Chapter 11 - The Intruder in the Night
Two days later, the suburban streets of Alexandria, Virginia, were quiet. A thick, autumn fog rolled through the neighborhood, cloaking the houses in a soft, grey shroud.
At 2:45 a.m., a dark figure slipped through the shadows of my backyard.
Julian was exhausted. His clothes were covered in dirt, his face gaunt and unshaven. He had managed to cross the border using his forged ID, stole a car from an airport parking lot in San Diego, and drove non-stop across the country, fueled only by caffeine and pure desperation.
He approached the back door, his hand trembling as he pulled his old house key from his pocket. He slid the key into the lock.
It didn't turn.
Julian's brow furrowed in frustration. He tried again, forcing the key with all his might, but the cylinder remained locked. He looked closer at the lock, realizing with a shock of anger that the brass was brand new, bright and clean against the weathered wood of the door.
"That bitch changed the locks," he hissed, his face contorting in rage.
He didn't hesitate. He picked up a heavy stone from the garden bed, wrapped his hand in his jacket, and smashed the small glass pane of the kitchen window. The sound of shattering glass was loud in the quiet night.
He reached inside, unlocked the latch, and climbed through the window, tumbling onto the clean marble floor of my kitchen.
May you like
He stood up, brushing the glass from his knees, a triumphant smirk returning to his face. "You thought you could lock me out, Clara? This is my house."
He moved quickly through the dark kitchen, heading toward the basement door. He didn't turn on any lights, using the flashlight on his burner phone to guide his way. He opened the basement door and descended the wooden stairs, his heart hammering in his chest as he approached the utility room.
