Page 97 of It's One of Us
“That’s odd. I remember it clearly. You were having a houseguest visit, and you wanted them to have their own code so they could come and go securely if you weren’t there, but you didn’t want to give them your main code. It’s smart of you to do that, by the way. It keeps you more secure. I assume you want me to delete the secondary code now that they’re gone?”
Park’s buzz flees, chased away by the adrenaline rush. “What’s your name again?”
“Emily.”
“Emily. I’m going to have to call the police and have them talk to you. You probably need to loop in your supervisor, too. Someone impersonated me to change the security code, and I believe they’ve been breaking into the house.” A tiny gasp from Emily, who he can only imagine is feeling some serious panic about now. A feeling he understands; his own stomach is butterflies and cramps. “What other changes did the man make to the account?”
He hears typing. “You—he?—ordered new cameras. I show that they were delivered on Monday.”
“I never received any cameras. Anything else?”
“The door chimes are disabled. The delays—pretty much everything about how the system reacts to opened doors and windows was altered. I made notes. We always make notes. You—he—said you were concerned about a break-in down the street and wanted to make sure you were safe.” Typing again. “You also changed the safety passwords.”
Park blows out a breath. “You mean the one I use if the alarm goes off and you call to see if it’s a false alarm or if I’m in danger?”
“Yes. Um... I’m going to get my supervisor now. Can you stay on the line?” At his affirmative response, Muzak floats through the speaker. He knows the song, a Nirvana hit from the ’90s. Rendered in symphonic piano, it feels almost upbeat, happy.
Clever bastard. What is his son planning?
The door chimes. Something so ubiquitous, so ingrained, that he hadn’t noticed they weren’t working. He opens the door to the garage just to be sure and no, nothing. Damn.
He looks at the security company pamphlet, anger blooming. Olivia’s hyper-organization suddenly seems foolhardy. She’s left the details of their security system available for anyone to find. Thank God he thought to call. He is saving them from sure disaster.
“Mr. Bender?” A brisk, deep voice come on the line. “Fred Westgate. I own the company. Emily tells me we have a problem. You understand that I can’t take any chances here, so I’ve dispatched the police to your address. In case they call this a false alarm, I’ll make sure you aren’t fined by Metro.”
Just what Park needs with the media camped outside, more cops rolling up. But he is solicitous because he needs Fred Westgate’s help. “That’s fine. I was going to call them myself.”
“Good. This is an unprecedented breach, sir. I assure you this isn’t the kind of thing that happens with my firm.” The thin wail of a siren bleeds into the kitchen.
“I believe the police are nearly here. Would you mind holding a moment? I need to make another call.”
“Sir!” But Park sets down the phone, ignoring the sputters from Westgate for a moment while he digs Osley’s card from his wallet. He dials on his cell, and Osley answers right away.
“Mr. Bender?”
“You put my number in your cell phone, Osley?”
“I thought you might reach out. Never know. What’s wrong?”
“The police are on their way here, because it seems Peyton Flynn has hijacked my security system and has been breaking into my house.”
Osley curses. Park hears mumbling, then, “I’m on my way.”
Park ends the call and picks up the house phone. “Sorry, needed to call the guy I’ve been working with at Metro, get him out here, too. How much security footage do you have from my home?”
Westgate sounds incredibly relieved that Park is back on the line with him. “Enough. I’ve been accessing it, but you’re going to have to confirm your identity with Metro before I go further.”
“Fair enough.” The sirens are louder now. Park goes to the front door, looks out the left sidelight. Once this is resolved, he’s going to rouse Olivia and get a damn police escort out of his house. Get her someplace safe. She might hate him, but he still loves her, still wants to care for her. They have been compromised here. Park knows enough about these things to recognize danger when he sees it.
It hits him then. This whole scenario feels...familiar. Something... Has he read this setup before? Worse, written it? It’s a ridiculous phenomenon that he doesn’t remember everything he’s ever cooked up, but he’s written ten books for Barty (that nasty drunk, God, Olivia), and drafted three more. He racks his brain—is this something he’s done? Has he read it in another story? It makes a perverse kind of sense; how could a kid come up with this by himself? How could he be so devious? Where had he come by this sort of brain?
You gave it to him. You’re the devious one. You’ve been living this dual life for years, one part of you present and accounted for, another fantasizing ways to kill and maim for the entertainment of others. It doesn’t matter if it was written before or not. You gave him this identity in his very genes.
Knocks sound on the door, and he opens the heavy wood to see two patrol officers, blandly interchangeable with crew cuts and overdeveloped biceps. Among the crowd, phones are held in the air, frantically documenting this new development.
“Mr. Bender?” one says.
“Yes. Please come in. Detective Osley is on his way as well.”
