This is our only family photo left and I know every characteristic like it's the back of my hand. I know, for example, that behind the photo, in my father's handwriting, is the word, Paz, which is my mother's name. Peace. A heart is drawn over this. Even in this photo, my mother is wearing her signature dove pendant. The dove signifies peace, doesn't it?
As I stare at the picture, I'm still wearing the pendant. I never took it off since she gave it to me, before that fateful night. The pendant makes me feel close to my mother.
I turn from the picture and turn the plasma T.V on. Soon after, I go upstairs and get the water running to have a bath. The sounds from the T.V reach me as I reappear from the hallway.
I watch the news for a while and then go upstairs, have my bath and then turn the T.V back off. I make my way to my room, grab my laptop and finish a report which I then send to the head reporter at my station. I contemplate doing some more editing on the news story but talk myself out of it. It's going to come back with a lot of corrections anyway…"remove this, it sounds defamatory," "insert source here," "delete this."
The story could be rejected too. There are several things happening everyday; only truly spectacular things make it to the news anyway. Because people want to hear about dramatic things, not the boring, uninteresting and the mundane. Gatekeeping just lets the public get what they truly want. But that just makes me annoyed that sometimes only three news stories out of seven from my end make it to the final cut and will appear on the evening news broadcast.
I really love my job despite all the strain. I only just got added to the reporting department and while that has been taking its toll on me, I've always been looking for more responsibility; ways to grow in the industry.
I power my laptop down and get some sleep. Sleep wraps its arms around me as soon as I hit the bed.
***
My eyes open slowly.
I cannot go back to sleep. I cannot even get up either. Fear holds me in place; paralyzes me. I hear the front door close. Or open.
And it is precisely because I don't know which, that the fear maintains its grip on me. Has the intruder already broken in and left or is my house only just getting broken into now?
I stay motionless in my bed for a few minutes as I listen. I can hear footfalls, heavy ones and I don't know what to do. They seem to come closer and then recede or my mind must be playing games with me.
It's not José. José has his own key, yes, but he usually knocks when he knows I'm in. And, he had said he would be back tomorrow. He certainly wouldn't be stalking around the house without letting his presence be known. Except he wants to give me a heart attack, that is.
I'm a coward. I know within myself that no one has the right to be walking around my house like they owned the place while I'm in my bed useless and unable to help it, yet I still stay in my bed, hoping they will just go away, my eyes all the while eyeing the first drawer on the table next to my bedside. There's a small dagger in there. José had me keep it there so I could protect myself in times like this.
So what the heck am I still doing lying in my bed for whatever sinister force beyond my bedroom door to do to me? It doesn't make a lot of sense to die so easily, without giving myself a fighting chance. It seems more sensible to take the fight to the intruder. Surprise them. They're the ones trespassing. This is my house.
Slowly, I get up and slide out of the covers and pull the drawer open. When I feel the cold blade of the dagger in my hand, I let out a soft exhale, trying to calm my breathing.
I tip-toe across my room. I don't know why I can't be more quiet as I make my way to the door. My breathing sounds too loud in my ears. The rustle of my clothes as I move is almost deafening.
I swallow a deep breath and push my bedroom door open. The door slides with a distinct creak and that freaks me out. It sounds too loud. Will the intruder be drawn to that noise, more prepared now, knowing I'm coming and in this bedroom?
I try to keep my focus on the task at hand. Silence greets me as I stare down the hallway. Quietly, I check all the rooms, one by one, starting with José's, my ears sharp to catch any noise. I just need one- just one- unceremonious door slam to get a mental breakdown at this point.
After I'm done with the rooms upstairs, I take the stairs down, holding my dagger in my hand like some sword, both fingers wrapped around it. I search the living room, kitchen and foyer closet. There's nobody there. And the doors and windows are locked. Still locked. I know I locked them before going to bed yesterday.
I make my way to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of my brother's Scotch. It's pretty early- just around midnight- but I need this. That feeling… It's quite unlike anything I've ever experienced. Someone has been here. Or some people.
Yet the doors are still locked. I need to talk to José about changing the locks on the doors as soon as he arrives today.
I leave the kitchen and head for the front door. Once there, I peer outside through the window next to the door. There is no activity on the street. It's really quiet. There is a car parked across the road. It's a black Ford and I don't know how long it has been parked across the street. I don't know if it has been there since I arrived from the restaurant.
Checking the doors one last time, I head back upstairs with the dagger and get some sleep.