My hand reaches for the doorknob and makes contact.
“Dreadful game,” he smirks. “Don’t worry. You didn’t miss much.”
“Who are you?”
Placing one fist against the doorframe, he leans in, glaring down at me. He wears the same eerie smile. “Pity you’ve forgotten. But then, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
I twist the knob and pull at the door. It opens an inch before he puts his palm on it, holding it in place. “My face should be more memorable. Considering you held my fate—” He glances at the phone in my hand. “You held it right there, in your hands. It meant nothing, though, did it?”
“I—”
“This house sort of feels like that.” He gestures with his free hand. “Like prison. Just a little shinier.”
Suddenly, memories come flooding back. The courtroom, the paneled walls, the enclosed jury box, boxed lunches, the entire experience. He is right. It was a long time ago, and I had forgotten. Also, he’s changed.
“There’s more than one kind of prison, you see.”
“Really, I have to go.”
“I know. The kids.”
My hand pulls at the doorknob. I consider turning and running, trying to escape through another exit, but decide against it. He’d catch me. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” he says. “About forgetting. I have a feeling we’re going to get reacquainted soon enough.”
“Please—” I nod at the door.
He removes his hand and steps away, but I sense that it’s a trap. “In fact,” he declares, his eyes trailing from my head down to my heels. “I’m looking for a home here in Sunset Canyon.” He holds up the flyer. “Nothing this fancy, though. I don’t plan on sticking around. Just long enough to take care of a little business.”
He opens the door and motions for me to exit, stepping out behind me. I can feel his breath on my neck, and I have the urge to bolt. I make a start, but I can’t force my feet to move the way I need them to. Straightening my back, I exhale. I’m outside. There are people around.
“Aren’t you going to lock it?” he calls after me. His tone is thick with amusement.
I turn back. As I fumble with the lock box, my hands tremble. He is watching, and my nerves cause me to fill the silence, although when I try to speak, my throat sticks. When I manage, my voice comes out as shaky as the rest of me. “And this business,” I say. “How long will it take?”
When I face him again, his lips press into a tight smile. “As long as it takes.”
Chapter Five
My whole body shakes, and despite that I have turned on the AC in the car to full blast. After repeatedly checking the rearview mirror, I adjust all vents within reach to face me. It doesn’t help. I can’t seem to get rid of the clammy, sweaty feeling. I tell myself it’s possible I’m coming down with something. It is November and flu season, but deep down I know it’s not that. It’s fear, plain and simple.
I don’t drive to the soccer fields. I drive in circles and I call Greg. When he answers cheerfully, I lose it. I sob into the phone as I tell him about the open house and the man. Cheap mascara streams down my face. He listens without speaking.
After I’ve gotten it all out, he says calmly, “Surely a house like that has security cameras…”
I take a couple of deep breaths before responding. “I’m sure.”
“We’ll get the footage,” he assures me. “Don’t worry. You need to focus on driving…I’m sure he’s just trying to scare you.”
“Well, it worked.”
He suggests meeting for lunch. We agree on a restaurant, and I tell him I’ll meet him there, but first I need to stop by the house and let Rocky out. Also, I don’t want the girls to see me this upset.
More importantly, I need to ensure I’m not being followed, and I need a moment to catch my breath and reset.
There’s a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’ve forgotten something I really should have remembered. For one, the man’s name. The memories are hazy, as though they happened a lifetime ago, and I suppose they did. I only vaguely remember serving on the jury.
I do recall the sentence. Twenty years. I recall that he was on trial for battery and sexual assault. It wasn’t a pleasant case, not the kind one wants to think back on, which is probably why I blocked out most of the details. Surely, though, it hasn’t been twenty years.
As my eyes travel from the road to my rearview mirror and back, questions flood my mind. How did he find me? Aren’t jurors anonymous? Why did he show up now? Why today? How could he have known I’d be there? It wasn’t my name on the for sale sign out front. It wasn’t my open house.
Even if he were following me, I don’t know what to look for. I don’t know what he drives. There wasn’t a vehicle parked outside the Clairmont house. Maybe I can ask the neighbors. Surely, one of them had to have seen something. Surely, their cameras have footage.
I take several deep breaths and tell myself I have a plan. Although, it’s possible I’m making this a bigger deal than it is. He hadn’t explicitly mentioned doing me any harm. He hadn’t threatened me. And anyway, what kind of person would get released from prison just to get sent back?
I tell myself these things, and I shake my head. Even I am not that naive. When I am sure there are no vehicles trailing me, I circle back and turn onto our tree-lined street.
It feels like my world has just shifted on its axis while everything here remains the same. Workers mow lawns, children ride scooters down sidewalks. I wave to Dave and Linda, our neighbors down the street, as I pass. They wave back.
I’m not sure what I was expecting to see, but I breathe a sigh of relief as I pull into our drive. The house looks as I left it this morning. Normally, I’d leave my car out, but feeling cautious, I pull into the garage, where I sit for a few minutes catching my breath and searching the internet. I recall just enough to bring up an archived article, which offers some details of the case. Jack Mooney.
After I find what I need, I gloss over the rest, reminding myself that Greg and the girls are waiting.
Rocky cheerfully greets me at the door, nudging the back of my knees as I kick out of my heels while simultaneously punching in the alarm code. I toss my purse onto the counter as he runs circles around me, convincing me I made the right choice dropping by to let him out.
He bolts the moment I open the back door. I text Greg that I’m on my way and then make a mad dash for the laundry room, wriggling out of my skirt and tossing my blouse onto the floor. I riffle through the dryer and come out with jeans and Greg’s old college hoodie. They’ll have to do.
It hits me then. The trial, small details. I’d been in my senior year of college when I’d served on the jury. I had a job I hated, and I’m pretty sure I would have said yes to just about anything that ethically took me away from it.
Searching the entryway for my tennis shoes, I come up empty-handed. They aren’t by the front door or the back, either. Finally, I give up and slip into boots.
Rocky scratches at the door, and I let him in, patting his head. “I’ll be back,” I say, grabbing my keys. When he sees me reach for my purse, he paws at me, jumping, circling around me, and finally jumping up on me, knocking me into the wall. “It’s okay,” I say, trying to calm him. “I won’t be long.”