Novel Square
Chapter 7
I know her routine. She rarely deviates. Every Tuesday at seven thirty, she emerges from her inherited house that doesn’t quite fit her personality and walks briskly down the street, her heels clicking against the uneven sidewalk. She carries a worn leather purse that’s seen better days, but it’s large enough to carry a laptop which she often does but not always. Today, she’s carrying the laptop. I can tell by the slight tilt of her shoulder, compensating for the extra weight. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, not a strand out of place. She’s wearing that navy blue jacket again, the one with the slightly frayed cuff that she thinks no one notices.Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.
As she rounds the corner heading to catch the morning ferry to Manhattan and Pete’s Cafe, I slip out of my hiding spot, knowing this is my time to act. Her home will be empty. Now all I have to do is get inside.
I already know she doesn’t have a key under a flower pot or beneath a rock. I have one chance. I’m hoping her neighbor is my ticket in. I’ve observed their interactions: friendly waves, occasional cups of sugar borrowed, conversations as they collect their mail. If anyone has a spare key, it’s him.
“Mr. Haven,” I say as the elderly man opens the door. He’s wearing a faded flannel robe and fuzzy slippers, his wispy white hair sticking out in all directions. His rheumy eyes squint at me in confusion. “I don’t know if you remember me but—”
“Oh yes, you’re the nice gentleman who helped me the other day when I fell on the ice.” He glances over my shoulder to the scene of the incident.
I nod, relieved he remembers. “That’s right. I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing today.”
Mr. Haven’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Oh, I’m right as rain, thanks to you. Just a few bruises, nothing serious.” He pauses, then adds sheepishly, “Though I must admit, I’m a bit embarrassed about the whole thing. Slipping like a newborn colt at my age.” Mr. Haven’s gaze lingers on my uniform. “You’re in uniform today.”
I chuckle softly, looking down at my uniform. “Ah, yes. I was off duty when I helped you. Today I’m on my way to the station for my shift.”
Mr. Haven’s eyes light up with interest. “I always wanted to be a fireman when I was a kid. I bet you have some great stories.”
I smile, nodding. “It certainly keeps life interesting. But listen, I was hoping you could help me out. Chloe mentioned that her fire detectors were beeping and driving her crazy. I said I’d swing by and replace the batteries for her and check them. I knocked on her door and she’s not home. But since I’m here, I was hoping you’d have a key so I could run in really quick before I head off to work.”
Mr. Haven hesitates, then smiles. “Of course. That’s so nice of you. People these days don’t seem to look out for each other like they used to. It’s refreshing to see someone so willing to help.” He shuffles back into his house, returning a moment later with a small key. “Here you go. It’s the spare Chloe gave me for emergencies.”
I take the key, feeling its weight in my palm. “Thank you, Mr. Haven. I really appreciate this. I’ll pop in, change those batteries, and be on my way.”
“Take your time, young man. I’m sure Chloe will be grateful.” Mr. Haven’s eyes twinkle. “And maybe next time you’re off duty, you can stop by and share some of those firefighter stories. I’d love to hear them.”
“Of course.” As I turn toward Chloe’s apartment, I notice that the snowflakes that were falling lightly have picked up intensity, swirling in the air and accumulating on the ground. “Actually, when I’m done with her alarms, I’m going to shovel your walkway and put salt down if you have any. Let’s get you ready for the upcoming storm coming this afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” Mr. Haven says, his voice warm with gratitude. “The salt’s in the garage, but don’t trouble yourself too much. I know you’re on your way to work.”
I wave off his concern. “It’s no trouble at all. I’ve got plenty of time before my shift.”
With a final nod to Mr. Haven, I make my way to Chloe’s door. The key slides smoothly into the lock, and I step inside. The house is quiet and dark, with a faint scent of cinnamon in the air. I pause for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the dimness. The living room is tidy, with a plush couch and a bookshelf filled with colorful spines. I take a moment to take in the part of her house I’ve never seen. I’ve committed every inch of her bedroom to memory from all my time standing outside her window, but this is all new territory for me. The space is exactly as I imagined it would be—cozy and inviting, just like Chloe herself. I resist the urge to explore further and remind myself why I’m here. Focus on the task at hand.
I spot the smoke detector on the ceiling near the kitchen and head toward it. It’s not the one that she bashed, but I’m going to check it anyway since I’m here. I pull over a kitchen chair to stand on, wishing I had taken my boots off before entering her home. But I’m on a time limit since I don’t know exactly how long I have before Chloe returns.
The battery compartment opens easily, and I replace the old batteries with new ones from my backpack that I brought. The detector gives a reassuring chirp as it comes back to life.
I move to the one in her bedroom, the one that I watched her crush into pieces to silence it. I brought a spare detector, pretty sure her other one is beyond repair. The scent of cinnamon is stronger here, emanating from a small diffuser on her nightstand. Her bed is unmade, the comforter twisted as if she’d left in a hurry.
The smoke detector, or what’s left of it, hangs limply from the ceiling. I carefully remove the broken detector, my fingers brushing against the jagged edges where Chloe’s frustration had taken its toll. As I work to install the new one, my eyes wander around her bedroom, drinking in every detail. The framed photos on her dresser, the half-empty mug of coffee on her nightstand, the pile of clothes draped over a chair—each item feels like a precious clue, another piece of the puzzle that is Chloe.
I finish installing the new detector and reach for my backpack once again. My hands shake. My mind screams no. I shouldn’t do it. I should stop. But I don’t. Instead, I pull out a nanny camera. It would fit so perfectly next to this alarm and Chloe would never be the wiser.
My heart races as I position the tiny camera, angling it just so. It blends seamlessly with the new smoke detector, practically invisible unless you know exactly what to look for. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. This is wrong, I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help myself. I need to see her, to know her, to keep an eye on her at all times.
Last night when I came up with this plan, I justified it by telling myself it’s so I don’t have to stalk outside her window anymore. I’d be taking one step closer to not being the creeper. I’d ween myself off. I’d . . . I’d be able to protect her better. That’s what I tell myself as I secure the camera in place, my fingers clumsily moving.
As I step back to admire my handiwork, a wave of guilt makes me want vomit. What am I doing? This isn’t protection; it’s invasion. I’m violating Chloe’s trust, her privacy, her very sense of security in her own home. The weight of my actions suddenly feels crushing.
I reach up, ready to tear down the camera, to undo this terrible mistake. But as my fingers brush against it, the creeper stalker in me returns. And he’s so much stronger than the good angel on my shoulder telling me how fucked up this is.
I leave the camera in place, my upper lip sweating. The guilt is still there, but it’s overshadowed by a sick sense of anticipation. I’ll be able to see Chloe whenever I want now, in her most private moments. The thought both thrills and disgusts me.
Quickly, I gather my tools and make my way out of the bedroom. I need to leave before I do anything else I might regret—or worse, before Chloe returns home. I lock up and head back to Mr. Haven’s house, my mind racing with thoughts of Chloe and the camera I’ve just installed.
Mr. Haven greets me with a warm smile, oblivious to what I’ve done. “All fixed up?” he asks.
I nod, plastering on a fake smile. “Yes, sir. Batteries changed and everything’s in working order. She’ll be safe now.”
As I shovel Mr. Haven’s walkway and spread salt, my mind races. What have I done? What will I do next? The line between protector and predator has never felt so blurry.