A weird noise in the cop’s throat sounds awfully like a snort. Then she says, “Nora, you have to go. Or I’ll have to detain you.”
That draws the naked witch’s attention. Both her eyes pop open as she stares at the cop.
“Yeah?”
“Nora,” the cop says with a warning.
“Cheryl,” the witch replies with the same tone.
“Nora,” she starts again, but we both know where it’s going.
This is where I lose my patience. Walking up to the sheet on the ground, I grab it, turn to the naked woman, and throw it over her shoulders.
“What—”
Her question drowns in a wave of shrieking when I grab her off the ground and haul her over my shoulders.
“What are you doing? Cheryl!”
“Sorry, Nora,” the lazy cop apologizes tiredly. “He has the right to defend his property.”
“Especially when you’re not doing shit,” I throw back, making her rear back.
“Excuse the fudge out of me, but you just came to town and you’re already bringing your own rules.”
Ignoring her dumb comment, I keep striding toward the fence separating our properties. There should be a way she got in here, so I can squeeze her right back through. I’d much rather throw heroverthe fence, but I don’t want to risk her having broken bones after the fall—the fence is high.
I walk along the whole perimeter while she’s punching my back with her fists, showering me with colorful profanities impressive even for me who spends my days on constructions sites.
“What are you going to do?” the cop asks, hot on my heels but not trying to interfere.
“Deliver her back. How the hell did she get in here?” I whisper under my breath, stopping when I can’t find a hole in the fence.
“Once you’re off your property, I can arrest you for assault.”
Coming to a halt, I feel a wave of rage rise from the pit of my stomach. It starts as a small spark. A weak one. Until it grows into a raging fire.
Dropping the woman on the ground, I walk up to the officer and lean closer to her. “Get her out of here. Now.”
Fisting my hands by my sides, I walk back to my house, feeling their curious stares on my back.
3
Nora
“What’s up with him?” Cheryl says as we both watch my new angry neighbor striding toward his house. His shoulders are rigid, steps heavy. With hands clenched into fists, he disappears inside the house.
“He got mad.” That much is obvious.
“You think?” she asks, turning to me with a quirked brow.
I wave her off. “I was just messing with him, and he was pissed but notmadmad. Something shifted in his energy.”
“When I warned him about being charged with assault,” she notes carefully, returning her attention back to my neighbor’s house.
“Yeah,” I reply mindlessly, trying to listen to my intuition but coming up short. The man, despite his giant size and ragged appearance, doesn’t give off any warning vibes. At the same time, he also lacks any welcoming ones, which makes him a total enigma for me.
When I came here this evening, I wasn’t ready for anyone to come out of the house. I figured someone had moved inwhen I returned from work and saw the lights on for the first time in years. I was happy because this house has been falling apart but also sad since our solitude at the dead end of our lovely street would be no more. And I like our solitude and quiet. It gets a bit scary during long winter nights sometimes, but those months are not long enough to justify sharing our wonderful space with a grumpy stranger.
