Roxy surprises me with an answer. “I have an idea. I have a doorbell camera that takes batteries. What if we duct-tape it in the bushes so it’s hidden?”
“Rox, that’s brilliant. It’s motion-activated, so we would know the minute he shows up.” I clap my hands together with excitement.
“Once we know he’s here, we can either call the cops or you can let me get him with the bear mace.” She’s wearing a shit-eating grin.
“We can’t do that. Let’s just hand him over to the police,” I say reasonably.
“Fine,” Roxy sulks. “One day I’m going to use it though, and I’d love for it to be on him.”
“Stop complaining and go get your camera. I have tape in the garage.” I leave Roxy and pop into the garage for the tape I keep in my dad’s old toolbox shelves.
That’s weird. I definitely don’t remember leaving my ladder there. It’s not in the spot I usually hang it. But maybe I just didn’t put it back on the storage hook. I shrug, hanging the ladder, then grabbing the tape.
I have to wait a few minutes for Roxy to return, and once she does, we set to work, carefully preserving the area while also finding the best place to hide the camera. We end up taping it to lower branches at an upward angle. We also tape over the recording light so he doesn’t notice it—not that he would, since he’s a bumbling idiot.
Once we’ve laid the trap, Roxy comes back to my house to help me gather a few things and get my luggage. I packed it weeks ago. Everything is ready but my carry-on and the last-minute things I need. It makes staying at Roxy’s easier. I grab some more clothes while we’re moving everything and then send Cas a text.
Me: Staying at Rox’s for a few days. The police weren’t helpful. Don’t worry, we have a plan.
I don’t expect him to text back, and I don’t even know why I feel the need to inform him of my every life decision. We aren’t anything. I don’t owe him explanations. But I want him not to worry about me, because he wouldn’t have called if he wasn’t worried.
At Roxy’s, everything goes as planned. I help her pack, she feeds me,and we settle in for a movie. Nothing out of the ordinary. Cas still hasn’t called or messaged, and I’m trying like hell to convince myself that it’s because he’s busy. What did he say they were doing again? A practice set, yeah, I think that was it.
Roxy starts the second movie, eyeing me warily. “Do you think he’s a no-show tonight? Should we break out the strawberries?”
“I’m definitely team strawberries. He’s a fucking loser, and I really don’t want to spend the entire night waiting for him to maybe show up.” My voice hinges on an emotional breakdown. I’m trying hard to hold everything in and keep it together, but I’m so fucking overwhelmed.
While Roxy’s grabbing the bowl from the counter where we set them out to thaw, I grab a blanket and snuggle in. Her phone chimes just as she walks back in.
“Shit! That’s the doorbell notification—it picked up movement.” She swipes everything open and holds it up so I can see. Sure enough, there’s a live feed of Jackson getting all set up in my bushes.
“Call.” Roxy nods at me.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher says.
“Um,” I stammer. “I called the non-emergency line earlier, but they were too busy to send someone out.”
“Okay. Can you tell me why you’re calling?” they coax.
“My ex-boyfriend is harassing me. I wanted help getting a restraining order because he’s been doing a lot of stuff, but recently I found out he’s hiding in my bushes at my house and taking photos and stuff,” I explain.
“Is he there now, ma’am?” the dispatcher asks.
“Yes. When no one would come out, I put my doorbell camera in the bushes and I can see him on the video just sitting there.”
This time they take me seriously. “I have an officer en route to you. Please stay inside and do not answer the door. My officerwill call this number on arrival and let you know if they need you to fill out any paperwork.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Once the police arrive, we creep onto the front porch with a bag of popcorn and enjoy watching everything go down.
“Come out with your hands up. We know you’re in there,” one of the police officers shouts.
Nothing happens.
“Exit the bushes, or I’ll deploy non-lethal devices,” he warns.
This time the bushes rustle, and a few seconds later, Jackson appears with his hands up.
“Sorry, officers, I live here. I was just fixing a broken landscape light. Someone must have seen something suspicious and called it in. My wife is out of town, and I wanted to get it fixed before she comes home.”
