Breaking-In, CH 04 (Patreon)

I secure the wire into the channel I cut into the top and side of the door, wire it to the handle, then fill the channel with putty, leveling as close as possible. While this dries, I return to the previous door I wired this way and scrape the excess putty, then sand it. I apply a coat of paint that matches the rest of the door, and my alterations are now undetectable. I take the door, whose paint is now dry. This one if the master bathroom door. I install it, connect the end of the wire at the top, by the hinge, to the electrical wire I ran through the walls for this purpose and test that it opens and closes properly and that like the others, there is no easy sign of the wire’s presence.

Back in my workroom, I write a ‘done’ next to the electrify the doors on my list of tasks written on the whiteboard, then move on to my next one: ‘establish routine.’

The board is there to keep Alex appraised of what I am doing. An adjustment that is proving easier than expected. After our miscommunications and the situations that created, we’ve agreed to keep the other appraised of our plans going forward. Alex was mostly amused when I told him I would upgrade the security to the house. The one point he was serious with, was that I wasn’t to set up the house to explode.

I’m still looking for an alternative he will approve of.

I shower, then move to the bedroom. Alex is at work, Emil in school. The closet contains Alex’s clothing, divided into sets. One is what an internet security expert would wear. Sensible corporate wear with small detail calling to someone who doesn’t entirely follow the rules. A brown suit comes with bright orange buttons. A Pinstripes one has a handkerchief that is bright pink. A yellow shirt has small designs on it that, when looked at closely, are revealed to be penises.

These are Alex’s attempt at creating a mask for the man he is at work. It is unsubtle. It is too late to change it, as he has spent five years establishing it.

The other set is marked by how expensive they are. Alex enjoyed high-quality clothing when not dressing for a specific purpose. 

The last is my set of clothing. Those that support I am a security expert who makes good money, but prefer being sensible over being extravagant. I take a pair of jeans out, along with a white shirt, black socks and walking shoes. I get dressed.

Now that I and Alex have become part of the neighborhood, it is important that we fit the role. Alex’s discomfort at the barbecue makes his lack of interaction with the inhabitants understandable, but I needed to be comfortable to gain information. Now, I need to maintain that show of comfort by interacting with those who remain at home. Since the start of the week, that has been by taking a walk in the afternoon, never at the same time, and letting them see me. Too much precision will be noticed and draw attention. People are not machine, and only behave as such with effort and conscious thought.

Other than the Dominiguez, who I will make contact with, if one of them does not approach me on their own, I am content to let them initiate contact once they feel I am inoffensive enough. The barbecue gave them the comfort of the crowd when approaching me. This is without support, so they will need to decide they are safe with me before approaching.

I step outside and the heat strikes me. The house is air-conditioned, and that is one aspect that Alex will not let me change. Emil has remained quiet, but he is enjoying the respite from the heat.

Boxes rattle at their reliance on comfort, but I don’t act on my dislike. I chose to live without the extra comfort. I believe it makes me more prepared to survive the world and while Alex visited me I was justified in require of him that he live under my rules when at my house. Now, things are different.

I am turning the ring on my ring finger and I silence the box radiating annoyance at the unconscious gesture. I traced the action back to Alex’s box, and it calms me.

It also serves as a reminder that I am no longer functioning alone. I have a partner and a son. Alex may have given me his life to do as I wish with, but that must be tempered with the place he has in Emil’s life. That means I can not simply dictate how Alex will live anymore. It must be an agreement between the two of us.

I can endure the transition from cool to hot. I can ensure that Alex is not complacent because of the comforts he relies on.

“Mister Crimson,” Helen Krobeck calls from her doorstep and waives, “I’m glad to have caught you.”

“Helen,” I greet back, smiling. She surreptitiously watched me from her window Monday and yesterday as I walked around the cul-de-sac. “What can I do for you?” she wears a light dress and a large hat that shades her face. She hurries to cross the road and reaches me by the time I’ve walked to the sidewalk lining the front yard of the house.

“You never told me how you and the other Mister Crimson met.” She reaches for my arm and I step away in responses to a box’s alarm. Only once I silenced it do I realized I’ve broken the image I set to establish of someone who is approachable. “I’m sorry,” I say, having no choice but to incorporate this into the mask. “I’m not fond of being touched.” It is the truth. Growing up under my father’s care, touch equates to pain. I have learned to control it, and that it is rarely true, but like all my boxes, sometimes I lose track of them until they make themselves known.

“That must make the nights between the two of you interesting.” The joke, and her smile, cover up her desire to ask questions. I have given her something else to work out about me. Maybe this is for the best, another imperfection in the person I claim to be.

I smile back. “His touch, I don’t mind.”

“I bet you don’t.” She winks. I walk and she stays next to me. “So… you and him?”

She uses humor to make others comfortable, have them lower their guard so they will answer her questions, volunteer more, not realizing she is interrogating them. I can control this conversation in any direction I chose, so I chose not to evade.

