Chapter 7 Anthony
Anthony
Through the window, I can see Lila bolting into her library, her movements frantic and desperate as she shoves that lavender chair against the door.
After a few minutes, a bright red BMW peels down the driveway, tires spinning on the pavement, the engine growling like an angry beast. Her fear is a physical thing, radiating through the glass.
I step deeper into the shadows of the dune grass, my mask still covering most of my face, watching as she sinks into her chair.
Not long after, she notices the stack of books I left by the window.
The books that weren’t supposed to scare her, but clearly have. I didn’t think this through.
I can still picture the moment I discovered the key earlier, a poor hiding spot under the welcome mat.
I almost laughed when my fingers brushed against it.
Most people think they’re clever, hiding keys in fake rocks or under flowerpots.
Not Lila and her husband. They went with the most obvious spot in the world.
The lock had turned easily. I’d expected an alarm to blare, but nothing happened.
Just silence greeting me as I stepped inside.
The house felt empty, hollow, like those model homes they stage for open houses, beautiful but unlived in.
I moved through it like a ghost, careful to avoid creaking floorboards, holding my breath at every sound.
Somewhere in the house, a shower was running. Her husband, I assumed. I didn’t have much time.
The library was easy to find. First floor, in the front of the house.
Right off the living room. The door stood slightly ajar, and I pushed it open, holding my breath.
The smell hit me first, honeysuckle and vanilla, but underneath that, the unmistakable scent of books.
Hundreds of them, lined on shelves from floor to ceiling. A sanctuary. Her sanctuary.
That chair by the door, massive and lavender, the size of a twin bed, it seemed out of place, facing the window instead of one of the bookshelves. But I understood when I saw the throw blanket and small pillow. She sleeps here. Not with him. That told me everything I needed to know.
I placed the books on the small table near the window, arranging them carefully, then scribbled the note on a piece of paper I’d torn from a small notebook nearby.
The words seemed fine then, friendly, non-threatening.
I wanted her to know I wasn’t some random creep, that I’d seen her distress at the bookstore and wanted to help.
Now, watching her through the window, I realize how badly I’ve fucked up.
Backing away from the table, with my note in her hand, she looks around frantically.
Checking in her bathroom. Her closet. Around her window, then walks into her living room and then back into the library.
The fear in her is palpable, and I caused it.
I never meant to scare her. Fuck, I only wanted to be romantic.
She’s looking at the note now, her hands trembling as she unfolds the paper.
I should have signed it. Should have explained better.
The words I wrote seemed fine at the time, but now, watching her panic, I realize how threatening they must sound.
“I will be seeing you soon.” What the hell was I thinking?
Pulling out her phone now, scrolling through the cameras. But with the basics Cainen sent and the jammer I picked up from my townhouse, they should all be static now. I look down at my jammer and realize I hadn’t turned it on. So, I switch it on and suddenly her face looks more worried than before.
The lights go out and I can barely see her as she looks through the window.
I try to duck, not wanting her to see me yet.
But she does see me, she looks directly at me.
With my mask on, standing in the shadows like some horror movie villain.
Her face goes pale, eyes widening as she spots me in the dune grass.
I freeze, not daring to move again. Our eyes lock for a heartbeat that seems to stretch into eternity.
I pull out my phone, blocking my number before typing quickly.
Unknown number: Don’t call the police. I’m not going to hurt you.
I hit send, watching as her phone lights up in her hand. She reads the message, looks back toward the window, but I’ve already shifted position, hidden from view behind a tall clump of grass.
Through the window, I can see her dialing anyway. Three numbers before she places the phone to her ear.
“Fuck,” I hiss, pulling out my phone again. I hit Dillian’s number, not his personal line, but the direct line to his desk at the police station. He picks up on the second ring.
“Maryland State Police, Officer Reynolds speaking.”
“Dillian, it’s me,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I need a favor. Big one.”
There’s a pause, then his voice drops. “Tony? What the hell, man? I’m on someone else’s clock right now.”
