Page 5 of Jessica's Hero

The throw rug in front of the fireplace is gone.

Shock loosens my muscles, and my shopping bags fall heavily to the ground.

My already-skipping heart rockets to triple speed.

This can’t be right.

Cold all over, I inspect the living room again, this time searching for hidden cameras. Maybe a tiny blinking red light by the ceiling, or the flash of a glass lens tucked into the Christmas cactus over by the window.

But there’s nothing.

I’m frozen in indecision—half of me wanting to race from the house right away, the other desperate to know. Is it just in the living room? What about the kitchen? Mybedroom?

The fight or flight instinct kicks in and I’m already retreating towards the door when a chilling thought hits me.

Will they even believe me? After the other times I called and was summarily dismissed, will this just be brushed aside as another call for attention?

I need to know more.

So I rush to the kitchen doorway and peer inside.

Like the living room, it’s mostly the same. But the microwave is over by the fridge instead of the oven. The bowl of fruit on the center island is gone.

Air is coming in wheezing gasps as I race to the bedroom. A logical voice in my head says it’s not smart, there could be someone inside, I should run to get help. But it’s like I’m powerless to do anything but move on instinct.

When I reach the bedroom doorway, my first feeling is one of relief. There’s nothing missing. No upside-down photos. None of the furniture has been rearranged.

It’s a small comfort, but to know that at least my bedroom is?—

My heart stops.

The comforter.

The double-sided comforter I bought during the Black Friday sales last year.

I had it set to display the dark blue side, patterned with tiny springs of delicate flowers. But now it’s showing the cream side with narrow, blue chevron stripes instead.

My legs turn to jelly, and I have to grab the door jamb to keep from collapsing.

I didn’t do that. IknowI didn’t.

The reality of the situation finally slams home.

Someone has been in my house.

It’s enough to get me moving again, this time back down the hallway and into the living room. The room that only minutes ago felt warm and comforting has a dark and menacing air to it.

Someone was in my house.

What if they’re still here?

On unsteady feet, I race across the room, smashing my shin on the coffee table and nearly pitching myself over it. The fear I felt from the incidents before is nothing compared to now; seeing irrefutable proof that someone was in my house. That someone really is messing with me.

Or are they doing more than that?

As I burst out the front door, I step onto a slick corner of the porch and skid across it, absently thinking,maybesweeping the snow isn’t a bad idea after all. But I manage to keep my balance, windmilling my arms until I get traction again. Then I stumble down the front steps and lunge at my car, slamming the door and locking it behind me.

My heartbeat is an engine rushing in my head, drowning out everything. Gray dots dance at the edge of my vision as my lungs strain for air.