Look Closer

My pulse banging, breathing shallow, feeling like the brightest of spotlights is shining on me. I make a gesture into the window toward the front door, as if I want Lauren to let me in. Again, for show. Again, strange, but it looks like I’m making contact with Lauren inside her house—I’m a friendly weirdo, not a criminal creeper.

Then I make a thumbs-up sign, as if Lauren has agreed to meet me at the front door.

What would a nosy neighbor think? A neighbor probably wouldn’t be so sure as to call the police. Not when I’m waving at Lauren inside her house, communicating with her through gestures. Right?

I step out of the bushes and walk confidently to the brick-canopied front porch. This is the greatest gift, this canopy. No neighbor has a direct line on the front door, with the brick cover. Nobody can see me in here.

I push my foot against the front door, planting it hard but making as little noise as possible, or so I hope. At this point, with my pulse blaring between my ears, I couldn’t hear a pair of clashing cymbals.

I repeat the exercise again, softly but firmly planting a foot against the door. The boot prints, darkened from the moist dirt, are unmistakable. Paul Roy Peak Explorer boots, size thirteen.

Now it’s time to go inside.

Is the front door unlocked? Did Christian leave it unlocked? Is it normally unlocked? I don’t know. If necessary, I will go through the side window by the kitchen that Lauren always leaves open. But I’d rather walk through the front door, for obvious reasons.

Sweat stinging my eyes, my body on fire, I put my gloved hands on the front door and turn the knob.

The door opens.

I look inside, my eyes down, expecting to see her lying in the foyer.

Then I spot her. She’s not lying anywhere. She’s hanging—hanging???—from the second-floor bannister. Hanging from a long, knotted rope—the one that was around Christian’s waist. No wonder it took him so long inside. Why not just shoot her?

I step inside and close the door behind me. I’ve waited so long for this moment.

I look up into her dead eyes. She isn’t looking in my direction. That’s okay. Life isn’t perfect.

“Been a long time, Lauren,” I whisper. “Remember me?”

—

I wait. Inside Lauren’s house, Lauren’s body hanging basically right in front of me, a glass bowl shattered near my feet. I check through the peephole out onto Lathrow. If a neighbor called the police, it wouldn’t take the cops long to respond. They’d be here within minutes.

First sign of a cop car, I’ll run out Lauren’s back door, through backyards, desperately fleeing. Needless to say, not a preferred outcome.

I pull out my green cell phone and power it on. I type a message to the pink phone:

Trick or treat?

Then I pull the hot pink phone out of my pocket and power it on, too. Two phones, one pink and one green.

The pink phone shows receipt of that trick-or-treat message. Good.

I wait. Glance through the peephole again. If a neighbor called, it would have been a distress kind of call. A strange man lurking outside and now he’s inside the house! The police would not respond idly—they’d come fast. They’d probably be here now or any second. Or maybe—maybe not. Maybe the neighbor was ambivalent, wasn’t sure, didn’t want to make a fuss where none was required, didn’t want to alienate the Betancourts if this was harmless, but still felt some instinct to call the cops while downplaying it—and they’d take their time coming, a nonurgent inquiry. Which means they could still show up maybe in a few minutes, I’m not in the clear yet—

Breathe, Simon. Don’t make yourself crazy. Focus on the task.

I type another message on the green phone:

Hello? Are you home? I need to talk to you.

The pink phone buzzes in response. Two more agonizing minutes pass, because I need a little time between these texts. Then I type once more:

Testing . . . testing . . . 1, 2, 3 . . . testing, testing . . . 1, 2, 3

Then I focus on the other burner, the pink phone, and type a response that feels appropriate under the circumstances:

Not home, told you out of town

Followed by a quick reply with the green phone:

That’s strange coulda sworn I just saw you walking through the family room I must be seeing ghosts!

Which requires a prompt, shocked response from the pink phone:

You’re outside my house????

And the reasonable, reassuring reply from the green phone:

Just want to talk that’s all