Under Her Care(34)
I didn’t sleep at all last night. I took an Ambien, but it did nothing except give me a huge headache that I still can’t get rid of. That was after I did ten thousand steps. That’s almost five miles. I walked five miles in my own house. That’s how scared I was after finding the note slipped through the mail slot. Every sound made me jump out of my skin. I kept racing back and forth to look out all the windows on the lower level, then dashing upstairs to watch the live footage from the security cameras. I couldn’t bring myself to stay in one place for more than a couple of minutes. It was torturous.
Sometime around four, I made myself lie in my bed with my eyes closed to rest my body. People say resting your body is the same as sleeping, but that’s a lie. My eyes feel like they’re going to bleed the same as if I’ve been up all night.
I did my best to carry on like everything was normal this morning for Mason. I have to find a way to keep his routines. Things can’t get off with him, or we’re in trouble. He loses skills so quickly. I don’t even want to think about what happened last time. That’s why I made sure his breakfast—oatmeal with cinnamon toast because it’s Tuesday—was on time and arranged on the red plate exactly how he likes it. He took his morning poop like clockwork, and we headed out the door for a walk before eight.
Things were going just fine until we walked down the driveway and I spotted something on the windshield of my car. I gripped Mason’s hand, digging my nails into him, and froze. My eyes skirted the yard for any activity or movement. There was none.
“Stay here!” I ordered, letting go of his hand and darting to the car. I snatched the card from the windshield and raced back to Mason. “Come on, we’re going back in the house. No walk,” I said with my head on swivel, scanning everywhere from left to right in case someone was hiding behind the rosebushes or next to the garage. I grabbed his arm to pull him inside, but he jerked away.
“No,” he said stubbornly, crossing his arms in front of him, digging his heels in like it was about to be one of those times.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I bellowed. “You’re not doing this.” I grabbed his arm again and yanked him inside before he had a chance to go into his fit, slamming the door behind us and punching the security code in as fast as I could.
“Ma. Ma,” Mason yelled, trying to grab my face and get me to pay attention to him, but I ignored him. His cries couldn’t reach me. It was all about the card in my hand.
William Jones Landscape and Design
P.O. Box 241
(714) 902-5593
I flipped the card over:
We need to talk
My heartbeat exploded in my ears. I quickly untangled myself from Mason and raced to the other side of the house. His wails cut through the walls. He stomped on the floor when his cries didn’t summon me back.
“You’re fine. Go play with your toys,” I yelled as I whipped open John’s office door. I ran to his computer and jiggled the mouse, bringing the security camera footage back to life. I rewound in short clips. I didn’t have to wait long for movement.
6:23 a.m. A person slipped through our security gate and strode up my driveway like they didn’t have a care in the world. They weren’t trying to hold themselves back from running or frantically looking behind them. No, they were completely calm as they sauntered on up to my car and slipped their card underneath the windshield wiper.
I have no idea if it was the same person as last time, but their appearance was identical—average build, all in white like a painter, hat on, and head down. That’s not any kind of an outfit a person advertising lawn services wears, so there’s no way it’s someone trying to pick up new clients in the neighborhood. That, and they put on gloves before slipping the note on my windshield.
How many people does That Monster have working for him? How am I supposed to defend against a small army? They can get in and out of my neighborhood—on and off my property—undetected. That’s the scariest part.
I called security at the entrance, but they weren’t helpful at all this time. The first guy blew me off completely and didn’t even want to take the time to look at their cameras to see who’d come through the entrance this morning. I asked to speak with his manager immediately, but he wasn’t any better.
“Ma’am, ma’am, calm down,” the manager said. “Lots of people signed in and out at the front gate this morning because Abel’s Painting Service is painting the street numbers on all the curbs in Camden Estates. Didn’t you receive the notice? All residents were supposed to have been informed.”
“Yes, I got it.” Their dismissal of my concerns was infuriating. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. Someone got onto my personal property. They left something on my windshield. That’s trespassing. Harassment. Totally unacceptable, and we have to do something about it.”
“I understand your concerns, and I’ll have a talk with the owner of Abel’s. I’ll remind him that his employees are not to solicit on any of the neighboring properties.”
“It’s not that he was soliciting. He was able to get on my property. That’s extremely dangerous. We can’t have people doing that.” I smacked my hand on the table.
He cleared his throat. “I understand you’re upset, ma’am, and like I said, I’ll be speaking with the owner, but did he damage your property in any way?”