“I know. That’s why I’m calling. There’s going to be a 911 call coming in any second from a woman named Lila Fischer. I need you to take it.”
“What? Why? What did you do?” His voice is sharp, suspicious.
“Nothing bad, I swear. Look, short version, her husband’s an ass. I left her some books as a gift, and she freaked out. Now she’s calling the cops on me.”
“Books? Where did you leave the books, Tony?” The disbelief in his voice is clear.
“In her house.” I reply.
“Have you lost your goddamn mind!?”
“Just take the call, please. Take a cruiser and go yourself. Talk to her, calm her down, but don’t look for me. I’m not going to hurt her. I’m trying to help.”
Another pause. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head.
“This better not be what it sounds like, Tony,” he says finally.
“It’s not. I swear.”
“Fine. But you owe me an explanation. A real one, not this cryptic bullshit.”
“Thank you.”
I hang up, relief washing over me. Dillian will handle it. He always does. We’ve been through too much together for him to let me down now. Still, I owe him big time for this one.
I move further back into the dunes, finding a spot where I can watch the driveway without being seen.
A police cruiser pulls through the open gate about fifteen minutes later.
Dillian steps out, tall and solid in his uniform, his movements precise as he approaches the front door. Always the professional.
Lila answers after the second knock, her body language screaming anxiety—arms wrapped around herself, shoulders hunched forward. Even from this distance, I can see she’s been crying. Was this because of me or her husband?
“Mrs. Fischer?” Dillian’s voice carries on the evening air. “I’m Officer Reynolds. We received your 911 call about an intruder?”
She nods, glancing nervously over her shoulder. “Someone broke into my house. Left books and a note in my library. I saw him outside, in the dunes.”
Dillian makes a show of looking around, even shines his flashlight toward where I was standing earlier. “I don’t see anyone now, ma’am. May I come in and take a look at these books and the note?”
She hesitates, then steps aside. Dillian follows her in, and I lose sight of them. I edge closer to the house, careful to stay hidden, until I can hardly hear their voices through the closed window of the library.
“—a way to get in?” Dillian is asking.
“I don’t know,” Lila’s voice trembles. “The alarm didn’t go off. My husband was home earlier, but he left right after we had a fight.”
“A fight? About what, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Another pause. “Nothing important.”
“Mrs. Fischer, I need to ask. Does your husband ever hurt you?”
The silence that follows is so heavy I can feel it pressing against my chest.
“No,” she says finally, but the word sounds hollow, practiced. “Why would you ask that?”
“Just routine questions, ma’am. You mentioned a fight, and sometimes domestic situations can escalate.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
Dillian doesn’t push it. “What about this note? May I see it?”
There’s a rustling of paper. “He says he’ll be seeing me soon. What does that mean? Is he going to come back?”
“It could be nothing, ma’am. Some people leave notes like this, thinking they’re being romantic, not realizing how threatening it can come across.”
“Romantic?” Her voice rises slightly. “Breaking into someone’s house isn’t romantic!”
“No, it’s not,” Dillian agrees. “But the books and the note. Maybe the man is just a plain ole idiot?”
Gee, thanks. Dillian.
“Still, I don’t want anyone in here without me knowing who they are.” Lila says.
“Look, I recommend you carry some pepper spray, keep your doors and windows locked, and maybe consider staying with a friend for a few days if you’re concerned.”
“I can’t leave,” she says, so quietly I almost miss it.
“Ma’am?”
“Nothing. Never mind. Will you file a report?”
“Of course. I’ll need to take these books as evidence.”
“No!” The force in her voice surprises me. “I mean—they’re not evidence of a crime, are they? He paid for them. For me.”
Dillian pauses. I can picture his face—the slight furrow between his eyebrows when he’s thinking. “I suppose not. But the note—”
“I’ll keep it, in case anything else happens.”
They talk for a few more minutes. Dillian takes down her information, promises to increase patrols in the area, and suggests she call if anything else happens. Standard procedure. I owe him.
The cruiser pulls away about twenty minutes later. I wait another ten before pulling out my phone again.
