich I made him and pour him a seltzer on ice, while he opens a new bag of Cheetos gleaned from the store.
Being intentionally overdramatic, he savors each bite of the sandwich, but I know the snack is far tastier.
For dessert, he hands me a mini bag of peanut M&Ms, which I put in my hoodie’s large pocket.
***
“Where’s Eyes?” Jeremy asks about twenty minutes later, as he comes downstairs from putting my hamper in my bedroom.
“Last I saw, he was snuggled in my blanket on the couch.”
Jeremy approaches the couch and lifts the blanket, shaking it out. He looks around the bay window, but he’s not there. My friend takes two stairs at a time and checks upstairs, including the office, guestroom, adjoining bath, and my bedroom and bathroom. The cat is nowhere to be found.
He calls repeatedly, “Kitty, Kitty, come out wherever you are. Eyes, come here.” Then he starts to panic, saying to me, “Where is he? Maybe he went in the garage when I was looking for your keys?” He opens and, after checking inside, closes the door. Still no cat. Running his fingers through his hair, he shakes his head. “Maybe he got out when I went out the front door?”
“Or when I did! Yeah, I don’t think I closed the door all the way when I went to get my keys off the patio table. Maybe he snuck out then? Oh, I’m so sorry if he did. I never thought about it.” I feel awful. I let the cat out.
Viewer, have you ever done that? Mess up big time with something your friend or family member loves and cherishes. I hate it when that happens.
“I’ll go look,” he stammers. I can tell he’s not pleased with me.
Without another word, he leaves the condo, and I go sit down on the couch, frustrated that I failed my dear friend by losing the one thing he’s grown attached to.
Sarah. Listen to us.
D? What are you doing? You shouldn’t be talking to me right now! Aren’t the viewers watching this?
No, it’s frozen right now. All live video and audio feeds are having what we call a “rebooting time-out.”
Now, Sarah, listen carefully. James is on his way to see you. We caught him on one of the complex’s cameras. Now is your time to shine. To excel more than ever before. We need you to do something. Right now. This is your time, and your time alone.
Okay. Tell me what to do. I’ll try my best to do whatever you want.
Don’t be afraid.
Get up. Go to the half-moon table, open the drawer, and remove the gun Adam gave you. Yes, we know you hate guns, but this is the ultimate test of your loyalty—your trust in us and our trust in you.
You are to take the gun, and when James knocks on your door, you need to open it. Aim the gun and shoot. We will handle the rest.
What? I can’t do that. I won’t do that!
Logic and emotion war inside of me. Which response should I choose and why?
Sarah, we know you don’t want to do it. We know how you feel about James and his beliefs. But we know you’re the best one to accomplish this task. The boy needs to be eliminated. Now.
And we are willing to pay you one million dollars to pull that trigger one time. Only once. Even if you miss, you will be instantly paid.
But what about cameras? What if someone sees me do it? I can’t . . .
Yes, you can, Sarah. We know you; we know your heart.
And we have turned off all electronics involved, so there’ll be no surveillance traceable back to you. We have you covered.
But time is short. James is now by the mailboxes, and Jeremy is in the field looking for Eyes in the airplane’s remains.
It must be done. Now.
Take a breath. Get up, and let’s do this together.
One million dollars awaits you. What an opportune moment.
As if hypnotized, I put my phone down on the glass table and step toward the mahogany table. I pull open the drawer and, with my right hand, pick up the gun.
Excellent, Sarah. You’re doing great. Now when we say “three,” open the door.
I’m scared. I don’t want to do this.
I walk to the door and put my bad hand on the handle; it’s the kind that only needs to be turned down to open, not twisted.
I don’t want my hand or wrist to hurt when I push down on the handle and pull.
Good, now listen.
One.
Two.
I feel myself shaking inside.
You can do this. You can, Sarah.
Three.
My bad hand throbs as I pull open the door.
