As She Repeated To Herself
“I dunno lady, I think it came that way.”
The voice of the deliveryman was harsh, like he’d been smoking unfiltered cigarettes for most of his childhood, but given them up after finding chewing tobacco. The package he talked about was a worn box, wrapped with ripped brown paper, the same color as his uniform, the same color of the dirt under her feet. He had looked up at her from his clipboard only after she had been turned to face him for a good five minutes. He’d startled her, coming upon her as he had, at the back of her house, as she stood barefoot in her rose garden.
She had looked at the package, questioning the messenger about the contents before she’d seen them. He shifted from foot to foot, looking nervous and uncaring at the same time. He pushed the package toward her, with the clipboard and pen resting awkwardly on the narrow edge of the package. She allowed the box to sit upon the ground, to brace herself for the signing of her signature at the dotted line, marked with a faint blue “X”. The pen ran out of ink halfway through her last name, but it was enough to satisfy her, and apparently was just fine for him as well. He took his clipboard back, and nonchalantly threw his pen over his shoulder in what might have been an effort to be charming, except that it was a noticeable effort. She smiled disdainfully, and he left quickly on the stone walkway leading to the front of her modest little home.
She picked up his pen on her way inside, and dropped it unceremoniously into her trash bin, normally reserved for the fliers and old newspapers from the previous week. She opened the package after she’d turned it over a few times, hearing nothing rattle or shake inside. Whatever was in this box was light, and incredibly over packed. Hundreds, then thousands of pieces of foam packing insulation fell out as she upended the box. After the small snowfall had finished around her feet, and finding that the box was undeniably empty inside, she put the box down, leaning up against her washing machine. She stooped to collect the fragments, and soon they joined the pen in her trash. She then turned the box over in her hands, wondering who would have sent her nothing. The return address provided little information; it was watermarked and smeared to beyond her ability to decipher. Her address though, was sealed water tight with several layers of clear tape. Also covered for protection was the postage: she noticed quickly that the package had at nine stamps too many affixed to it, and that nine of the ten were from other countries. Canadian post offices did not require foreign stamps from nine separate nations, at any rate. The one Canadian stamp had been postmarked, but the black ink was already running onto her hands from where it started on the clear tape. Puzzled, she let the box rest next to the back door, and rubbed the ink off of her hands, and onto her jeans. The ink was barely noticeable against the earthen stains of the garden, rubbed in the same places.
Her phone rang once, and she moved to answer it. Halfway across her living room, she realized that it wasn’t going to ring a second time; the caller had hung up. Her hair moved, tossed aside by the casual shrug she threw, though there was no one else around. Her feet drummed a staccato beat up the wooden stairs, echoing through the house. The sound had an unnatural quality to her, as the new hardwood floor changed the sound in ways the old carpet had not. The kitchen door was just barely slid open, no more than three or four inches. She peered outside, wondering which of her animals had scraped their way out this time. A rotund and contemplative cat peered back at her from her balcony railing, and she stuck her tongue out at the animal as she slid the door shut and locked it. Let it stay outside for a while; the day was warm enough anyway.
Her jeans and shirt practically flew off of her; the gardening, while relaxing, always made her feel incredibly dirty, so much so that she required a good shower to feel human again, regardless of how much actual gardening she’d done. Today though, she’d been out tending her flowers for a few hours at the very least. The laundry hamper was full, but not overflowing, and so caught her discarded clothing easily. The hot water droplets were honey on toast; they clung to her, and flowed over her without protest and making what alone was good into something delectable.
She stopped, suddenly more aware than she’d ever been. A noise. A strange noise had interrupted her. The water cascading around her ended suddenly, as she violently turned the taps to their closed positions. She stepped out of the bath, and felt her toes on the cold porcelain tile. Normally, her bathmat covered this tile, but she remembered having washed it and hung it on the clothesline earlier that day. She remembered thinking that it could stay outside for a while as she stepped into the shower. Now, dripping wet and hyper alert to her vulnerable situation, she wished she had the bathmat under her wet feet, to steady herself at least. Grabbing a towel, she covered herself as best she could, and slid up to the door. The bathroom door opened inward, and she arched her head out into the hallway. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing moved or lying on the floor. Her kitchen was as she left it, as was the stairwell. She glanced out the window above the kitchen sink, onto her balcony. The cat was not perched on the railing, though that was no surprise. That cat often wandered the yard, and nearby neighborhood. She paused a moment then, and realized what was missing from the house. A muffled thump, outside but against the side of her house made her focus again; this was the noise. The noise she’d heard in the shower. It must not have been as loud this time, as she wouldn’t have heard that little bit of sound over the water rushing from the faucet. She took the first steps toward the stairs, toward her front door, when someone began to pound on it, as loud as ever she’d heard, banging on the door as if intent to knock it off the hinges. She pulled back the curtains, shielding herself from sight as she peered out, modesty and fear intermingling. Her neighbor, clearly agitated, was pounding on the front door. He stopped, mid swing, as he saw the curtain draw back. His face was a mixture of panic and fear, but one that visibly calmed as he saw movement within the home. She drew back the deadbolt and opened the door a few inches. Before she could ask what had happened, he pushed the door open, hard, and then closed it solidly and twisted the deadbolt closed.