Dillian answers on the first ring. “You’re lucky I caught that call before dispatch routed it. What the hell are you playing at, Tony?”
“Did you see her? Did you see how scared she was? And not just of me.”
“Yeah, I saw,” he admits reluctantly. “But breaking into her house? Leaving notes? That’s crazy, Tony.”
“She wouldn’t talk to me in the bookstore. I just wanted to get to know her.”
“By scaring the shit out of her? Great plan.”
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “I didn’t think it through. I just wanted to do something nice after what happened at the bookstore.”
“What happened at the bookstore?” There’s suspicion in his voice now.
“Long story. Look, I just need you to trust me on this one. Her husband’s bad news. I feel it in my gut. Something isn’t right.”
“And then what? She falls into your arms, grateful for her knight in shining armor?” The sarcasm is thick.
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” He sighs heavily. “Look, just be careful. And for God’s sake, stop breaking into her house. That’s not helping anyone. This is not how we operate.”
“Thanks for taking the call.”
“Yeah, well, don’t make it a habit. And Tony? We’re having a beer soon, and you’re going to tell me what this is really about.”
“Deal.”
I hang up, as I slide my phone into my pocket, it pings again.
An email notification. Cainen’s software package, right on time.
I open it, scanning the instructions. Simple enough—a program that will clone her phone when installed, giving me access to her texts, calls, photos, everything.
All I need is five minutes alone with her phone.
I settle in to wait, watching as Lila moves through the house.
She keeps checking the windows, the doors.
The security cameras are still down, thanks to the jammer.
Eventually, she returns to the library, barricades the door again, and turns off all the lights, except a dim one on a table closest to her chair.
But I know she’s not sleeping. Not yet. The fear is too fresh.
Hours pass. The temperature drops to its nightly low for mid-June. I should leave, come back later, but I can’t make myself go. Not until I know she’s safe. Not until I can fix what I’ve done.
Around four in the morning, the dim light in the library finally goes dark. I wait another thirty minutes, watching for any movement, any sign she’s still awake. Nothing.
I retrieve the key from under the mat again, turning it slowly in the lock. The door opens silently, and I step inside, holding my breath. The house is quiet, dark. I move through it like a shadow, making my way to the library.
I silently pick the door lock and push gently on the door, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges. The door isn’t barricaded anymore. She must have moved the chair at some point.
Lila is asleep in the lavender chair, curled up under a thick throw blanket, her red hair spilling across the pillow. Her face is finally peaceful, the worry lines smoothed away by sleep. Beautiful. So fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.
Her phone sits on the small table, just past where the door stops, charging. Perfect.
I move silently into the room, careful not to wake her. The installation takes less than five minutes. Cainen’s program is efficient. A small green checkmark appears on the screen, confirming the software is installed and running.
I should leave now. I’ve done what I came to do. But I can’t help standing there for a moment longer, watching her sleep. In this moment, she looks so vulnerable, so trusting. Despite the fear that drove her to barricade herself in this room earlier.
“I’m going to make you mine,” I whisper, so softly the words barely disturb the air. “I promise.”
She stirs slightly, a small frown crossing her face, and I freeze. But she doesn’t wake, just shifts under the blanket, settling deeper into sleep.
Slowly, I back away, careful not to make a sound. At the door, I pause for one last look, committing the image to memory. Lila, peaceful in sleep, surrounded by her books. The one place in this house where she feels safe.
I relock the door and pull it closed behind me with a soft click, then make my way back through the silent house. Outside, the night’s breeze is cool against my face as I remove my mask. The sky is just beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn.
As I walk back to my motorcycle hidden in the dunes, I know I’m crossing lines that shouldn’t be crossed. Breaking laws. Violating her privacy. But I’ve seen the fear in her eyes, not just of me, but of him. Of her husband. And I can’t walk away from that. I won’t.
Tomorrow, I’ll start learning everything I can about Lila Fischer and the man who’s made her so afraid. And then I’ll figure out how to get her away from him.
For now, though, I just need to get home and sleep. I’ve done enough damage for one night.