“We met a little over a year ago. He was doing onsite internet security work, while I was evaluating the company’s physical security. He’s funny, clever and persistent. We dated for a few months, then I proposed and he said yes.” The smile takes little work. The story may be a fabrication, a loose adaptation of our actual meeting at Liaison and the following months, but Alex’s box always resonates to it.

“And the young man, Emil? His son?” her question if more probing.

“Mine. I adopted him when he was nine.”

“That’s be why I hadn’t seen him before.” We pass the Alcabu household on Alex’s right. “Jenifer was wondering what you get up to in the morning. She’s been hearing what sounds like fighting coming from your yard.”

“We train every morning,” I respond. “What does Jenifer do? I’ve noticed a delivery truck almost every day.”

“She runs some business on the internet. Buying and selling stuff.”

That she doesn’t know more surprises me, and makes me wonder why Jennifer wouldn’t answer her directly. What can she sell that she’d be on guard against others knowing?

“That’s Elizabeth Bauwen’s house.” Helen says, then lowers her voice. “She’s on husband number three.”

“Divorce or death?”

She looks at me, surprised.

“What else would it be?”

“Death.”

I nod and make a note of getting information on that. If there is a monster in the area, I need to know.

“Hey, Helen,” Johnatan Wagler says, getting out of his car. He wears light brown pant, a white shirt and puts on a Bolero hat. “Tristan, I hope you don’t mind if I call you Tristan. We’re something of a tightknit community, and first names are kind of our thing.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re home early,” Helen points out after checking a pocket watch.

“The shelter ran out of food, so they didn’t need me to hang around. I figured I’d come home and go for a run before making dinner.”

“You have company tonight?”

Johnathan smiles. “I do. How did you know?”

Helen laughs. “You have a dinner companion every Wednesday.” She looks at me. “He’s quite popular with the ladies.”

“Are there good running paths around here?” I ask. I need a way those living here can see to explain I am in shape. Mentioning the weight lifting equipment and sparing with Alex will not be enough.

Johnathan points to the road leading here. “Just past the Cooke’s house, there’s a path that leads through a few parks. It’s not officially a running path, so it’s not maintained and the footing can be iffy in places, but it’s about ten miles long if you go to the end.” He grins. “I usually only do three or four. I’m not trying to prove anything.”

I nod. “Thanks. I’ll give it a try when it isn’t so hot.”

Johnathan laughs. “Not a Phoenix native then. It’s this hot all the time here.”

The weather forecast contradicts him, but it’s simply his attempt at making me feel like I belong here, so I don’t point that out.

“If you don’t mind me asking, I noticed that you got here a while back, but the barbecue was the first time any of us saw you out of the house. Did Bart tie—”

“His name’s Alex. Bart is his middle name.”

“Really? Okay, but yeah, did he keep you tied to his bed or something?”

“He was injured on the trip we took for our delayed honeymoon, so I nursed him back to health. I also used the time to do work on the house, and I did leave. I guess you simply weren’t around when I drove out to run errands.”

He looks at Helen, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought it was Alex,” she says. “It was his car and that late. It isn’t like I can see who is driving.”

“If it wasn’t obvious,” Johnathan says, “Helen’s sort of the self-appointed guardian of the neighborhood. If you plan on screwing around here. You better be sure she isn’t around, or she’ll know.”

“Only she doesn’t know who the graffiti artist is.”

“Even I have my limits,” she replies.

“Has there been any recently? I’d like to see them. Take a picture. Maybe someone within the security community will know who it is and we can make sure they stop.”

“There hasn’t been any in a while,” Helen says.

“But I have pictures,” Johnathan says, taking out his phone. “I can send them to your phone.” No discomfort, so me prying into his life then?

“I don’t have it with me.”

It takes both of them by surprise.

“This is supposed to be relaxing. In my industry, the only way to make that happen is to be unreachable. There’s always an emergency going off somewhere.”

“Oh, I get that.” Johnathan looks at his phone. “It’s like that for me, too. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve been called to take over for someone who called in sick.”

“Another paramedic?”

He nods.

“It’s my understanding you don’t need to work.”

He looks at Helen. “I don’t, but what am I going to do with my days? Stay in and stare at the walls? I have to stay busy, and there’s only so much work I can do at the shelter. Paramedic work is another way I can give back to the community for how fortunate I’ve been.” No discomfort again. Was it the specific situation that caused it? The company he was in? “I hope you don’t mind, but if I’m going to be back in time to shower and get dinner ready, I have to get to my run now.”

“We won’t keep you from getting things ready for your company,” Helen says as he head for his house.

I go over the little of the interaction I noticed between him and the women at the table. There was no indication he was involved with one of them, but the regular visit by call girls would be an effective way to hide an affair with one of the women here. Helen is the only single woman here, so any of the others would have to hide it from their spouse.

I will need to document everyone’s movements to work out who it is.