Aftermath(88)

Could I talk to Mae about my theory? I’d like to. Give her a chance, and if she brushes it off as my wild imagination, then I’ll know where I stand.

I tap on her door. “Mae?”

When she doesn’t answer, I put my hand on the knob. Then I hesitate. If she didn’t answer my rap and call, that might be a hint that she just wants to go back to sleep. And do I really want to run this theory past her? What if she does believe me and notifies the police, and it turns out I’m wrong? How will that look – to her, to the police… and to the person I’m accusing?

No, Jesse’s the one who needs to hear this. The guy I can trust to listen and give a thoughtful, levelheaded response. I’ll speak to Mae after I’ve told Jesse what I’ve figured out.

What I’ve figured out…

I want to be wrong. I really want to be wrong. Just another case of Skye’s wild imagination. But my imagination has always been bound by that part of my brain that loves math and science. The logical part. The problem-solving part.

I’ve worked through the evidence and come to the correct conclusion. I know I have, as painful as it might be.

I release the doorknob and walk to the kitchen. I open the cupboard and…

There’s food.

Well, technically it passes for food, though a dietitian might argue. The cupboard is stuffed with junk food. Cookies, chips, candies, and those granola bar things that pretend to be healthy but we all know better.

I check the freezer. Pizza. Pizza pockets. Pizza rollups. Yep, every variation on frozen pizza ever invented.

I’m not sure whether to laugh or sigh. Maybe even cry a little, because this is proof that Mae really is trying. Trying so hard. I complain about her hipster selection of food, and what does she do? Fills the cupboard and freezer for me. Except she doesn’t know what I eat, so she just buys everything that teens consume in movies.

We’ll figure this out. And if “figuring it out” for Mae means “finding someone else to care for this alien creature,” then I’ll deal with that, as I’ve dealt with everything else in my life.

I open the cupboard again and take out a bag of Oreos. I’m putting it on the table when a light flickers in the front hall.

I peer down the hall to see a tiny green light on the wall. It’s solid now, and the “flicker” had just been me moving. But now that I’ve seen it, I find myself staring.

Why am I staring at a green light?

When I realize the answer, my gut goes cold.

The security panel light is green, just as it has been since I arrived, because Mae hasn’t been using it.

Except tonight, after we got home, I watched her set it. She gave me the code and made me write it down. Then she had me disarm it and rearm it.

I must have screwed up when I armed it.

No, we both saw the green light turn to a flashing red one.

Then I must have done something wrong. Something that disarmed the system after we turned away. Or Mae took out the garbage and forgot to rearm it.

And am I just going to presume that?

I walk into the front hall. With every step, I pause to listen, but the only sound I hear is the hum of the circulation fan.

I reach the panel and peer at it, as if from up close, that solid green light might reveal itself to be a blinking red one in disguise. Of course it’s not. The panel is closed, no sign of tampering.

I step to the front door. The lower lock is engaged, the dead bolt still in place.

I’m freaking out over nothing.

The door is still locked. The alarm hasn’t been tampered with. Mae must have turned it off. I heard her get up. Maybe that’s what she did.

Why would she do that? It doesn’t make sense.

I check the locks again. Both engaged, as they were last night. A thump sounds from another room, and I spin.

The apartment is silent.

I look into the kitchen. At the butcher’s block of knives.

Just take one.

That’s silly. Dangerous, even.

Take one.

I step forward. The kitchen light goes out.

All the kitchen lights go out – the overhead one and the one on the microwave and the one on the fridge. The green light of the security panel stays on, though. Okay, a fuse blew in the kitchen. That’s all.

I reach for the hall switch. Flick it up.

The hall stays dark, lit only by the glow of the security panel.

I try the other light, for the entryway.

Nothing.

The power has been cut.

Skye

No, the power can’t have been cut. The alarm is still — Battery backup. Otherwise, someone could just cut the power and break in.

No electricity. No Wi-Fi.

I put my back against the wall and reach into my pocket for my cell…

I’m wearing pj pants. My phone is in my bedroom.

I blink hard, trying to adjust to the nearly nonexistent light. As I do, I listen for something, anything. But the apartment is completely silent now, with the power out. No hum of the fridge or the fan.

Absolute silence.

I swallow, and I swear the sound echoes along the hall.

I could throw open the door and run. But where? To a neighbor, bang on the door in my pj’s… only to discover that everyone’s power is off, that it’s just a blackout, and the Wi-Fi was only the first sign of trouble.

I could glance out a window to check, but I’m nowhere near one. I could open the door and see if the hallway is lit, but if someone’s in here, they’ll hear me turning the bolt.