The Devil You Know: A Novel (25 page)

You okay? She pulled back and held my face, gently, with one hand. What happened? You okay?

I hadn’t told them much over the phone. Someone was on the
balcony, I’ve called the police, he’s gone now, but he was there. Someone on the balcony, a man. Looking in.

My father went over to the window and leaned his face into it, cupping his hands like a visor over his eyes.

Did he come back? my mother said. She said this sharply and without anxiety. All business.

He was only there a minute, I said. I feel really stupid for making you come over.

Are you kidding? She turned toward my father, intent on his window surveillance. Anything out there?

Nah, he said. Looks fine to me. He came over and patted my shoulder. All clear, sweetheart.

What did he look like? my mother said. Did you get a look at him?

I don’t know, I said. He was tall. He was a tall guy. I feel like an idiot.

How tall? Anything distinguishing? Did he have a beard, or crooked teeth or something?

I don’t know.

Annie, stop. It’s nothing. She’s fine. This was my father. He turned from my mother back to me: Evie, you’re fine.

She’s not fine. Look at her. Can I make you a cup of tea, sweetie? Something hot. My mother started opening and closing cupboards. She’s white as a ghost, look at her. She’s not fine.

My father put his arm around me and pulled me in. You’re fine, he whispered. Your mother’s going into hyperdrive over this. I bet it’s nothing at all.

The cops arrived and banged on the downstairs door with their fists. This wasn’t uncommon on my street. Police! Open up!

I ran down the dark stairs and made them show me their badges through the peephole. They were both men.

There was a dark-haired young guy and an older cop with gray hair, and the young guy walked around back first to see what he
could see. The older guy came upstairs with me and sat down at the kitchen table.

Who’s this? he said, pointing at my parents. They were both standing up, leaning against the kitchen counter. My mother had my yellow teapot in her two hands like she was keeping it warm and she held it out to him and he shook his head No. She poured a quick shot of whiskey into a mug, filled the mug with tea, and pressed it into my hand. She’d brought the mickey with her, in her purse.

The cop said his name was Constable Mercer. He asked me if I’d ever seen anyone hanging around my house like that before and I said, No.

It’s a lousy area, my mother said. My father made a gesture like, Shh.

I mean, yeah, I said. Yeah there’s always guys hanging around in the street, but no one looking in my window like that.

So he was looking in the window?

I nodded.

Yes or no.

Mercer had a little notebook and a pen and he was getting ready to write things down, but not writing anything yet. I found him hard to look in the eye. I was glad to not be alone, but with all three of them in the room, watching me, I felt surrounded. I had a sudden feeling the cop was going to catch me at something.

I think so, I said.

What do you mean, you think so?

Just tell him what happened, Evie. This was my mother again.

I was standing at the stove, I said. And I heard a sound, like someone climbing the stairs out there. But I couldn’t see anything, because I had the lights on inside.

You didn’t see him climb up?

I heard something, I said. I heard his boots.

What’d he look like? Mercer said. I stared over at the window for a moment before answering.

Something happened next door, I said. Like a cat fight or something. They have a motion-sensor light in the backyard, and it went on. So it got really bright outside.

So then you saw him? Constable Mercer looked at the window and then back at me.

Yes, I said. I was trying to look out the window and tell myself no one was there but then the light went on and he really
was
there.

Then what? Mercer still wasn’t writing. I had a weird feeling in my stomach. Then the light went out, I said. And I couldn’t tell. I went to the window and he was gone, but you could see where he’d been standing, because of the snow.

Footprints? Mercer finally touched his pen to the notebook.

He left holes, I said. There were holes in the snow where his feet were.

Someone was on the fire escape, knocking on the window.

It was the young cop. Mercer unlocked the fire escape door and the other cop came in and shook the snow off his boots.

Nothing out there, he said.

He was there like three hours ago, I said. It took you a long time to come.

No prints, the young cop said, but it’s a lot of snow since then. I realized he wasn’t talking to me; he was talking to Mercer. Mercer wrote something in the little book.

You seen anyone out there before? The young cop looked at me. I looked at Mercer, then back at this new guy.

She already answered that, my mother said.

I think we’re going to go, my father said. Annie, get your coat on. My mother didn’t move. She had the staunch look of determination you might associate with sit-in protesters. She would have been happy to sit down and answer all their questions on my behalf. You’ve got to let them do their job, my father said.

