I try to laugh, but it comes out forced. She hasn’t hung up yet, and I can hear her opening the front door at her house. I’m so glad she lives next door—we can always be there for each other.
Roxy’s trip over is uneventful. She hides the bear mace in my hall closet before we call the police.
“I have more bottles at home, and I’m definitely tossing one in my checked bag.” Roxy holds up a hand to stop me from speaking. “Before you say anything, I read the TSA handbook. It’s totes allowed. I don’t trust Jackson’s behavior. There’s no way we’re traveling without it.”
She follows me into the kitchen, and we sit down at my table, where I already have a notebook and pen waiting. Roxy squeezes my hand as I pop the phone onto speaker. The line rings a few times before someone on the other end says, “Lakewood non-emergency. Please state the reason for your call.”
“Hi, I need to see about getting a restraining order and filing a report about my ex-boyfriend hiding in my bushes and taking photos of me at my house,” I blurt out.
The operator pauses. “Ma’am, is he there right now?”
“No,” I answer. “It was a few nights ago.”
“I don’t have any available officers to take the report right now, but I’ll log the call, and as soon as someone frees up, I can have them give you a call back. Is there anything else I can help you with?” they ask politely.
“No,” I reply, defeated.
I hang up. My anxiety ball feels like it just tripled in size. I lay my head on the table. Roxy gives me head scratches and plays with my hair. It helps me calm down. “What do we do when the police won’t help us?” I whine.
“We take matters into our own hands,” Roxy answers. “Also, they didn’t say no—they’re just busy.”
“You’re right. But if he were here, I bet they’d have no problem sending someone out,” I say as my thoughts begin trickling out of my brain to form a plan.
“That’s true.” Roxy snaps her fingers. “All we’ve got to do is catch him while he’s here.”
“How do we get him here?”
Roxy slams her hands on the table. “We might not have to.” She jumps up. “Come on.”
Roxy walks back to the entryway, plucks the bear mace from the closet, shoving it awkwardly in her back pocket. “First we need to gather our own evidence. We’re going into the bushes to look for clues.”
“Rox,” I complain. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Will you do it for chocolate-covered frozen strawberries?” she arches a brow at me.
“Yes, but if you start making us solve mysteries on the daily, I’m out,” I say, crossing my arms.
“But you want to binge-watch all the movies now, don’t you?” Roxy snickers.
“Yes, and eat my chocolate strawberries,” I pout.
“Deal. Now get your shoes and bring your ass outside to help me look.” Roxy opens the front door, motioning for me to hurry up.
I slip on a pair of flip-flops, following her out to where the bushes begin on the side of the long sidewalk. We stumble through the bushes and woodchips, which keep stabbing my toes. Up ahead, I hear Roxy stop walking.
“Vi!” she hollers.
“Yeah?”
“He’s been here. Come see this,” she yells.
I follow her into a spot where there’s plenty of open space between the house and the bushes, but it’s completely concealed. There’s a folded-up camping chair leaning against the wall, a gum wrapper, and an empty chip bag. We stand at the edge of the opening because there are several nearly perfect footprints in the woodchips. It’s definitely a man’s footprint based on the sheer size of it.
“I’m sleeping at your house from now on. This is fucking creepy,” I say, snapping pictures and sending them to Cas. I don’t know why I sent them to him, but I don’t tell Roxy.
She takes photos too. “We need to document all of this. I guarantee he’ll be back—if not tonight, then soon.”
“So how do we know once he’s here?” I’m talking to myself, orally processing the situation.
