Page 17 of Property of Chaos

The grass is flattened in a worn path to and from the front gate, indicating that her walking to town wasn’t a rare occurrence. It looks more and more like she lives alone.Perfect.

I veer right and make my way up the driveway, taking stock of the windows along the side of the house to draw a rough floor plan in my mind. Bedrooms to the front, I’d guess, with abathroom at the rear and a kitchen likely on the other side. A typical worker’s cottage. Basic. Square.

And noisy as fuck with old floorboards and doors that have sagged out of line over the years.Great.

I keep moving into her backyard, slipping between the unused garage and the back porch. The pathways are paved, weaving between vegetable gardens raised above ground level. Stakes mark the corners of each plot, fairy lights strung between. This bitch doesn’t make it easy to sneak up on her, that’s for sure. The plants are a mixture of thriving and dead, which tells me this was a project she’d only partially invested in.

I move for the back porch and stall at the base of the short steps.

A chair to the left houses a few pairs of used running shoes. A couple of old timber crates sit stacked beside it, a folded rug atop. The right-hand side is a riot of potted plants in various states of care, shoved together on the decking and hanging from the roof.

She seems to like the idea of being able to keep things alive, but whether she’s any good at it is yet to be confirmed.

I run my hand through my hair and wet my lips. I should wait until she’s not home. I’m supposed to be back at the goddamn farm planning out where our fucking operations will go and what buildings we need to erect before we take possession. Yet the brass handle of her back door shimmers in the moonlight like a goddamn invitation.

She’s one woman. A fragile shell of a human being. All reasoning would dictate that she’s no threat to our existence. Yet, the groups of women I’ve witnessed outside the council chambers protesting our existence prove that the most influential people sometimes come in the smallest packages.For the club.I need to do this for the club.

At least, that’s the bullshit I feed myself as I step across her porch and test the door handle.

It halts a quarter-turn around.Locked.I go to pull my hand back when my grip jiggles something in the mechanism. An extra twist, and I force the handle to push past the lock.Fucking love old houses.The brass makes a clang as I shunt the door ajar, the noise a thunderclap against the otherwise quiet night. I freeze, measured breaths sawing in and out of my lungs while I wait for any sign of movement.Nothing. I give the door a little shove and almost fucking shit myself when a streak of grey blazes past my legs.

The critical gaze of a long-haired cat meets mine, the furry fucker sauntering into the garden as thoughI’mthe one acting weird by taking my time and not just bulldozing inside.

Fucking animals.

Her back door opens into a kitchen space, facing the cooktop on the opposite wall. A sink sits beneath a small window to my right, and a long counter divides the kitchen from the cozy living area on the left. I tread lightly over the polished floorboards and gently shut the door behind me, letting it rest slightly ajar so I don’t need to force the lock against the plate again and risk waking her.

Something sweet and floral assails my nostrils.

I scan the surroundings, noting the simple yet fancy furnishings, and find the source of the aroma: a glass jar with incense sticks protruding from the top and liquid at the base.Not bad.I’ve never cared for the finer details of housekeeping, but I can always appreciate a nice perfume when I come across it.

Her decor is curious. Timeless elegance yet with a gothic twinge. My favorite item is an enormous painting of a crow with a top hat and monocle above the open fireplace. Framed in ornate gold, it commands the space, more than the stackedbookshelves lining the far wall, two slimline windows inset amongst the titles.

I’d hoped to get inside and set my mind at ease. To reassure myself that she’s nothing more than a dull loner with no inclination toward causing trouble.

Yet, the deeper I go, the more I find reason to continue.

Theresa’s newest hire becomes more intriguing by the second.

A receipt sits on the counter beside my left hip. Chinese takeout. For two.Interesting.She could stock up to save the need to cook later in the week, but she may have also had company, which I like the idea of less. I scout the room again for any signs of masculine influence and, thankfully, find none.

What’s more disturbing is the distinct lack of photographs anywhere in the house—not a single one in sight. There are no family snaps, no nostalgic childhood memories.

Nothing for me to know her better by.

It’s like a fucking show home in here. An Insta-worthy shot of what life could be.

The curated facade that hides the ugly truth.

My eye settles on a few sheets of paper atop the black coffee table in the center of the living area. I move toward them, careful where I place my feet. A fucking short pile rug sits beneath the table, swirls in it from where somebody has moved over the surface. I lean forward, bracing myself on the arm of a nearby chair to see what’s on the papers without leaving a shoe imprint on the carpet.Health records.That’d be disappointing—finding someone so intriguing just for her to be sick.

Another page lies beneath, likely with her details atop, but I’d have to move the stack to read it, which gives away my presence here.

I move around the outskirts of the room instead and carefully open the cupboards and drawers in the cabinet under the TV,even perusing potential hiding spots among the bookshelves. But there’s nothing of interest. Nothing that tells me what sort of woman she is.

No indication of her name.

My ass hits the cushion of a teal chair, high-backed with rolled arms. Fingertips caressing the detailed wooden caps, I view her living room from the resident's point of view. Everything’s positioned so that there are no significant open spaces. It’s cozy, which I like, but I like more the visibility from the vantage point.

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