"No," I reply, remembering the day all too well when the US Marshal came to my door and sat me down to have the difficult conversation. I was told of a new family that needed the apartment ASAP and that there had been no threats made by my ex since I had helped to put him away. I tried to tell them he was biding his time and that one year wasn't enough to make such a rushed call, but they wouldn't hear it. They had to pry me from that place.
"Maybe they'll listen to you now that you've received a direct threat."
"Maybe," I say. "But a card written in Latin delivered indirectly by an unknown source isn't exactly a smoking gun."
Beth gives me a rushed smile, trying her best to reassure me things are okay, I guess.
"So what did this card say?" Beth asks. "It must be bad."
I close my eyes for a moment as I turn away from her. I don't want to see the card again or be near it.
"It's okay. You don't need to say. I thought it might help me understand better what we're dealing with here."
The tears forming in my eyes get stopped by a quick breath. I exhale and move toward the open box I left on the counter by the kitchen. As my trembling fingers unwrap the brown paper within, I realize I may have spoiled any chance of allowing evidence to be collected and analyzed. Stupid idiot. I should have known better. I guess the allure of a mysterious package was enough to draw anyone in. Besides, Emilio had covered the thing with his own DNA.
I unfold the balled-up paper that fills most of a small container and find the note still there, still waiting for a victim. Picking the card up, I see its words again and hand it over to Beth. "Do you know any Latin?"
She shakes her head. "Only what's already in everyday use. Nothing beyond that. Is that what this is? Latin?"
"Yeah. Omnia mors aequat. It means 'death makes all equal.' I studied Latin in College before I met my ex. He appreciated how much I loved the dead language and knew enough to able to whisper quotes into my ears when we were dating. It makes sense he would send me a note written in Latin with a threat. No one else knows me that well."
Beth stares at the cursive words on the card with her mouth partially open. She holds one arm tight around her body, showing me she really cares about her own life. I knew she couldn't think this was all a big joke worth staying here for. Will she second-guess her decision to stay? I won't stop her from changing her mind and leaving now.
"'Death makes all equal.' What does that mean?" she asks.
I let out an audible sigh, not wanting to elaborate the context of Zach’s threat, but I have no choice. I opened this can of worms. "It's from an old poem I barely remember, but the meaning is simple. No matter who we are in life, the richest or most feared individual, down to the lowliest form of humanity, death makes us all equal. He is saying that despite him being locked up behind bars, judged as a terrible criminal while I live free out in the world, death will make us equal."
Beth exhales. "Heavy," is all she can say.
"Yes. It may not be one hundred percent clear he is threatening me, but I know exactly what he means. I'm not the first person he's ever threatened with Latin."
"What a nutcase," Beth says. "Do you think he'll send more notes?"
I stare away, already knowing the answer. My ex was always one who enjoyed spinning a narrative, especially when dealing with someone he deemed to be a problem. I turn back to Beth. "Let's hope not. Anyway, I don't have time to think about what he's got planned next. I need to make a phone call."
Chapter 12
Beth tries to follow me into my room, knowing I'm about to make a call to the US Marshal who got assigned to my case five years ago. "I have to do this on my own," I say. "I appreciate you trying to help me through this and all, but my contact would not be happy to know I've spilled as much as I have to a person I hardly know."
"Would you get into any trouble if they found out?" she asks.
"Not exactly, but I was warned about all kinds of consequences for talking about my situation to anyone, even after I moved out of the WITSEC house."
"WITSEC?" Beth asks.
"Sorry, witness protection. Guess I still have the lingo stuck in my head. Anyway, I'll let you know how this goes." I close my bedroom door, blocking out the concern coating Beth's face. She seems to be taking this all to heart. Most people I meet her age don't hold so much empathy for their fellow person. Seeing her former roommate get stalked by some desperate guy gave her some perspective for my intense situation.
I sit on the edge of my bed and take in a deep breath. I haven't spoken to the man I am about to call, Deputy US Marshal Dustin Taylor, in over a year. Dustin used to check in on me on a monthly basis after the first twelve months. The frequency of his calls has dropped off with time down to once a year. That will change after today.
I don't make many calls on my cell. It's used to buy things online and to allow me to live vicariously through people who share their world on Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube. I have no friends or regular contacts through my phone number given the circumstances of my existence, so it doesn't matter when I swap out its sim for a special one that only Dustin has the number of.
Once a week, I go through this process in case he's called with anything of significance I need to be aware of. For the last twelve months, there has been nothing every time I load up this tiny piece of plastic. This swap will be different though. I'll be making a call to him with concerns for my life and the only other person around me that might fall victim to my ex's wrath.
How did I let this happen? Was I too careless online? Did I allow too many delivery people see my face? I'd only left the house three times in the last year. Each time I had no choice. I was careful on all three trips, wearing a hat low over my eyes and to keep to myself. No one ever followed me home or took more than a single glance in my direction.
I sigh. It doesn't matter what chain of events has led to this moment. I have no other option but to call Dustin and beg for his help. A long breath escapes my lips as I dial Dustin's number. According to the US Marshal, my sim has a special identifier that only he can understand. Via means I do not comprehend the cell's location also stays out of the hands of anyone attempting to trace the call. If ever there's a time for paranoia, it's during one of these calls.
