The Intrusion

Twenty-Seven

[Jordan]

It's around eleven by the time I finally pull myself together, email work, shower and make myself look like a halfway useful human being. After determining that my headache and overall grogginess aren't about to go away anytime soon, I head to the lobby to see if I can figure anymore out about the break-in last night.

I consciously lock my door behind myself and make my way to the elevator. The doors open immediately after I press the call button, as though someone had just gotten off on my floor. I get in and click the "L" button. As the elevator descends, I stare at the printer-paper sign posted on the wall where "NO FLUSHING KITTY LITTER" is written in magic marker. It's not a particularly interesting sign, and I've already read it at least a dozen times before. Mostly, I'm trying to avoid seeing my reflection. I already know I look like shit—there are enough mirrors in my apartment that I don't need any more reminders of that fact.

When I finally reach the lobby, I step out and march straight to the front desk.

"Can I help you, Miss?" the man sitting behind the computer asks, only glancing away from his screen for a second before returning his attention to World of Warcraft or whatever game he is probably playing instead of working.

"Yes." My voice falters when I say it. "I think there was a break-in at my apartment last night."

This gets his attention. He clicks a button on his mouse, probably pausing his game, and turns to face me.

"Have you notified the police?" He eyes me carefully. Assessing me.

"No."

"Would you like me to call them?" he interrupts me before I can get another word in.

"No, please..."

"Miss, this is really something the police should deal with. If you think someone has broken in to your apartment..."

"I don't want to go to the police," I cut him off. "Please. I don't think this is something I need to involve them with. Nothing was taken, it's just, my things were moved around. Someone came into my apartment while I was sleeping and went through my things."

The desk attendant furrows his brow. "Well, was there any sign of forced entry?"

"No," I tell him slowly. "Nothing like that."

"So nothing was stolen and the door wasn't broken in." He sighs and shakes his head. "Miss..."

"Harper," I fill in for him.

"Miss Harper," another sigh, "I don't know what you want me to do. I don't see how you are even coming to the conclusion that someone broke into your apartment last night."

"I've told you," I repeat myself, trying as hard as I can to stay calm so he won't think I'm nuts, but with this persistent headache it is becoming more and more difficult to keep myself from snapping. "My things were moved. Someone came into my apartment and went through my stuff."

"And all this happened while you were in your apartment?" He raises his eyebrows at me.

"Yes. I was in my apartment the whole night."

"And you didn't hear anything?"

"I was asleep." I wince and clasp my temple as another shot of pain pierces through my skull. "And I locked my door last night. I'm sure of it." I know he didn't ask about that last part, but I'm mostly stating it to reassure myself of the facts. Every time I think about it, I second guess myself. Even though I've been careful, stuff like locking doors and turning off ovens are so mindless they're impossible to remember doing. You don't think about it while you do it, so you never actually create a memory of it. No matter how hard you try, you will never truly be able to remember doing it.

The desk attendant sighs and lays his hands out on the desk in front of himself. "So, you've already told me you don't want to call the police about this." He pauses in exasperation. "I don't understand what you want me to do."

"I want to watch the surveillance tape of the lobby from last night," I finally say. I've been thinking about this all morning, and I have an idea of who I might see on that tape.

"I can't let you see the tape, Miss Harper. It's against policy. I'm sorry. Even if I could, I don't know what you are expecting to see. We have a security guard posted here every night. If there was anyone suspicious in the building the guard would have seen him."

"Please mister," I glance at his name tag, "George. Please, George, just humor me. Could you maybe just watch the tape for me and let me know if you see anyone suspicious on the video entering the building last night? Please?"

He rolls his eyes. "All right, fine."

George hits a few buttons on his computer. I watch his face as he watches the security footage.

For the first three or so minutes, he looks bored. He's only half watching it. He's probably more closely watching the clock on his computer waiting for his shift to end then he is paying attention to the footage.

Suddenly, his eyes perk up. He leans in so his face is right up next to the screen, squinting at it. He turns to glance at me and then quickly looks back at the monitor.

What is he seeing?

He hits a button I assume must be pause and eyes me cautiously.

"Miss Harper," he begins. "Are you sure you didn't leave your apartment at any time last night?"

"Yes. I stayed in all evening after I got home from work. I went to bed early." I didn't even go for a run yesterday! What is he talking about? Why do I suddenly get the feeling that he thinks I'm guilty of something?

"Miss, I think you need to see this." He rotates the computer monitor around so we can both see the screen. As he rewinds the tape, I lean over his desk to get a better angle.

And then he presses play.