“Are you all right!?”
Puzzled and confused by the force of his question and his entry into her home, she could only stammer ineffectually as he looked around the entrance to her home. His brief visual search complete, he turned his gaze back to her, his eyes softening a little.
“You’ve got to get dressed. Now.”
He pushed her up the stairs, more insistently than anything, so she moved with him. As they got to her room, he stopped, and pulled her to a halt. He opened her bedroom door, leaving her in the hallway. She heard the closet door open and shut, and then the bed creak slightly. She shook a little, cold from the shower but also with fear. He came back out into the hallway, and nodded at her.
“Okay. You can go in and get dressed. Be fast. Very fast.”
She moved past him into the room, so close that she could feel his breath, ragged and warm, on her shoulder. She noticed for the first time that he was sweating like he’d been running, taking long breaths of air. He closed the door behind her, but told her to hurry up. She pulled on jeans and a dress shirt that she’d not bothered to unbutton, quickly, and opened her door. He was standing, back to the door, glancing up and down the hallway. He turned to look over his shoulder at her, and smiled a falsely reassuring smile.
“We have to go. I will explain when we leave the house, but for right now, we have to go.”
She nodded, afraid of his tone, afraid of how serious he looked. Years of being neighbors, and never once had she seen his brown eyes so dark and troubled. She followed him down her stairs, and into the mid-afternoon sun. He half led, half pulled her towards his driveway, away from her home. As he put her in his car, she began to hear the first sirens approaching, wailing in on the breeze like a baby, far away and in someone else’s arms. Gradually, the pitch and volume increased, until the flash of lights could be seen through the gaps in the houses. The urgency of the approach scared her, the speed that they ground to a halt made her jump. Two police officers scurried from the first car almost before it had halted, and covered the distance to her in just a few seconds. The second car braked in the same way, but in this instance, the two officers approached her home, circling first from either direction, then after meeting again at the front of the house, proceeded inside, one through the front, and one presumably from the back. The police officers with her looked agitated, very worried. She looked up at them from the passenger seat, the door still open and her legs hooked over the sill of the door, doubled back under the car. Shaken, and very scared, she stared at her front door, silently, until the two officers that had entered her house emerged. They scanned the front yard slowly as they made their way to her side. Ringed by her neighbor, and four police officers, she felt suddenly even more frightened. She stared at each of them, their uniforms a stark contrast to her own clothing. One of the officers moved away with her neighbor, and the two of them talked then, in hushed tones and furtive glances around the area, quietly exchanging information, quickly talking, and looking back at her, often.
“Wha… wha… why… what’s happening?”
She managed to stammer out a question, and as one of the officers knelt to begin to talk to her, the other three turned, to scan the street, almost as if to guard her, even now.
“Your neighbor phoned us, before he ran over to get you, Miss. I know this must be a shock, and I don’t want to alarm you, any more than you have been already. First, I want to tell you that you are safe now, there’s nothing to worry about any longer. What I am about to tell you, though, is difficult to hear, and if you feel that you need some time to collect yourself, please, just sit here and relax. Try to breathe normally, and just focus on the present, just focus on my voice, and the sunlight, and just take a moment to calm down.”
She nodded, slowly, still obviously distraught, but definitely showing signs of collecting herself. She looked at the officer again, and let out a slow, drawn breath. She nodded again, firmly.
“Sometime this afternoon, your neighbor noticed a van parked outside of your home. The van was apparently empty and your neighbor gave it no real attention after that point. Later, he noticed that the van had left the scene. Again, this is no real cause for attention. Not, at least at the time. However, your neighbor noticed, then, a …“
The pause in the officer’s voice was chilling to her, and she drew her knees up to her chest as he drew in a deep breath, as if to gain strength to continue.
“He noticed then, something which prompted him to call us. Now, Miss, I know you’ve been shaken up today, and I know this is going to be hard for you to understand when I say it, but I want you to know that we’ve found the van your neighbor saw. Empty, but the driver abandoned it as he fled the scene, so I want you to understand that you are safe with us right now, and that no one will do you any harm. Your neighbor noticed that someone had… had climbed onto your roof, Miss, and had tied your dog to… tied him to a rope, Miss, and had swung him off your roof, and into the side of your house. We think… Miss, we think your dog had already been killed when he had been thrown off the roof, and left hanging by the rope…”
She shook then, violently. She knew she noticed what was missing from her house. She knew, but had been interrupted by her neighbor. She knew. The officer held her by the shoulders, and spoke calmly to her.
