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And while she was searching, Charlie was on his laptop, monitoring the surge of posts on social media about Wyrick and the video, and the longer he sat reading the posts, the more worried he became. Enough so that he went upstairs long enough to get his handgun. He’d spent too many years as a soldier to ignore what he was feeling. There was an enemy encroaching, and he did not want to be caught unprepared.
Even after Wyrick finally went up to bed, he stayed downstairs in the dark, standing watch from a window overlooking the front gates. The security system was armed, and so was he.
It was after sunrise before the chaos began. Charlie was standing at the front windows overlooking the grounds, sipping on one of the countless cups of coffee he’d had throughout the night. He was thinking about making some toast when he realized the car passing beneath the fading streetlights just now had come this way before. And when it came around the third time, his skin crawled.
He put down the coffee he’d been drinking and stepped into the shadows to keep watch. Within a few moments he saw another car, and then a trio of people on foot were suddenly standing at the gate, and then cars began lining the streets and the people emerging from them were either pushing someone in a wheelchair or carrying children in their arms.
“Oh, hell,” Charlie said, and was already calling 911 when the security alarm went off. Someone was coming over a wall. At that point the number of lights and sirens that intrusion set off was startling enough to send the guy back to the other side, but they didn’t leave the premises—and then Wyrick was suddenly at his side, in a panic, and still in the sweats she’d fallen asleep in.
“What’s happening?” she said and then started toward the window when he grabbed her and held her back.
“I’ve already called 911. Just don’t let them see you,” he said.
She nodded and then peered between the curtains he’d pulled. He heard her groan, and then she sank to the floor with her back against the wall and covered her face with her hands.
Charlie picked her up and carried her away from the windows, then settled her on the overstuffed sofa by the fireplace. His makeshift bed was still there, quilt, pillows and all.
“It’s about forty degrees outside. I think we need a fire.”
So with the alarms sounding, and the sirens blaring, he began building a fire, laying kindling, and then logs, and then turned on the gas starter. Flames flared instantly.
He stood, watching until the kindling was burning and the first log was beginning to smoke, then pushed the pillow behind her back and spread the quilt up over her legs. But as he did, she took it out of his hands, pulled it up to her chin, then turned her gaze into the fire.
“The neighbors are going to hate me,” she said.
Charlie touched her shoulder as he passed, then went to shut off the alarm. The silence was startling, but also rewarding, because now they could hear the sound of approaching sirens as Charlie went back to where she was lying.
“Just for argument’s sake, neighbors are people who come visit you and bring you candy and cookies at Christmas. The people nearest you are strangers, just like the ones at the gate, so we don’t give a fuck about what they think.”
She sighed. “You said—”
“I know what I said, and I said it because I am so angry on your behalf, and because I can’t go out there and raise hell with those people, because they aren’t trying to hurt you. They just want you to fix what’s wrong. They don’t care that a couple weeks ago three men were trying to kill you. They don’t care that they have scared you. They don’t care that using you up to heal them would hurt you. They don’t even care that it might kill you. You aren’t their friend. They just want to use you up...like a damn battery...and when the battery dies, throw you away and look for another. So get over the guilt. Right now!”
Wyrick looked at him then, towering over her in a rage on her behalf, and nodded.
“Over the guilt.”
“Fine,” he said. “I’m going outside now to meet the police.”
“I don’t want them arrested. I just want them to go away,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and grabbed a jacket on the way out the front door.
She saw the handgun in the back of his jeans as he was putting on the jacket, and then looked down at the quilt he’d covered her with, and felt the pillow at her back and realized he must have spent the night here last night.
So she’d always wondered what it would be like to be with him, but lying on his bed was as close as she was going to get. So she nestled down into the pillow and closed her eyes, mentally blocking out the shouting and the sirens outside her door, while Charlie strode down the driveway to meet the police, who were already on scene.
But the people weren’t leaving. They kept arguing with the police, pleading their cases, showing them their loved ones in need, trying to explain their presence as important enough to warrant the intrusion.
And then Charlie was standing at the gates with the bars between them, and when they saw him, they all pushed past the police, shouting and begging to be heard.
Charlie just stared at them without saying a word, and finally, they realized they were only talking to themselves and went quiet.
And then an officer standing nearby walked up to the gate.
“Do you want to press charges?” he asked.
The crowd began to murmur in undertones. Now it was beginning to sink in. What they’d done was arrest-worthy, and all of them were caregivers, or sick themselves, and knew they couldn’t go to jail.