Fifteen minutes later, we’d packed everything for myself and Ember for an extended trip. I took the Real Tech notes, both computers, and clothes for at least two weeks, so I’d have options. At the last minute, I added my red dress and heels. Christopher’s favorites.
Christopher cleared out a large dresser drawer and half the closet at his place and I unpacked. It didn’t feel temporary.
Andrew and I texted the next day.
“I’ll meet the locksmith Saturday morning. Safest for you to stay away.”
“Thank you.”I was grateful for a brother-in-law who was also the law. Sometimes I forgot that in this time, he and Meghan weren’t married yet. He seemed like family.
“Your sister feels horrible. We both do.”
“It isn’t your fault. He’s sick.”Texting didn’t have enough emotion, and they’d missed how upset I’d been. Perhaps if I’d spoken out loud, they would have listened.
I told Andrew about Eric’s words at the party. That he’d spouted something about instant attraction and our chemistry.
“I didn’t realize he was dangerous. He seemed like a normal neighbor. I had no idea.”
Andrew texted again half an hour later.
“If we find prints or DNA at your place and prove he’s been in your house, you need to press charges. Anywhere, in particular, I should look?”
“Closet doors, the black garment bag, my dresser drawers, my bedside table, the doors.”I hesitated.“I doubt there’s anything.”He was smart and would’ve been careful, but I couldn’t share how I knew that.
The next day Andrew called Christopher, who put him on speaker so I could listen.
“I didn’t want to call you back to the house, but when I arrived this morning to meet the locksmith, the house had been ransacked. There’s property damage. We’ll need you to see if you can pinpoint anything that might be missing.”
“We’ll be there.” Christopher was careful to set his alarm before we left.
“Who has keys to your place?”It was less than ten minutes between our houses. I wanted reassurance that nobody else could get into his house, the only place I felt safe.“Nobody can get in here without setting off the alarm.”
“Brandon had one. I got it back from the hospital with his personal effects.”
“Anybody else? An old girlfriend, a neighbor?”
“You and I have the only keys. I changed the alarm code. Nobody knows it except us.”
Relieved, I accepted his words.
At my house, Andrew met us on the sidewalk. “They broke in through the back door. The window was smashed. Was that how Eric gained entry before?”
“I don’t know how he got in. Never left a trace.”Why had the method changed?
“This won’t be easy,” said Andrew. “It never is.” His face pinched into a frown. He looked like Officer Jennings, not Meghan’s fiancé. “It’s more personal than the other break-in.”
I nodded, wondering what he meant. Eric had a penchant for the dramatic and violent. I steeled myself and slipped my hand into Christopher’s.
At the front door, an appalling sight greeted me. Everything I owned had been moved or destroyed. The bookshelves had been dumped, and the covers ripped from several novels. Like at Brandon’s, the kitchen cupboards had been emptied, the couch cushions slit open, and their stuffing scattered around the room. The pungent scent of strong cleaner filled the air. We found empty containers from half a dozen cleaning products emptied in the hallway—their contents staining the floor.
My old room, the empty master bedroom, had been left virtually untouched, but the room where I slept was the worst. Painted on the walls in blood red, foot-high letters, was,“It’s destiny. You’re supposed to be mine, Bitch.”
The room smelled like paint, which was still tacky to the touch. He’d splashed everywhere with splotches of paint. It looked like once he’d finished his message, he’d emptied the rest of the paint can around the room. The carpet was ruined. Paint splattered the furniture, my clothes from my dresser, the bedding, and the floor. It looked like a murder scene, with everything saturated with paint the color of blood. I shivered despite the warmth of the house. We’d made him angry. I couldn’t live here ever again. I’d pay someone to repaint, then I’d sell. My insurance should pay for replacing my belongings and the damage.
We salvaged some of my clothes from the closet, but the rest were ruined. I wanted nothing else from my bedroom. Eric had smashed my dishes all over the kitchen floor—bits of them crunched underfoot as we walked. He’d smashed them as additional malicious mayhem. My plants had been overturned, their dirt in messy puddles. I was relieved that I hadn’t been home, and that Ember had been with me. Christopher and I took pictures of the destruction for my insurance claim. My storage room was intact, and we removed a few boxes of memorabilia, my winter boots, and Christmas decorations. I’d get the rest later.
Eric was sick to have done this. In this timeline, I’d met Eric twice and never spoken to him. Why was he interested in tormenting me? It made little sense. I considered the broken door. He’d gotten into my place without breaking glass for months. Why now? My blood ran cold and shivers trailed down my spine. What if it wasn’t just him? What if I’d had two sets of intruders? I looked for the papers I’d printed with Brandon’s messages and research. They were gone, as was my key card for work. They planned to search my office.
“What if Real Tech searched my place after we left with suitcases? They broke the window. They tossed my place AND later, Eric painted his message and added to the destruction?”I shuddered at the memory of the hateful words. After Eric died, I’d done research into behavior like his. He’d been a classic narcissist. He needed to make others small, so he felt important. He’d never thought he was wrong and never apologized. Every violence was justified.