“Miss, we’ve searched your home, and we are going to leave officers with you, outside your home for tonight, and until we find who ever is responsible for this. We are going to send people over to… examine what happened to your dog, Miss, and to remove, that is, to take the dog… away. Remember, Miss, that no matter what might have happened to you, you are safe now.
She stopped shaking, but continued to cry uncontrollably. As the sun set, and the shadows deepened, the four officers stayed with her, watching her regain her composure. As she seemed to gather herself together, one of the officers spoke.
“Miss, do you have someone you can stay with tonight? If you’d prefer to be with friends tonight, we can escort you to their home.”
She looked up, tear stains still fresh on her face, and shook her head a little.
“No, no, I will be alright here. Some of you, you will stay nearby in case… in case he comes back, right?”
She looked helpless, and one of the officers was quick to speak up.
“Absolutely, Miss. We won’t be leaving this location until we find whoever did this, or at least until we are perfectly sure that you are not in any danger from the individual.”
She unlocked her hands from around her legs, and let herself be led back into her house. She stared at the wall, from behind which she’d heard the muffled thump, the noise that she now knew the origins of. Her breath came ragged again, and she had to be steadied by the men holding her up from either side. They led her down her hallway, and put her gently into her bed. Fear and grief had played against her, and she soon slept, exhausted but fitfully. The officers moved through her house again, locking all the windows they found open, pulling all the drapes closed. Fingerprint dust had long since settled against the doors as they were shut, soundly, and throughout the house there was agreement that anything that could be locked, was locked. The police moved through her home, even as she slept, making sure that all was right, one last time, then two, and finally three last times, before they stepped outside, into the cool night air. A man would watch all night, from the front, and a man would walk around her house all night, vigilant and protective. They both knew that she was safe: they’d die to make sure of it, if necessary.
Her sleep was restless. She awoke more than once, her eyes scanning the inside of her room, searching the shadows for unfamiliar shapes, making demons out of familiar shapes. She jumped out of bed once, to the shades, and quickly opened them. She stared out at the night, at the police car that was parked in her driveway. She could see the officer, awake and intently watching her home. He saw her in the window, and waved from the seat of his car. She smiled, and waved back, reassured. The shade slid shut with the low rustle that only soft fabric can make. She knew that any noise she heard, the men outside would hear. She was safe.
Back in bed, she still slept fitfully, aware of awakening several times, only to remember that she was not dreaming and that she was still blisteringly tired. The red numbers on her alarm clock rolled over the time, late into the night. Midnight, she heard the car start outside, and pull out of her driveway, and another car roll in, and shut off. The ticking of the engine lulled her into a sleep that was the most deep she’d had yet.
She opened her eyes, but did not move. She felt as if she was on fire, but knew that couldn’t be true. Her eyes rolled around in their sockets, trying to force views at every angle without turning her head, or moving at all.
A noise. A strange noise had woken her. Slowly, she steadied her breathing, then stopped it, trying to strain to hear something in the darkness, without moving. Anything in the darkness. She could hear nothing, and lying on her side as she was, she could see nothing. She felt though, a presence, in the dark. She was facing her alarm, the red numbers clicking just past two thirty seven in the morning. She was facing the door of her room, left exactly where she’d remembered it being open at midnight. Or … almost exactly? No, exactly. She was sure. She was safe. The men outside were watching her.
But another man watched her. He’d lain in darkness and oppressive heat for hours. He ached, tired and sore, but a deeper ache again even than immobility brings. He pushed to his knees and hands, all his limbs protesting the movement, the strain out of an uncomfortable position into a horribly painful posture. His hands sought the sturdiness of the wood he’d braced himself against all night. He scuttled, unable to stand in the darkness, until he felt the wooden frame and small brass handle that opened soundlessly. He hung, feet dangling from the trapdoor in the ceiling, feet just inches off the new hardwood floor. His shoes were paired and laced carefully against the wall, and the deeply set attic door hidden in the recesses of her closet was drenched in shadows. Even as he hung in the darkness, she would not be able to see him, had she been staring right at him. He let go, and landed on the balls of his feet, and rolling his feet flat against the floor to absorb the impact. The noise of his sock feet hitting the floor was not enough to wake even the cat that slept on her bed. He paused, and listened to her deep breathing. She was facing away from the closet, facing away from the window. His breath was calm, the air moving silently into and out of his pink lungs, tiny movements in his moustache the only sign that he was breathing at all. His chest did not even rise and fall with the motion. Slowly, he slid his feet across the floor, spreading his weight until he was sure the new floors would not creak. The cat, startled awake, stretched leisurely and flicked her tail. He stopped moving, and the cat arched her back, and then jumped off the bed with a light thud, and then sauntered out of the door, moving it ever so slightly. He slid up to the top of the bed, out of the reflection of the mirror, out of the faint light through the window behind him. Silver caught the briefest of light as he slid a long, ugly and stained knife from his sleeve, and placed it, handle toward the bed, on her end table. It made more noise than he wanted, and he froze, still and unbreathing. He was sure she’d tensed in her bed. He counted her breaths for sixty seconds. Then for one hundred and twenty. Then for one hundred and eighty. Her breathing had increased. He was sure she was awake. Why wouldn’t she turn over if she were awake? She could feel him, in the room. That’s why. He knew it, he knew she thought he was right behind her, right over her shoulder. So she lay, quiet, trying to appear asleep, as if that would save her.
