Chapter 4 Wesley
Wesley
The living room is mostly dark except for the TV.
Easton likes watching movies with every light off because apparently anything less is “ruining the atmosphere,” so the room is lit in flashes of blue and white from whatever he put on tonight.
Something with a lot of rain and people whispering ominously in hallways.
I’m only half paying attention.
My laptop is open across my thighs, one earbud in, one out, while I work through something I should have finished yesterday. I’ve been staring at the same screen for long enough that the words are starting to blur together.
Thank God the weekend starts tomorrow.
I seriously need a day off.
No classes. No assignments. No people expecting me to fix whatever they managed to screw up during the week.
Ideally, I’d like to sit exactly where I am now for twelve uninterrupted hours and speak to no one.
On screen, a woman opens a door she very obviously should not be opening.
Easton mutters, “Don’t.”
She opens it anyway.
I glance over my laptop.
“She deserves whatever happens next.”
Easton looks at me. “You haven’t watched a single scene.”
“I’ve watched enough.”
“You don’t even know her name.”
“She’s opening the murder door.”
He gives me a look.
Fair.
The lock on the front door turns.
A second later, it swings open and Logan steps inside with his football bag slung over one shoulder.
He drops it immediately.
The thing lands on the floor with a heavy thud.
Then his shoes come off, one after the other, kicked somewhere near the wall instead of placed beside the rack like a civilized person.
Everything Logan does is loud.
Doors.
Cabinets.
Sneezing.
Breathing, probably.
I don’t know how one person manages to occupy so much auditory space.
Easton doesn’t even look away from the TV.
I shake my head and look back at my laptop.
Normally Logan would already be complaining about practice or telling us something one of his teammates did or a girl he flirted with, but he doesn’t.
That’s what makes me look up again.
He’s still standing near the entryway.
And he’s looking back at the door.
Not casually either.
His brows are drawn together slightly, like he’s trying to work something out.
He takes another step into the living room.
“So...”
Easton pauses the movie.
That alone says something.
“Any of you seen this?”
Easton frowns. “Seen what?”
Logan hooks his thumb over his shoulder toward the front door.
“There’s a girl next door.”
My fingers stop moving over the keyboard.
Easton sits up a little straighter.
“What?”
Logan looks between us.
“There’s a girl. Next door.”
I close the document I’m working on.
Easton turns fully toward him now.
“What do you mean there’s a girl next door?”
“I mean exactly what I just said.”
“No, I know what you said.”
“Then why are you asking?”
Easton gives him a flat look.
I already have the security program open before either of them says anything else.
“When?”
“Just now.” Logan finally walks farther into the room. “I was coming back from practice and some delivery guy was standing at the door over there. Handing her food.”
Easton looks toward me.
I’m already pulling up the front porch feed.
The camera gives us most of the walkway and part of the neighboring entrance. Not enough to see directly inside the doorway, but enough for anyone standing on the porch.
I rewind.
One minute.
Nothing.
Another.
Then a guy comes into frame carrying two paper bags.
“There,” Logan says.
“I see him.”
I stop the footage.
The guy looks young. Early twenties, maybe. Baseball cap. Delivery jacket.
I hit play.
He walks up the path and disappears partially out of frame near the neighboring door.
The audio is better than the angle.
There’s a faint knock or doorbell.
A few seconds later, a girl’s voice.
“Hi.”
Easton looks at me.
I keep watching.
The delivery guy says something about the food.
She laughs.
It’s small.
Easy.
Then there’s the rustle of bags being passed over.
He asks her something I don’t catch the first time.
I rewind ten seconds and turn the volume up.
“You moved today?”
“Yep.”
There’s another little laugh in her voice.
I glance at the timestamp.
So she wasn’t visiting.
She moved in.
Today.
Easton sits forward, elbows resting on his knees now.
“What the fuck?”
Logan points at the screen like this proves something.
“Exactly.”
I ignore both of them.
The guy keeps talking.
I can’t see her.
He’s standing too far into the doorway, blocking almost the entire view.
I pause on his face and zoom in.
Easton glances over.
“What are you doing?”
I take a still.
Then another when he turns his head slightly and the angle is cleaner.
Logan leans over the back of the couch.
“You keeping those?”
“For now.”
“Why?”
“In case.”
“In case of what?”
I look up at him.
He looks back at me.
Then lifts both hands.
“Right. Fine.”
I save the images and return to the video.
The girl says something else, too quiet for the mic to pick up clearly.
Then she laughs again.
I still can’t see her face.
Barely even an outline.
Just a glimpse of someone standing inside.
Easton turns toward Logan.
“Did you see her?”
Logan shrugs.
“Not really.”
I look at him.
“What does that mean?”
“The delivery guy was blocking most of her.”
“You walked past them.”
“Yeah.”
“And you saw nothing?”
“I saw like... what looked like a girl in front of him.”
Easton waits.
Logan gestures vaguely.
“She looked short.”
I stare at him.
Easton blinks.
“That’s what you got?”
“And she had long hair.”
“What color?”
Logan pauses.
I already know this is going nowhere.
“Brown?”
The inflection at the end almost makes me close my laptop.
“You don’t know.”
“It was dark.”
“There are porch lights.”
“I wasn’t staring at her.”
“Clearly.”
He frowns at me.
“She was short. Long hair. That’s what I saw.”
This man can remember the exact score of a game from two years ago, the name of the linebacker who missed a tackle in the third quarter, and probably the brand of cleats he was wearing when it happened.
But ask him to describe the girl who apparently just moved into the unit attached to ours and I get short.
Unbelievable.
Easton rubs a hand over his face.
“Okay.”
Logan drops into the armchair like he’s done his part.
I glance back at the paused security feed.
The delivery guy is still frozen on screen.
The neighboring doorway behind him.
Someone standing just beyond it.
Someone who apparently lives there now.
I close the feed.
Not because I’m done thinking about it.
Just because there isn’t anything else to see.
Easton picks the remote back up, but he doesn’t press play yet.
“We wait until Cade gets home.”
Logan exhales through his nose.
“Yeah.”
I nod once.
There’s no point talking in circles before then.
Easton finally starts the movie again.
The woman on screen is still standing in front of the murder door.
I reopen my laptop.
For about ten seconds, I try to go back to work.
Then I realize I’m reading the same line over and over.
Someone moved in next door.
A girl.
Today.
I look toward the wall separating the two halves of the house.
Then back at my screen.
So much for a quiet weekend.
