Stay Inside
Chapter 1
I noticed because the siren cut through the documentary playing on my second monitor.
I looked toward the window and waited for the red wash of emergency lights across the blinds, but saw nothing. The ambulance was already farther east, headed toward St. Agnes.
Then I looked back at the spreadsheet.
Friday nights weren't much different from Tuesday nights for me. That was one of the benefits—or drawbacks—of working remotely. My official workweek had ended at five, but the boundary between work and everything else had blurred sometime during my second year with Northern Prairie Mutual.
At twenty-eight, I was just under six feet and lean, in decent shape mostly from walking and spending time outside. My short brown hair was usually styled up a little in front, though by that hour it had started to flatten.
I was an operations analyst for the insurance company, which meant I spent most of my day looking for things that didn't fit.
Claims volume unexpectedly high in one region.
Turnaround times suddenly dropping somewhere else.
A processing team falling behind.
A number that should have been twelve appearing as twenty-seven.
Nothing glamorous. Most of my job involved catching small problems before they grew, sending emails to people who could fix them, and occasionally explaining why somebody's dashboard was wrong.
I liked the patterns, the independence, and being able to finish something without three meetings about how to finish it.
And apparently, I liked doing things at 11:18 on a Friday night that absolutely could have waited until Monday.
I saved the spreadsheet and closed it.
The documentary on my other monitor was about an archaeological site in Turkey. I'd been half watching it for forty minutes and retained almost nothing.
I leaned back and stretched until something between my shoulders cracked.
My apartment was quiet except for the television, refrigerator, and occasional muffled sound from elsewhere in the building.
Oakstone Apartments wasn't luxury housing, despite the website's determined use of the word luxury, but it was decent. Three floors. Beige siding. Fake stone around the main entrance. Twenty-four units.
Mine was a third-floor one-bedroom at the west end of the hallway, with an open kitchen and living room and a small balcony I rarely used.
My desk sat near the living-room window, which gave me a partial view of the parking lot.
My Honda Civic was down there beneath one of the yellow lamps. Gray. Twelve years old. A few scratches. Paid off. It started every time. That was enough.
I stood and rolled my shoulders.
I went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
Leftover chicken. Eggs. Vegetables. Yogurt. Beer I'd bought two months earlier and apparently had no intention of drinking.
Enough food.
The freezer held more of the same. I shut the door.
My phone buzzed on the counter.
A local notification from an app I barely used: Police activity near Rothwell Avenue. Avoid area. Rothwell was maybe four miles away.
I opened it. Forty-three comments already, most useless.
Anyone know what's happening?
Heard gunshots.
My sister says somebody got stabbed.
One caught my attention: Friend works at St. Agnes. Says multiple assaults coming in. I scrolled.
Someone had replied:
Source: trust me bro.
I smiled.
There it was.
The internet restoring order.
I put the phone down.
A second siren sounded outside.
Closer this time.
I pulled one blind aside. An ambulance crossed the intersection and accelerated east. A police cruiser followed ten seconds later.
Friday night. Maybe a crash or a fight. There were a hundred ordinary explanations.
I let the blind fall.
That's a lot of sirens.
Then I went back to my desk.
At 11:41, I heard the first scream.
It was distant enough that I wasn't sure. I paused the documentary. A car door slammed in the lot, voices carried up, and a woman laughed. Then nothing.
I started the documentary again.
Two minutes later, my phone buzzed.
A text from my friend Aaron.
You seeing this shit?
I typed:
What shit?
Three dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Then a link.
The thumbnail showed a dark parking lot and three blurry figures.
I almost didn't open it.
Then I did.
The video was nine seconds long.
Vertical.
Shaky.
Somebody was filming through a windshield. One person was down on the pavement. Another crouched over them.
Two people were trying to pull the crouching person away.
The person on the ground jerked.
The one kneeling over them twisted violently and lunged at somebody trying to help.
The camera jumped sideways.
Someone shouted.
The clip ended.
I watched it again.
Where is this? I texted.
Aaron replied:
Supposedly Rothwell Kwik Trip
Then:
Probably fake
I enlarged one frame.
The lighting was terrible. Faces blurred into blocks. The entire thing could have been staged.
That looks fake.
I sent:
Yeah probably
Aaron reacted with a thumbs-up. I put the phone down, then picked it up and watched the video once more.