James is standing in front of it. He has a small metal object in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. He looks at me like he wants to say something, and then his eyes travel down to what I’m holding in my hand.
When I lift my right hand to shoot, I can’t do it. I can’t pull the trigger.
Suddenly, Adam’s door opens.
My neighbor screams, “Get away from her!”
A gunshot is heard.
A second shot blasts my ears.
James crumples to the ground. The last word I hear from him is, “Jesus.”
Sarah, put the gun away. Right now. Put it in your pocket. Everything is okay. You did great. Take a breath. You did well.
Numb to the command, I do what I’m told.
Adam starts cussing, holding his head with his hands, one of them still holding the gun. “What have I done? I thought he was going to kill you! What did I do?” He sits down in his doorway and starts balling, tears streaming down his face. Wailing.
I’m still standing at my door. I have no clue what to do next.
Jeremy comes running up the sidewalk, holding Eyes in his arms.
There are a few people behind him. One has a phone and is filming Adam, who is now weeping. “I’ve never seen this dude before. He was going to attack my neighbor, I swear it.”
“What happened, Sar? Are you okay? Oh, is that James?” Jeremy stares at the boy’s lifeless body.
I can’t speak.
Still a yard or two away from our doors, Jeremy turns his attention to Adam, “Are you all right, man? Is that your gun?”
My neighbor looks at the weapon, and a wave of surprise surfaces on his face as he says, “Man, yeah, it is. How about that? What happened?”
“Can you put that gun down? See that planter next to you, the one with the lemon tree? Why don’t you put the weapon there so I can check on James, okay?” Jeremy speaks softly.
Adam confusedly replies, “Sure, man. You know that dude?” He points the small pistol toward James, then his eyes land on the planter. “Dad loved that lemon tree; he’d always have me put a slice of its fruit in his soda. You like lemons, too, Sarah, don’t you? I’ll put it right here.” He tucks the gun into the soil, butt down. “But, Sarah, we may need to water the tree again, okay?”
I don’t speak. Only watch.
Jeremy steps over James’s body, handing me Eyes. I gingerly take the cat. Eyes lies in the crook of my bad left arm while I repeatedly stroke his head with my good hand.
Next, Jeremy asks Adam if he wants to go sit down on my patio in one of the chairs, no doubt to get him away from the situation. Surprisingly, Adam agrees, so Jeremy guides him by the arm as they carefully walk around James’s body.
As the two step down the walkway, Jeremy calmly tells a passerby who was filming to call 911.
Adam explains, “From my living room window, I saw that dude reach into his pocket by Sarah’s door and pull out something shiny. It didn’t look right. Like maybe it was a knife. So, I went to the door, opened it, and let out a warning shot. But the weirdest thing happened, this strange-looking bird was flying right above the guy’s head, so I took aim and pulled the trigger again. The bird flew away, but the shot hit the kid.”
I listen. Stunned.
I’m still standing in the doorway of my condo as I stroke Eyes deeper and more rhythmically.
While Jeremy asks more people watching the scene unfold to keep an eye on Adam and not let him out of their sight, he stoops down and checks James for a pulse.
His eyes lock on mine. His head moves ever-so-slightly back and forth.
Next, he pulls me into the condo and sits me down on the couch. I start to shake, so he puts the white throw around me. He tries to take Eyes out of my arms, but we both refuse the offer. I fiercely cling to the animal.
Jeremy whips out his phone and calls Zoey. Somehow, I had forgotten they shared numbers, but then I remember it was when I first came home from the hospital and they tried organizing every second of my life.
“Zoey. Is Amir with you?”
“Yes, why?”
“Emergency. Come to Sarah’s ASAP. She may be going into shock.”
“Okay.”
He clicks off the phone, and then immediately swipes it again. “Looking up the signs of shock. Here we go. Sweaty palms.” He checks my good hand. “Maybe so.” He further inspects my hands, my nail beds on my fingers. “Bluish, gray lips and fingernails. Could be.” He reads silently for a few seconds.
