But her bedroom beckons. A glint catches my eye when I walk into her room, then I’m drawn to her bed, lifting the duvet. The impression of her body is still held in the sheets.
I tug the cover back into place and stretch myself across it, arms lolling off either side. Sitting up a little, I film myself for a few seconds, and the temptation to send it immediately pulses through me. A digital middle finger.
Instead, I pocket the device and begin searching. The wardrobe holds nothing of interest. The dresser top has combs, a brush, a gigantic tub of sunscreen. First drawer, underwear and bras, their laundry powder scent not keeping my interest long. Second drawer, t-shirts and jeans. Yawn.
The bottom drawer is locked. Visions of diaries, secret porn, or illegal drugs dance in my head.
Something I can use for leverage.
Pulling the lock picking kit from my pocket, I apply the tension wrench, feeling for tiny vibrations as the pick scrapesagainst the tumblers. A simple lock, only two pins. The second tumbler clicks into place and I twist right. The drawer slides out with a whisper of trapped air.
Socks. Pantyhose. Nothing secretive.
My fingers dig deeper, checking under every item, squeezing each toe. Nothing. I slam the drawer shut, frustration gnawing inside me. Who locks away hosiery?
Nobody.
Reopening the drawer, I trace its sides, base, and back. The space seems shallower than the drawer above. One firm press against the back panel triggers a spring-loaded mechanism. A pill bottle rolls forward from the hidden compartment, and I seize my prize.
Ophelia’s details are just legible on the worn prescription label, and inside are a mix of different capsules. My phone’s AI scanner identifies them as anti-depressants. Citalopram and bupropion.
Reading past the summary, it warns about the increased potential for side effects, but Ophelia’s hardly in danger from those. Not when the pills are clumped together, the capsules partially melted like she spat them out.
Selling? She wouldn’t have so many if they were useful currency, and if it were simply a case of her not taking her meds, they’d be washed straight down the sink.
Collecting for pharmacy disposal? To use on someone else? Unlikely, and there’s only one other reason I can think of.
A reason that makes my heart race, and I sit on the mattress before my legs spill me to the floor.
She doesn’t seem the type. Sure, there’s the bullying, the disability, but she’s navigating those fine from what I’ve seen. The flashes of spirit in her eyes, the gloating expression when she got one over on me. Ophelia’svibrant.
But the evidence is in my hand… and the longer I stare at the faded label, the more a unique opportunity blossoms in my head.
Closing my eyes, I picture her last night. Her body swaying towards mine when I showed my true face, attracted when others would run screaming. Her quick smile.Private joke.
No wonder I felt drawn to her. My instincts have struck gold, finding a girl whose internal world is as dark as mine.
I can barely swallow, my throat is so tight. I replace the false back and lock the drawer, straighten the bedspread, and scan the room for overt signs someone’s been here.
Just my scent.
With the window open, I retrace my steps through the house, checking every room for my presence, ending back upstairs. There hasn’t been much breeze, but it’ll have to do. The air should settle more in the six hours before she arrives home.
I’m about to leave when the same glint from earlier snags my eye. I stand on the dresser-chair, shining my phone’s light into the ceiling corner, and my stomach does a somersault.
A camera is embedded in the plaster.
Live? Recorded? Who the hell knows and who the hell installed the damn thing? Not Ophelia. And not her father unless he’s a champion sicko.
The bursts of questions fade, leaving a stark truth. If it’s operational, the camera didn’t just capture my break-in.
It’s currently recording my exposed face.
CHAPTER SEVEN
OPHELIA
Just turningup to school on Friday takes all my guts. All night, I relived the stream hitting Damien’s eyes, my memories mixing with nightmares where, instead of backing away, he lunged and took instant revenge.
