Page 32 of Promise of Destruction
I passed the proverbial torch to Alonzo for all further communication, and had a text on my phone by noon stating that the cameras had been installed successfully.
It’s a wonder that Soren hasn’t boarded all her windows yet, let alone that she doesn’t even bother to draw the curtains.
Working in cyber communications has its perks, the best of which is probably the unrestricted access I have to military-grade surveillance cameras. Three well-aimed cameras and her refusal to close her curtains, and I’ve got a perfect view of her everywhere but the bathroom and her backyard.
It’s all just as well. I saw her from the other side of a double-paned window. I know what she does in that bathroom, and watching it on camera would pale in comparison.
Unfortunately, Soren Palmer isn’t as exciting tonight. She lays on her bed for a long time like she’s attempting to get some sleepdespite the fact that she didn’t dress for bed. When she finally gets up, it’s to go the bathroom.
The camera reaches as far as it can before it’s out of range.
I wait patiently, clicking through unread emails while I wait for her to re-appear.
After ten minutes, I’m starting to wonder if she fell in the toilet. I already know she showered earlier because I saw her come out of the bathroom clutching her towel against her chest.
After twenty minutes, I think maybe she is taking another shower or a bath; She certainly seemed vexed and probably needs to burn off some frustration.
At the end of thirty minutes, I close the surveillance app and stare at my phone, debating the move I’m about to make.
It’s another five minutes before I hit the ‘call’ button on her name.
I saved it at the office this morning, but she probably won’t recognize my number.
“You’ve reached Soren. If you want me to get back to you, leave me your name and number and I will… if I ever check my voicemail.” Her laugh is cut off by the beep that prompts me to leave a message.
I didn’t expect her to answer, but I also didn’t expect to leave a voicemail. I hang up, deciding to text her instead.
Me: What are you doing?
I wait a moment for the message to be delivered, and it switches shortly after toread. I laugh.
Predictable.
Soren: Who is this?
I have a dozen responses for that, none of which I can risk putting in writing.
She’ll figure it out eventually. I didn’t text her to start a conversation when I could be watching her. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t bleeding out in the bathtub.
Apparently, she’s got a history of that.
I close out the text message and return to the view of the camera in time to see a car pull into the driveway. My fingers are already closing around the keys in my pocket when I notice the text on the side of the car.
The police officer who gets out of the driver’s side of the squad car is tall but lanky—nothing about him says that he’s a threat, but I’m not taking a chance. Abandoning my keys, I rush through the house to my study.
I do all of my work from my home, whether stationary or mobile. Most things I do these days can be accomplished just as easily on my cell, but I want the clearest shot I can get.
A tap on the mouse track is all it takes to wake the wall of screens stationed above my desk. I type the address of the neighbors house into the search bar and each of the camera feeds comes to life on one of the screens. The officer is still making his way to the porch slowly, looking all around as if he’s expecting someone to jump out at him from the bushes. The other two cameras, pointed into her bedroom and the living room/kitchen, show no people.
Me: You have a guest in 3…2…
My message shows read, and five seconds later I watch the officer lift a hand to knock on the front door.
He turns to look nervously around; That’s the moment I take advantage of the screen capture. A yellow box appears around his face, blurry and grainy at first. It only takes a moment for the system to zoom and enhance his features unprompted. A single keystroke is all it takes for the system to start running through its database.
The second box that opens next to the first starts rapid-fire spitting out images of people—headshots, mugshots, and selfies alike, scanning the index for any features that coincide with the officer’s.
Movement on one of the cameras catches my eye.