The sound of a siren is heard through the opened front door.
“Elevate legs. Let’s do that.” He prods Eyes to the side of my hip and ushers me into a lying down position, tucking two pillows under both feet.
Another minute of reading, and Amir and Zoey are at my side. Jeremy quickly gives them a rundown, and Zoey says Adam is still seated at the patio table with five guys flanking him.
Amir is opening my eyes and shining a bright light into them, being careful with my already bruised eye. I’m guessing he brought his medical bag with him. He tries to lift Eyes off the couch, but I insist the cat stays nearby.
As I keep my bad arm protectively covering my waist, where the small gun is hidden, he listens to my chest with his stethoscope. He asks me questions about being dizzy, drowsy, or nauseous. I shake my head negatively or say no to them.
I start to breathe better by taking slower breaths as Amir recommends.
Zoey comes over, so I point to the half-moon table and say, “Denny’s phone.”
She picks it up and brings his phone over.
“John. Cop.” I whisper the words. She opens the phone and tries the same password I have on my phone, and she’s in. She scrolls through the contacts and walks into the kitchen area to make the call, so I can’t hear what she says.
Jeremy leaves the condo for a few minutes. When he returns, he says, “Man, that Adam is stoned. Way stoned. He can’t remember what happened and kept talking about a silly bird that no one else saw. He’s trying to make the guys who have detained him laugh. He thinks it’s all a joke. I’m so glad he can’t see James’s body from where he’s seated on the patio.”
Zoey finishes her call and rushes to my side, explaining, “I talked to John, Denny’s friend who’s a cop. He’s on his way over. He says don’t touch anything and to keep Adam calm and away from the body.”
I try to sit up, but Amir won’t let me. Eyes is wedged between my left hip and the couch cushions, so I don’t dare move and upset the animal.
***
Twenty minutes later, John arrives with his partner, who, we’re told, is arresting Adam. John mentions that Adam is under the influence of drugs, so he will be thoroughly tested when they handcuff him and take him down to the station.
After John asks me how I’m feeling and if I can tell him what happened, I tell Amir that I’m fine and would be willing to talk. But after I use the restroom.
Eyes moves to the windowsill when Zoey and Jeremy help me to the bathroom.
When I turn on the light, the screeching fan clatters, like it used to.
I tell Zoey I feel sick to my stomach, so she helps me lean over the toilet. I throw up. She gently wipes my face and tears with a washcloth as I heave again. She gets another wet cloth and pats my face, eliminating all the spit, slobber, and whatnot.
When done, I ask her if I can go to the bathroom, to be alone for a few minutes. She tells me she will be right outside the door and exits.
D! Talk to me. Now!
Please. Right. Now.
Yes, you did great. You’re going to be fine.
No, I didn’t do great. I didn’t do well at all!
You didn’t have to pull the trigger. Thankfully, all that’s on drugged-out Adam.
But it’s wrong. You manipulated me. You manipulated him. You used us!
Yes, in some ways, we did. But we had to. It’s our goal—our purpose. We must get rid of these religious zealots before they turn one more soul their way. You helped us accomplish the task. That’s all you did.
Well, I don’t want your money. Number one: I don’t deserve it because I didn’t—couldn’t—pull the trigger. Number two: I should never have agreed to it in the first place.
Now, now, Sarah. You don’t mean that. But we understand your position. You’re scared. You’re traumatized right now. So instead of a million dollars, we have deposited a half million into your account. Already done.
But I don’t want it. None of it!
Sarah, do you know that your ratings went through the roof in the last half hour? You now have over a hundred thousand viewers. Plus, because of you, OWL offered our start-up company a two-billion-dollar deal today to merge with them! They will use our AGI implant program to make a better world. You, yes, you accomplished this feat.
You’re our best asset. Our viewers love you. We love you! So, go back to the couch. Don’t mention the gun; we’ll help you discard it later, and it never showed up on any video feed.