No, she was alone. She was being crazy. The door was exactly open where it was earlier; there could be no one in her house. She knew, so convincingly that she was alone and safe, that she fell back into sleep, gradually, and knew unconsciousness again.
He counted, again, as she breathed in and out. He made his body match her breathing. He noticed the relaxing of her muscles along the length of her body, noticed how supple she became as she slept, and how unaware, and casual she was about him being there. How flippant. How disrespectful of his presence. How genuinely disinterested in his very existence she was. And that filled him with rage. Rage that he had not known in a very, very long time. He fought it down, within himself, this bile and anger. She’d pay, like any of the others had paid. She’d know his rage, and she’d know about his existence. He’d be sure of it. He knew just what to do: what he’d always known to do. It was perfect. And she’d never be able to forget him, in her room, in her house. Never.
The next morning, groggy but awake, the men outside watching, knocked on her door, some time after eight. She was slow to answer, though they did hear movement inside. They talked, for a moment, before they realized she wasn’t coming to the door. Exchanging worried glances, they pushed open the front door. The silence of the house now oppressed them. Where before they heard movement, they now second-guessed themselves… was there really movement? Was it her? In a fleeting instant, they both realized what the other was thinking.
Or was it him?
They charged up the stairs, feet stomping on the new hardwood, and rounded the corner to her room. They slid on the floor in their haste, and stumbled to a stop in her room. She sat bolt upright in bed as her door slammed open. The officers surveyed her room quickly, making sure she was alone. She looked up in surprise, her mouth wide open.
“Is… is he back? Is he back in my house?!”
Her voice almost wailed, until she heard the officers explaining that they over reacted to her not answering the door quickly, they over reacted, that was all, just worried about her, but obviously she was alright. Nothing had happened to her during the night. She was fine. They chuckled about their worry, and told her that it was nothing more than nerves, they were worried, but she was fine.
She pulled her legs out from under the covers, and stood up with the officers, her flannel pajamas covered in daisy’s and blue swashes of color. She padded to her kitchen on her tiptoes, the men following behind her, as she fixed coffee. She didn’t offer, instead simply took three cups down from above the sink, and began to pour. One officer watched as she spooned in sugar and cream and then took a turn with both, while the other simply began to sip at his, dark and bitter.
They chatted, softly and with small breaks of quiet laughter, laughing about their fears, and how it had just been all in their minds. They were so sorry to have alarmed her, so sorry to add to her worry. She forgave them, they were only being protective, and she needed to feel protected, right now, she said. She was grateful that they’d run right in, and be ready to help so quickly. She felt safe, she said.
They walked back out the front door: daytime was safe, she wouldn’t need someone to watch her during the day would she? No, she replied, of course not, don’t be silly. They left, and promised to return that night. She’d be safe.
It was all in their minds, she repeated to herself as she held the rapidly cooling cup of coffee in her hands. It was all in their minds, she repeated to herself as she walked to her room to make her bed, and get dressed for the day. It was all in their minds, she repeated to herself, as she pushed open the door to her room. It was all in their minds and she picked up the hairbrush from her dresser and began combing the night’s worth of tangles from her hair. It was all in their minds, she repeated to herself, as something caught her eye in the mirror. It was all in their minds, she repeated to herself, as she turned to look at her end table. It was all in their minds, she repeated to herself, as she screamed herself hoarse at the sight of the knife, slathered in blood and fur, sitting on her end table. It was all in their minds, she repeated to herself, as she repeated to herself, it was all in their minds, she repeated to herself, as she repeated to herself, it was all in their minds, as she repeated to herself, as she repeated to herself, it was all in their minds, as she repeated to herself, it was all in their minds, she repeated to herself, as she repeated to herself.
