Page 16 of The Guy Next Door

“I guess if you’re gonna be my personal bodyguard, you need a gun,” I say, and he looks taken aback.

Despite how wild this all is, in a fucked-up way, it makes some sense. Or maybe our chat has left me spinning to the point where the absurd suddenly sounds reasonable.

One thing seems apparent: Zane believes what he’s telling me. That doesn’t mean it’s true. He could be having a mental breakdown. Maybe that’s why the cops don’t believe this shit he’s talking about, but either way, someone was actually in my place, and he scared them off. Surely, even if he was suffering from a delusion, he could have happened to intercept a burglar.

And there are other possible explanations. He could know exactly what he’s doing. Maybe this is all some elaborate conworthy of a true-crime podcast. He wants to manipulate me with this story so he can rob shit from my parents’ house. Had a friend break in the other night to make these outrageous claims seem more plausible. Although, that seems like a lot of work when he could have just worn a stocking over his head, put that gun to me, and gotten me to do anything he and his friend wanted while they packed up shit from the house. Or use this con on a wealthier family.

On the flip side, everything he’s saying could be true.

Whatever the truth may be, I’m willing to take a chance on Zane’s version. At least until I’ve had some time to think it over, maybe come to my fucking senses.

I make him wait outside as I head upstairs and fetch the shoebox I stashed the gun in. When I return it to him, he says, “Thanks. Love Converse. Hope they’re my size.”

He glances around awkwardly, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Oh, see? You like my humor after all,” he teases.

“I think you’re very charming for being awkward as fuck.” As soon as I say the words, I regret them because his eyes are on me again.

There’s something about the way he looks at me. And he called me very attractive. Is he bi or gay? Or is he so damn awkward these kinds of looks and comments could mean anything?

“Okay,” he finally says as he looks to the porch. “I’m gonna head back to my place…watch some footage from last night. Kidding. That would be weird.”

“Yeah, that comment was more in the creeper realm.”

“I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”

He turns to start off the porch, but an idea springs to mind. “Wait!” I say. “Stay right there.”

I don’t even wait to see if he heard me. Just close and lock the door. I head back to the kitchen and grab the leftover stroganoff. When I return to the door, I hand it to him.

“I made it last night, so it’s still good. Not everyone likes stroganoff, but give it a chance. I have a pretty awesome spice combo for it.”

He stares at the Tupperware as if he doesn’t know what he’s holding before saying, “Um…thank you…I guess.”

“Yes,thank youis the correct response, creeper,” I tease with a wink.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling as he turns and, without another word, heads back along the walkway to the driveway, then to the sidewalk, glancing my way briefly as he returns to the Morgans’ place.

I close and lock the door. I take a deep breath, almost a gasp, as though some part of me is surprised I survived that encounter. Mom and Dad would freak out if they ever found out what I’d just done.

Hell, if they heard the wild shit he told me, they would already be on the phone with the cops. And I’m trying to figure out if that’s what I should be doing, but instead follow another of his suggestions.

Sitting at my desk, I run Google searches while Kyra hops about her cage, which I’ve set nearby to keep her company. She chirps, her head bobbing about like she’s trying to figure out what’s captured my attention.

“Zane Grayson” “disappearance”

“Zane Grayson”

“Z Grayson” + “disappearance”

This isn’t going anywhere…

“Disappearance” + “Jason Kilbourne”

I’m inundated with headlines and posts.

I see what I’d expect—information about the day he went missing, interviews conducted with family members, pleas for information from the public.

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