Okay. But I’m not pleased about this—any of it. Especially when Adam mentioned the bird.
We completely understand. We’ll keep our birds far away from you and give you a little break for a few days, if that’s what you need most. Time to heal and recuperate.
We’ll back off, but we’ll be in touch.
Go, relax, Sarah. You’re an amazing person.
Zoey pounds on the door, asking if everything is good. I flush the toilet for effect, run some water over my hands, dry them, and leave the room, shaking my head about the fan’s incessant noise.
With a compassionate tone in his voice, John asks me to sit at the dining room table. He gets out a small pad of paper and a pen. I mechanically and unemotionally walk him through the steps of James’s demise, but I don’t mention the gun that’s inches away from both of us. I see no need to tell him, I reassure myself, because I never pulled the trigger. The process is tiring, taking well over an hour.
Tell me, Viewer: What would you do here? Would you be honest enough to mention the gun in your pocket? Or would you skim over that small detail because it was never part of the equation? The gun was never fired. Would guilt play a factor down the road?
And I don’t mention the bird, since I honestly never saw it in the walkway.
While John interrogates me, James’s mom and stepfather arrive, but Zoey keeps them away from me by not letting them enter my condo. Thankfully, John has another police officer deal with them.
The mother doesn’t do well with the news—what parent would? I hear her cries and sobs seeping through the building’s walls. I’m sad about it, but I’m focused on my own survival.
When John and I are almost done, he pulls out from his vest pocket two clear plastic bags: One contains a white piece of paper with my name on it; the other is the keychain flash drive that James insisted he give back to us.
I tell John that there’s no need for me to read what’s in the note, as I can predict what it says. Nor is there any reason for him to return the drive after it’s been investigated.
***
Within four hours, James’s body has been removed. His blood has been washed off the walkway by a neighbor. Adam’s been arrested.
I’m doing much better as Amir and Zoey practically force-feed me and make me replenish my fluids.
***
By eight o’clock, Jeremy and I convince Zoey and Amir that I’m fine, only tired, and need rest from the trauma. I tell the three of them that I refuse to stay at my condo. At least, not tonight. Jeremy suggests taking me to his parents’ house. He doesn’t inform them of the address or location.
While Zoey quickly packs up an overnight bag for me, Amir instructs Jeremy on what to be aware of if I have any health issues and gives him some medicine for me.
After Jeremy crates up Eyes and loads him into the back of the Prius, he hands Denny’s keys to Amir, asking him to put my VW back in the garage.
With much ado, I’m kissed goodbye and seat-belted into Jeremy’s car.
The drive is quiet, with soft rock playing on the car’s radio. Jeremy repeatedly asks if I’m okay, which starts to irritate me.
I ask him where he found Eyes, and he replies, “It was the strangest thing. I walked over to the plane crash and looked around the fuselage for him, but he wasn’t there. As I was walking back to your place, this man I’d never seen before met me at the edge of the field. He cradled Eyes in his arms and asked, ‘Are you looking for your cat?’ I said yes, but how did he know?”
“Hmm,” I reply. “Maybe he heard you call out the cat’s name.”
“I don’t think I did—I mean, calling out Eyes would be a little weird, wouldn’t it? And when he handed me my pet, the cat acted like he was glad to get away from the guy, leaping into my arms. The man had a strange smile on his face. It was weird.”
I wonder if there’s more to the story.
When we get to the security gate to his parents’ house, it dawns on me that I left my phone on the great room’s glass table. My friend assures me he’ll pick it up tomorrow or the next day and not to worry.
After getting situated in Dylan’s old room in the Lincolns’ home, I take a sedative of Amir’s.
Not bothering to change out of my hoodie and cut-offs, Jeremy helps me pull off my shoe and sock, and I plop down onto the bed and wriggle under the covers. He softly lays a kiss on my head and wishes me sweet dreams while Eyes jumps up on the bed and snuggles next to my bulky waist.