Chapter 3
thRee
MY FOOT THROBBED UNDER the dozens of layers of gauze and wrap.
They'd sent me home with pain pills, but I stuck with ibuprofen.
I didn't want to lose what little awareness I had.
I spent the wait in the ER ordering home security items. With the miracle of same-day delivery, they were waiting for me when I got home.
I was sweating more than the weather warranted as I drilled holes in the door for my new deadbolt.
I told myself that when I had it installed, I'd take a break and call a professional for the rest. It was that or sit around replaying the moment I woke up with a stranger breathing in the corner of my bedroom.
I wasn't due to check in with my new supervisor until the following week.
I'd thought it would be nice, having a week off.
Now the time stretched endlessly. Two weeks in a new house.
Two weeks in a new city. And already one break-in.
The timing did not feel like coincidence, no matter how hard I tried to pretend it was.
With the last screw in place, I shut the door and yanked on it.
Of course, the deadbolt held. Not sure what I expected.
I limped my way to the bedroom, my pulse playing a lively bongo beat in the sole of my foot, and collapsed on the bed. After shoving a wad of blanket under my foot, I searched up security companies on my phone.
I absolutely played the pitiful, defenseless woman to get him to come the same day, and I wasn't going to shame myself for it.
I wanted my small house locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
I didn't shy away from my fear, but I didn't give in to it either.
I hoped that having a top-of-the-line security system would cut some of the vulnerability I was feeling.
I didn't want to cower in my house, but every time the memory of the heavy footfalls after me drifted through my mind, my heart raced and I wanted to check under the bed and in the closets.
Again. My nerves hummed, restless and wrong, like my body wanted to bolt toward something instead of away from it. I blamed adrenaline.
Mr. Howard brought me a casserole and immediately admitted he had asked his church secretary to make it.
That was a relief. I'd endured a dinner with Mr. Howard the night after I'd moved in.
He wanted to welcome me to the neighborhood.
I left thinking he wanted me gone. Most of my plate ended up smuggled out in a napkin and thrown away in the first garbage can I found.
He was a sweet old man, but he couldn't cook to save his life.
My nerves were on edge, but my foot hurt too much to pace. I flung myself into different positions on the bed trying to get comfortable, but it was like fire ants were under my skin.
I grabbed my phone and cycled through all of my social media accounts, landing on the one where I saved inspiration for my future house.
I wouldn't be able to do ninety-nine percent of them in the rental, but scrolling through images of bathrooms, kitchens, and decor was distracting.
Safer to think about tile choices than the fact someone had stood in the dark and watched me sleep.
Safer than wondering if this was random.
.. or if my work at Novagen had followed me home.
Which was why I jumped ten feet off the bed and landed on my bum foot when the security installer knocked. He must have heard my string of curses because when I opened the door he was trying not to laugh.
"I'm sorry I scared you."
I glowered at him. "Are you Frank?"
He shook his head. "Nah, Frank's the owner. He doesn't do installs anymore."
"Okay, well, he should have told you that someone broke into my house last night."
"He should have, but he didn't. I'm really sorry I startled you."
We stared at each other in awkward silence for almost a full minute before he cleared his throat.
"Can I come in? I need to assess the vulnerable points before I can work up a system for you."
"Fine." I limped back and opened the door wider so he and his tool belt could come inside. His eyes flicked to the lump of bandage that was my foot, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
I sat back at the table while he did a loop through each room. It didn't take long. After that, we talked about how invasive I wanted the system to be. After explaining it was a rental, he frowned.
"That's going to limit what we can do, but I'll get you set up with window and door alarms. If the landlord gives you any trouble, send them to Frank."
I signed the work order without looking at the total.
I didn't want to know, and didn't care, how much it cost. There weren't any other rentals within an hour's commute of the office.
Even if there were, I wouldn't want to move again with an injured foot.
No matter how few things I had. And moving again wouldn't change the fact that if this was about my job, a different house wouldn't matter.
After three hours, he was showing me how to arm and disarm the system, plus the routines he'd programmed for when I was in the house and when it would be empty.
"You should get a dog."
"What?" I'd been staring at the control panel trying to commit to memory all the instructions. I relaxed when he handed me a manual.
"A dog. Preferably a big one. Most criminals go for the easiest target. The security system will help. Eighty percent will move along when they see it, but the other twenty percent will take it as a challenge. Nobody wants to deal with a big dog."
I considered it as we said our goodbyes.
The backyard was big enough, and I was certain the landlord would let me fence it in.
It would be nice not to be alone in the house.
The problem was my job. This wasn't the first time they'd relocated me, and I worked long hours.
It wouldn't be fair to the dog. Besides, an alarm and a big bark weren't much protection if the real danger wore a lab coat and carried a security badge.
The break-in had to be connected to my job. It was the only thing that made sense. There wasn't anything of value in the house, and the timing was too coincidental. But why would anyone want to hurt the newly arrived compliance officer?
Novagen ran vaccine trials, clinical oversight, compliance audits. Unsexy work. Necessary work. I’d built a career on making sure no one crossed lines—on asking annoying questions and double-checking paperwork no one wanted to do.
I’d signed off on everything from safety protocols to routine injections without incident. None of this made sense.
I sighed and sat back at the table to pick at the casserole. It was delicious and prompted a brief but intense pity party. My foot hurt. I had no furniture, very few groceries, and the idea of going out to get those things exhausted me.
I didn't want to stay cooped up in the house, either. The doctors said I could walk on my foot since I hadn't needed stitches, but I would need to protect it somehow. Even the pair of sandals I had were too small to fit over the bandages. My big, clawed monster slippers actually fit.
I glanced once toward the front window. The yards, the tree line, the ordinary suburban street. No intruders. No shadows in the corner. Just the faint, ridiculous reflection of me in fuzzy claws.
I giggled hysterically. Looked like I'd be shopping in monster feet slippers.