After a series of strange sounds that must be related to the encryption process the US Marshals have in place, my cell rings out. I listen, waiting through each ring for an answer on the other end.
After five long tones blare out, I fear the worst. What if Dustin no longer has this number? What if he left the job and didn't assign another agent to my case? I shake my head on the tenth ring, wanting more than anything to hear the US Marshal's voice.
My phone cuts out. It disconnects like it's an old landline that someone has pulled from the wall. I take the cell away from my face to see my home screen staring back at me. I press redial and turn on the loudspeaker. The call doesn't connect and throws an error at me about the network. The sim should tell my cell to latch on to the strongest tower in the area, free of charge. Instead, I'm getting no signal. Not even one strong enough to connect to the emergency system.
"What the...?" I ask the empty room. I rise from my bed and pace around, both hands concentrating on my phone. "Work, dammit!" I yell as I shake the device. I hit redial and see the call fail.
Swapping my sims, I'm back on my regular plan trying to dial out. The only number I have in there that belongs to a person is Beth's. It only dawns on me now that I've never used it once. Ignoring the thought, I try calling her cell to isolate my network problem only to see the same error message.
"Damn thing. Come on." I tap frantically at the screen like it might generate a different result. Then I realize my Wi-Fi is out, along with my Bluetooth. Sweat rushes through the skin on my forehead. Something isn't right.
A small knock followed by Beth calling out confirms my thought. I yank open my bedroom door to see Beth standing there holding her cell out with confusion lining her brow.
&nb
sp; "What is it?" I ask.
"I understand you're about to make that important call, but I thought you might want to know something weird is going on with my cell signal."
"You too?" I ask.
Beth nods. "It's like there's no reception."
I shake my head at her, unsure what this suggests until I'm slapped in the face with a memory that relates to our situation. "I know what this is," I say, eyes wide. "I've seen it before."
"What do you mean?"
I walk past Beth and move through the hallway to the living room without explanation. My mind drifts back, beyond five years ago to a time when I witnessed several bank robberies I did nothing about. Moments before a storm of chaos would come crashing down on an unsuspecting bank, my ex and his team would block out all forms of communication in the area with a short-range signal jammer. Anything that wasn't hardwired no longer seemed to function. By the time the staff in the building realized, my ex's crew had already swept in and disabled the landlines and any fail safes that could interrupt their process.
I still remember one of the first times he robbed a bank in front of me while I sat in the car and watched. In my defense, I didn't realize what was happening, but once I figured it out, I didn't do a thing to stop him. Instead, I let myself become an accessory to a federal crime all while we were supposed to be out on a date. Why didn't I walk away then? Was I too weak and compliant? Whatever the answer is, I ended up waiting until it was too late, until something awful happened.
"What do you mean?" Beth repeats, pulling me back from those days.
I shake off thoughts of the past and move up to one of the barred windows. Brushing aside a curtain enough to peek outside, I already know what will be waiting out there for me.
I point out to an idling car in the street, just beyond the reach of the cameras that cover the front of the house. Smoke billows out the exhaust of a black SUV with a lone male driver. A moment later, the engine goes dead and a man in a suit climbs out. He matches the exact description of the person who paid Emilio two hundred dollars to deliver my Latin note.
I stumble backward and let the curtain fall into place as I turn to Beth with a quivering lip. My suspicions are confirmed.
"Karen?" Beth lets out.
"We're being watched."
Chapter 13
I do what I can to stop myself from freaking out as I charge to my room. Beth has more questions for me. My brain can't handle answering them as I check on the one thing I hope in vain this man standing outside by his black SUV hasn't taken control over. I wiggle the mouse to my sleeping laptop and wait for the screen to activate. I log back into the system and see I don't have a Wi-Fi connection to the Internet. It's just like my cell.
"Oh God," I let out. I can't reach Dustin or call the police. I can't even contact the police online through Skype. The software throws a message at me every time I load it up, warning me that the service cannot be used to make emergency calls. I have a workaround, but it only works with a functioning Internet connection.
I feel a lump settle in my throat as I think about Skype. It reminds me of the job David will no doubt be firing me from. I can't even check my emails to see if he has torn me to pieces yet for the disastrous meeting. I was putting off the task for as long as possible. Now it would be a welcome distraction to find a message in my inbox that says I've been let go.
A second later, Beth stomps into my room with questions angering her face. "Who’s that guy out there, and why is he watching us?"
I turn around from my laptop and try to focus on her question. "It's complicated," I say, holding back the fear that sits behind my words.
"Complicated? I suddenly can't use my cell for a single thing while a creepy guy hangs out the front of the house in the middle of the day and you want to give me that line."
She's angry. I don't blame her. "I wanted you to go, Beth. You should have listened."
She scoffs at me. "You didn't tell me that some weirdo would show up this soon to block our cells and Wi-Fi. You told me your ex was in prison serving a life sentence. I figured the note he sent was to scare you."
I turn away from Beth back to my laptop. "My ex doesn't screw around, but I never thought he would move this fast. I thought I had more time," I say, almost whispering.
