on the table next to my half eaten pie.
“I have a lot of work to do. I should go.”
He nodded. “I'll see you soon, Ella.”
I walked away, shaking my head at him. What a strange fellow.
It was a lovely day outside, perfect for walking. Going past the happy neighborhoods where nothing bad ever happened, I let my imagination run wild.
Lost in my daydreams, I almost missed my street. A shabby truck parked a little bit down the road from my house caught my eye. Anyone sitting in it would have a picturesque view of the house and my comings and goings. I had never seen a truck like this on my street. As I drew nearer I noticed someone was sitting in it, waiting. The anticipation of seeing the mystery driver grew inside of me until I wanted to run up to the truck and scream, “Why are you watching my house?”
I wrung my hands nervously as I continued my controlled approach. The person in the truck must have noticed me. The engine started quickly and the tires squealed around the cul-de-sac. The driver went by with an arm raised, blocking his face from view. I stared after the truck wondering if that was the man who killed Danny. Eventually I tore myself away and headed into the house, edgy and still glancing behind me.
Locking and double checking the door behind me, I felt agitated like something was going to jump out at any moment. In hopes of relaxing a little before I sat down to write, I got myself a glass of water. Something moving across the backyard caught my eye. I moved closer to the kitchen window to get a better look. Mr. Sexton was walking through the trees towards the fence separating our properties. I thought about yelling at him, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to initiate conversation with him. He looked up and our eyes met for a moment. I stepped back from the window, my heart thudding. I felt like a child who had been caught spying. It only took a second to bully myself into stepping back towards the window to make sure he actually left.
He was gone; relief flooded me. Shutting my eyes for a brief moment I chastised myself for being weak. This was my property. I had every right to go outside and let him have a piece of my mind. My eyes opened to a horrible face pressed and contorted against the windowpane. A scream ripped from my throat as I stumbled backwards into the center island. Mr. Sexton's laughter drifted into the house from the other side of the glass, a sound that was every bit as infuriating as it was ominous. Fear fueled a white-hot anger inside of me.
“Get out of here,” I bellowed. “I'm calling the police”
I picked up the phone with shaking hands and dialed Detective Troy’s cell phone number. He answered on the second ring.
“Troy.”
“Hey,” I said and then my mind went blank. I had no idea what to tell him. Was I being foolish for letting Mr. Sexton get to me with his crazy antics?
“Hi.”
“This is Ella … Ella Reynolds.” I blushed like a school girl. Part of me wanted to hang up the phone and pretend this never happened. Another part of me demanded an ally.
“I know who you are.” He laughed. “What’s going on?”
He took my silence as a clue that everything was not alright.
“Are you all right?” His voice was suddenly lower and more policeman like.
“I’m fine—I’m sorry. I shouldn't have called. I'm overreacting.”
“About what?” His voice hummed with concern.
“I’ll tell you later. Don't worry about it—”
He cut me off. “What exactly are you overreacting about?”
“It's not important really. My crazy neighbor was staring at me through my window trying to frighten me—obviously it worked. No harm done, though. I'm fine. Really.”
“I'll be there in five minutes.”
“No, no—I'll see you … when I see you. I should go, get some work done.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Gabriel sighed, “Okay, if you’re certain—but call me immediately if you see him again.”
“I will Thanks. . . .”
I hung up
“I have a lot of work to do. I should go.”
He nodded. “I'll see you soon, Ella.”
I walked away, shaking my head at him. What a strange fellow.
It was a lovely day outside, perfect for walking. Going past the happy neighborhoods where nothing bad ever happened, I let my imagination run wild.
Lost in my daydreams, I almost missed my street. A shabby truck parked a little bit down the road from my house caught my eye. Anyone sitting in it would have a picturesque view of the house and my comings and goings. I had never seen a truck like this on my street. As I drew nearer I noticed someone was sitting in it, waiting. The anticipation of seeing the mystery driver grew inside of me until I wanted to run up to the truck and scream, “Why are you watching my house?”
I wrung my hands nervously as I continued my controlled approach. The person in the truck must have noticed me. The engine started quickly and the tires squealed around the cul-de-sac. The driver went by with an arm raised, blocking his face from view. I stared after the truck wondering if that was the man who killed Danny. Eventually I tore myself away and headed into the house, edgy and still glancing behind me.
Locking and double checking the door behind me, I felt agitated like something was going to jump out at any moment. In hopes of relaxing a little before I sat down to write, I got myself a glass of water. Something moving across the backyard caught my eye. I moved closer to the kitchen window to get a better look. Mr. Sexton was walking through the trees towards the fence separating our properties. I thought about yelling at him, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to initiate conversation with him. He looked up and our eyes met for a moment. I stepped back from the window, my heart thudding. I felt like a child who had been caught spying. It only took a second to bully myself into stepping back towards the window to make sure he actually left.
He was gone; relief flooded me. Shutting my eyes for a brief moment I chastised myself for being weak. This was my property. I had every right to go outside and let him have a piece of my mind. My eyes opened to a horrible face pressed and contorted against the windowpane. A scream ripped from my throat as I stumbled backwards into the center island. Mr. Sexton's laughter drifted into the house from the other side of the glass, a sound that was every bit as infuriating as it was ominous. Fear fueled a white-hot anger inside of me.
“Get out of here,” I bellowed. “I'm calling the police”
I picked up the phone with shaking hands and dialed Detective Troy’s cell phone number. He answered on the second ring.
“Troy.”
“Hey,” I said and then my mind went blank. I had no idea what to tell him. Was I being foolish for letting Mr. Sexton get to me with his crazy antics?
“Hi.”
“This is Ella … Ella Reynolds.” I blushed like a school girl. Part of me wanted to hang up the phone and pretend this never happened. Another part of me demanded an ally.
“I know who you are.” He laughed. “What’s going on?”
He took my silence as a clue that everything was not alright.
“Are you all right?” His voice was suddenly lower and more policeman like.
“I’m fine—I’m sorry. I shouldn't have called. I'm overreacting.”
“About what?” His voice hummed with concern.
“I’ll tell you later. Don't worry about it—”
He cut me off. “What exactly are you overreacting about?”
“It's not important really. My crazy neighbor was staring at me through my window trying to frighten me—obviously it worked. No harm done, though. I'm fine. Really.”
“I'll be there in five minutes.”
“No, no—I'll see you … when I see you. I should go, get some work done.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Gabriel sighed, “Okay, if you’re certain—but call me immediately if you see him again.”
“I will Thanks. . . .”
I hung up
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