by Simon Wood
“About what?”
“The Volvo syndrome.”
Leah laughed. “What’s the Volvo syndrome?”
“Volvo is renowned for having the safest cars in the world with airbag this and crumple zone that, but what they found was this led to a rise in Volvo-involved accidents. Drivers took more risks because they believed they were untouchable. They drove with a false sense of security. That’s the Volvo syndrome.”
“But what has that got to do with me?”
“Just because you’ve got a security system doesn’t mean it’s going to save you. This house is still vulnerable. You still have to be vigilant.”
“So what are you saying—I should get a gun?”
Leah laughed again, but Fuller didn’t.
“The cops won’t like me saying it, but yes. An alarm system goes only so far.”
Leah wanted to say something dismissive, to tell him he was being overzealous, but nothing came. Deep down, she knew he was right.
***
A siren ripped Leah from her sleep. She sat bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding. Fuller’s security system was in operation after a day. The phone on her nightstand rang, adding to the din. She snatched it up.
“Mrs. Doubleday, it’s Officer Hernandez. We have a report that your alarm has been tripped. An officer has been dispatched. Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know. I’ll check.”
“Stay in the house.”
“I just want to make sure it’s not a false alarm.”
Taking the phone with her, she raced downstairs to the hallway where the security system control box was mounted. According to the readout, Bryan’s office window had been forced.
“It’s Bryan’s study. The window.”
“Can you see the room from where you are?” Hernandez asked.
“Yes.”
The door was shut, but it was always shut. Her intruder could be in there, but she wasn’t about to find out. She did the smart thing before Hernandez told her and locked herself into the downstairs bathroom and waited for the police to arrive.
It was a long ten minutes before she heard a police siren’s wail. She didn’t open the door until Hernandez told her to let Jago in.
“Your alarm system worked, I’m glad to say.”
He led her into Bryan’s office. The window was ajar. Something had been jammed into the wood frame to force it open, splintering the wood in the process.
“I found this knife outside. It matches the damage to the window frame.”
A knife. The thought of a weapon sent a chill skittering through Leah. The intruder who’d tried to break in before hadn’t been armed. This time, he had been. Was the knife purely a tool to gain entry or a weapon intended for harm? She feared the answer to her own question.
“Do you think it was the same person?” Leah asked.
“Hard to say. You didn’t see him, and he was long gone by the time I arrived.” Jago wandered out of Bryan’s office and through the house, giving the place an appraising inspection. “If it was the same person, he’s a determined SOB, and that makes me wonder. He must want something specific. Do you have anything valuable in the house?”
There was Bryan’s Welsh dresser he’d inherited from his mother when she’d died, but it was hardly something an intruder working alone could simply fling over one shoulder. “I can’t think of anything. Obviously, there’s the TV and electronics, but you’ll find those in any home.”
He frowned. “I was hoping for something that would stand out and explain why this intruder came back.”
A frightening thought tore through Leah’s mind. Jago was thinking thief. Who said the guy wanted her possessions? Who was to say this guy wasn’t after her? Maybe she was the prize he sought. Her stomach turned.
“In the meantime, I’m going to have a unit drive by from now on.” On the way out, Jago tapped Fuller’s alarm system control unit. “I’m glad you had this installed. It’s paid for itself already.”
“Yes,” Leah agreed.
“An alarm is a good deterrent.”
But it’s not a solution, she thought.
***
Bryan exploded when he learned of the news of the second break-in attempt. Leah had kept the news from him until he arrived home from New York. The new security system failed to soothe his temper. He didn’t see it as the guard dog that had saved Leah.
“This is our home, and you’re turning it into a prison,” Bryan raged. “What’s next? Bars on the windows?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what—razor wire in the flower beds?”
“Now you’re just being insulting.”
“Am I? You know where I grew up. I promised I’d never live in a place where I had to fear for my life in my own home.”
Leah saw where this outburst was leading, but she wanted to hear him say it. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’re selling.”
“No, you’re saying you’re selling.”
“Don’t tell me you’re happy to live like this?”
“Of course not.”
“Then there is nothing to discuss. We’re selling.”
***
In some ways she agreed with Bryan. With two attempted break-ins in less than a month, selling was the smart thing. But her heart wasn’t in it. She still wanted to keep this house.
Bryan got the ball rolling with a real estate agent, but with his schedule, dealing with the agent fell to Leah. She wasn’t going to tell the agent the house wasn’t for sale, but she felt it was only right to tell her about the break-ins. The “for sale” board went up, but the inquiries never rolled in beyond a trickle of uninterested buyers.
Work took Bryan to Seattle, and Leah drove to San Francisco to buy a gun. If, and it seemed more like when, her intruder returned, it would be for the last time. With the intruder out of the way, maybe Bryan would drop the whole idea of selling the house.
Leah felt distinctly out of place in the gun store. Enough firearms to start a coup d’état hung from wall racks. Handguns sparkled like jewelry from their locked glass cabinets. It was crazy, really, but Leah couldn’t shake the thought that the weapons would suddenly and spontaneously fire, even though she knew none of them were loaded. She’d chosen this store after seeing a news segment about it. It was the oldest gun store in the city and somewhat of a local landmark.
The owner, a bedraggled and middle-aged bearded guy distinctly out of place with his neighbors in the Mission District, noticed her hesitation and came around from behind the counter. Leah remembered his name from the show: Charles Meyer.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked.
“I want a gun.” Leah blurted the request out. She sounded desperate. If she’d been in his shoes, she’d have wondered if a criminal on the run had just entered.