"We should go. Just because we can't make calls or get online doesn't mean we can't jump into my Honda and head straight to the cops. Easy as that."
I face Beth and grab her by the arms. "That's a terrible idea. I won't let you risk your life and get mixed up in this. Ultimately, I don't think my ex is after you. Neither is that man out there. He's been sent here for me. You can still leave."
Beth comes further into my room, further into my sanctuary. "How do you know for certain I'm not a target just for living here?" She holds her gaze at me as her chest puffs in and out.
"I don't," I say, shaking my head. "I can't guarantee you anything, and I'm sorry. Believe me. I only wish you’d left last night while it was still an option."
Beth's eyes stay fixed and wide on mine as she tries to mouth her frustrations at me. She seems to be stuck in a combination of anger and fear. Too much to even speak a reply.
"I don't want your apology, Karen. It's too late for that. You need to do whatever it takes to fix this so we can both get the hell out of here. No one has come crashing through the front door yet, so that tells me we still have time to do something."
I take in a breath and close my eyes to center myself as best I can. When I open them again, I focus on Beth. "That man out there matches the description of the person who paid my pizza delivery guy to drop off the threatening message in a box. He has to be using a piece of equipment that jams our cell signals and the Wi-Fi. I can't tell you what he’ll do next, but I can try to create a distraction so you can take off."
Beth sighs. "Look, I realize I just came in here a minute ago demanding an end to whatever this is, but also I told you I won't leave you. Especially now. So forget it. What else you got?"
I take a step back, somewhat surprised by Beth's willingness to stay. I think about her question as my eyes fall to the crappy worn floorboards. They squeak every time Beth or I walk over them. I try my hardest to figure things out, to pull some grand idea out of nowhere, but nothing comes to mind. I raise my head and shrug.
"Nothing? You can't seriously have nothing. This is crazy." She slaps her hands to her sides.
I hold up my palms, emphasizing my expression. "I don't know what else to say."
Beth's brow squeezes in tight as she fumbles with the next words I can see are dying to come out of her mouth. She glances to the front of the house and back. "Okay, tell me then: what kind of criminal was your ex that he would send someone like that out here to make sure you can't leave home, huh?"
I hold her gaze and don't say a word.
"It's time you told me more about him, Karen. What did he do that made you testify against him?"
I shudder, not wanting to think about him or why I had to put him away in jail for life. "No, I can't mention anything else. You can still get out of whatever this is by claiming you know nothing. You didn't put my ex in prison. If I can contact him somehow, I can convince him to leave you out of this."
Beth comes in closer; both arms crossed. "That's a terrible idea. Criminals aren't known to listen to logic or reason. Now I don't know this guy the way you do, but you can't honestly believe he would let me go."
"No, he wouldn't," I say, realizing she's right again. I have to stop this denial. I have to stop my brain from trying to protect me from the truth.
"Okay, good. So we see that's not an option. There has to be a better idea to get us both out of here."
"I'm all ears," I say as if the answer is just waiting for us to find.
Beth groans a little. "There's got to be something we haven't considered. He can't have blocked us off from the world this easily."
"No, he can't," I almost whisper as a thought hits me. "I might have something. He may be
jamming our signal, but there's another way we can still get online and contact the police."
"How?" Beth jumps up and down a little.
I head to my room and grab my laptop. I set it down on the coffee table and place my hands on my hips. "Our cells and Wi-Fi are blocked, but I think I can still get a wired connection on this thing to the Internet. We just need to find some cable."
Chapter 14
Beth and I stand in the living room while the focused man outside continues to keep watch over the house. Not a single piece of communication has been exchanged between us. The only thing we know for certain is that he wants us to stay inside, cut off from the world. If only I could call Dustin. He'd command a cavalry of police our way and have Zach interrogated in prison. I'd love to know why now, after five years, my ex has sent a strange creep out to my home to scare the hell out of me.
"So how do we do this?" Beth asks.
I shake the thoughts out of my head and home in on the idea I have to bypass the signal jammer. "My laptop. It's an old one and still has an Ethernet port. If I find a compatible cable and connect my computer to our modem in the kitchen, I can get us online."
Beth stares at my laptop, one hand holding an elbow while the other grips her chin. "If we can get back on the web, can you call the police?"
"I know a way," I say.
"Okay. So where do you keep the Ethernet cord?" Beth asks with a smile.
"That's the problem. I'm positive I stored it all away in the small garden shed outside."
"Outside? You can't be serious." Beth groans.
"It's not something anyone uses anymore. I don't know why I even have it to begin with. By all rights, I should have thrown it out. Still, we'll check my room first for a cable as I only need about a foot of the stuff to do this. We might get lucky."
"Lucky? I doubt that word exists within this situation," Beth says. I can see her frustrations growing by the minute. Her shoulders appear to be tightening up with stress. These bizarre circumstances are new to her. I've had five years of build up to prepare for any kind of terrible outcome. Despite me coming up with a potential solution, I don't think Beth will be happy until I resolve this whole problem.
He's At Your Door: a gripping psychological thriller Page 4