Meyers looked Leah over before saying, “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”
He quizzed her on her gun needs. He didn’t hit her with the hard sell or come down on her hard and heavy with the Second Amendment rap that it was every American’s duty to be packing heat. He approached her like a shoe salesman. He simply wanted to find the perfect fit. He handed her various semiautomatics and revolvers for weight and feel. Eventually, they decided upon a Sig Sauer .380. It was small and light and carried enough of a punch to make a dent in its target.
Leah cradled the gun in the palms of both hands. She gazed at it. Did she want this? Was this the right way to go? She wasn’t sure, but then she thought about the damage to the window frame made by the knife blade. “I’ll take it,” she said.
“Not quite yet, you won’t.” Meyers outlined California law. Leah would have to obtain a handgun safety certificate, which consisted of a written safety test and a hands-on safety demonstration, as well as provide fingerprints and proof of residency. Then there was the ten-day cooling off period to go through before Leah could claim the gun. “That’s probably a good idea for someone who is a fi
rearms novice.”
He put her in touch with the right people to get the safety certificate. She visited a shooting range in the East Bay three times a week, overkill by state standards, but Leah wasn’t interested in state standards. If that son of a bitch broke into her home again, she was putting him down.
After she cleared the background check and passed the safety test, she returned to Meyers to collect the gun. He had everything ready and waiting for her. He provided her with a checklist of his own devising on the dos and don’ts of gun ownership. Leah had a fondness for the old guy and thanked him for his time and patience.
“It’s my pleasure, Leah,” he said. “I sincerely hope you never have to use it.”
The smile slipped from her face.
***
Leah kept the gun in the attic crawlspace when Bryan was home and on the nightstand when he was away. If he found out about the existence of the weapon, it was game over. He’d drag her kicking and screaming from the house, never to return.
The gun was on the nightstand when the sound of feet on the hardwood floors in the living room woke her. The hardwood proved to be an excellent early warning system. She hadn’t always been a light sleeper, but she’d become one since the break-ins. The alarm clock glowed in the darkness: ten after two. Her hand went to the Sig Sauer. She snatched it up off the nightstand and snapped off the safety. It surprised her how instinctive her actions were. She’d feared she’d panic if she were forced to defend herself. She had the fear, but not the panic. She slipped from her bed and edged to the bedroom doorway.
The intruder’s next move surprised her. The sound of beeping cut through the silent house. The intruder was deactivating the alarm system. Her intruder knew the alarm code; the cold chill of despair spread through her.
She backed into her room and picked up the phone. No dial tone. After his two previous failed attempts to gain entry to her house, her intruder knew better. He’d cut the phone line. He wasn’t planning to fail this time—or to leave any witnesses, she presumed.
The intruder’s careful footsteps moved along the hallway toward the stairs. He was coming for her.
This wasn’t how Leah had expected this scenario to play out. The alarm was supposed to go off, panicking the intruder and giving her enough time to fire a warning shot. But that scenario had collapsed. What was her plan now? Panic gnawed at her cool as she listened to his footsteps on the stairs. She considered flicking on the lights, blinding him and opening fire, but the light would blind her just as much as him, giving him the chance to rush her. All she could do was let him come for her.
She padded over to the bed and arranged the pillows to represent her sleeping form. It was a poor effort, but she didn’t have time for anything elegant. She left her pillow double and concealed herself in the walk-in closet.
Leah tried to psyche herself up into a frenzy, but before she’d prepared herself, he entered the room. Dressed as before, in black, from his ski mask to his boots, he stood inside the room. He stared at her mock form, unaware that he stood only a few feet from her cowering form inside the closet. She could have shot him then, but if he sensed her, he was within arm’s reach. He removed a switchblade from his jacket. The blade jerked out and snapped into place with a sickening click. Leah knew then she would be shooting to kill.
He crossed the room to her bedside. Leah rose to her feet and stood in the closet doorway. She had a clear view of his back, a broad target and a cinch to hit at this distance. But she wouldn’t shoot him in the back. She wanted him to see her when she killed him.
As he bent toward her decoy in the bed, he realized he’d been tricked.
Leah flicked on the closet light. The light was behind her and didn’t get into her eyes, but it blinded the intruder as he whirled around. As soon as he faced her, he put his hands out in a stopping gesture. Leah took aim and fired twice. Both slugs hit him high in the chest. He collapsed, striking the side of the bed on the way down.
“Leah,” he mumbled. “What have you done?”
Even though his words were muffled through the ski mask, she recognized her intruder. She rushed to his side and cradled his head. “Bryan.”
She peeled off the ski mask. Sweat and tears coated his face.
“Why, Bryan?”
“The house. The mortgage is killing us. If we lived elsewhere, I wouldn’t have to work and travel so much.”
Leah should have seen this coming. She remembered the fights from last year about curbing expenses or moving. She’d favored cutting back. Bryan admitted he’d still have to push for every bonus to stay afloat. She hadn’t cared about that as long as she could keep her house.
“The only way of getting you out of here was by force,” Bryan concluded. “Why the gun, Leah, why the gun?
“For the house, Bryan. Always for the house.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anthony Award–winning author of a dozen books as well as over 150 published stories and articles, Simon Wood is an ex–race car driver, a licensed pilot, an animal rescuer, an endurance cyclist, and an occasional private investigator. Having dealt with dyslexia from an early age, Wood’s ambition has been met with rave reviews for his previous publications, including Accidents Waiting to Happen, Dragged into Darkness, Working Stiffs, Paying the Piper, We All Fall Down, Terminated, The Fall Guy, and numerous others published under his horror pseudonym, Simon Janus. Originally from the UK, Wood moved to the US in ’98 to share his world with his American wife, Julie—and a longhaired dachshund and four cats.