The new guy asked his question again.

No, I said.

You have a boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, someone might want to give you a scare?

No, I said. No, I don’t think so.

The young cop said his name was Job. Like from the Bible, he said. He scraped a chair along the floor and sat on it backward, so he was facing me, but with the spindles between us like a little wall.

What’d he look like?

He was tall, I said. He had boots on, and a hat. And a hoodie, I said. A black hoodie.

Tall, like how tall?

I don’t know. Taller than me.

Like six foot?

Okay. Yeah.

What kinda hoodie?

What do you mean? I said. Wait. Black.

Like what brand. Did you see that? Like with a name?

Oh, I said. No.

Mercer sighed and doodled into the notebook.

It’s pretty hard for us to do anything, Mercer said. You women never remember what these guys look like. Anyone live upstairs?

I was surprised that he asked that, because I wasn’t finished with my part of the story yet. I looked at Job but he was done asking me questions.

Um. Yeah, I said. Yeah. There are three guys up there.

But it wasn’t one of them?

I don’t think so.

Are you sure, Evie? My mother sat down in the chair next to me.

Did he go up or down? Job said.

I don’t know. I didn’t see him go.

You didn’t see him?

He was there, I said. He was standing there. But then he was gone, I don’t know. I don’t think it was one of them.

But you don’t know for sure, Mercer said.

Why would someone do that? my mother said. Why would someone from upstairs look in her window?

Mercer pushed his chair back and did a thing with his hand like, What do I know?

Who owns the place? he said.

The guy downstairs.

Mercer tipped his chin at me.

He’s a mute, I said. You can talk to him but it won’t do any good. I thumped my foot on the ground. He can’t even walk.

He looked over at Job.

Go see, he said. We’ll go shake him up a little. See if maybe he suddenly knows how to walk. Upstairs, too.

My mother had her hand on the back of my chair. In practice the interrogation made the actual incident seem really far away. Like it was something I’d dreamed, or a story I’d read. I was already thinking about what would happen now, when they all left. It was about midnight. There was a lot of night still to go. I felt really young sitting in my kitchen. I felt like the chair was too big for my body. I wondered if the cops were shaking me up, too. What they were hoping I’d suddenly come up with.

I lost my mittens, I said. And then someone left them on the fire escape for me. Is that something?

When was that? Mercer said.

A few days ago. Maybe a week.

He didn’t say anything but he opened up his book and marked it down.

Here, Job said. You got a broom? Let me sweep off that snow for you. So you’re not thinking about it all night.

He went outside and swept off the landing. Then he came in and handed me the broom and locked up the door. My mother put the teapot in the sink and I realized that everyone was leaving at once.

Mercer closed his little book and got up out of the chair.

That’s a good lock, Job said to my father. She’s got a good landlord here. He turned to me: You’re okay.

They moved off toward the front door.

What happens now? I said.

Mercer looked surprised.

We’ll let you know if we find out something, he said. Call back if he comes around again. But I don’t think he will.

You’re all right, Job said again. Just lock up. Look out for yourself. Okay?

Okay, I said.

Do you want to come home with us? My mother had her boots on already. Just for tonight, she said. All four of them had crowded into the hallway; Mercer’s hand was on the doorknob. I focused on the four bodies, four sets of eyes, instead of the empty shadows in the rest of the apartment. The kitchen and all its windows stretched out behind me.

Or a few nights even. Take a break from this place. You don’t need to do this by yourself.

For a moment I imagined packing a quick bag and scurrying down the steps between my parents, waking up in their house instead of my own, drinking coffee at their kitchen table. And then what?

I think I really do, I said. I need to stay.

My father walked the two cops down and I could hear them exchanging a few words at the front door. My mother got her coat on.

Are you sure? You might feel better if you come home.

I’m okay, I said. This is my home. You don’t have to worry about me.

Listen, Evie, she said. She took hold of my face with both hands. No one is coming for you. Okay? I promise. You’re safe here. No one’s out there. No one’s coming to get you.

My father came slowly up the stairs and took another look at the dead bolt before putting his own coat on. He gave me a wink.

I didn’t walk them down the stairs because I didn’t want to have to come back up alone.

I
f this had been last month—or let’s face it, even last week—I would have known what to do: call David. I’d just call up David, and he’d come over and show me how those weren’t footprints, they were something else, and he’d explain how they got there and it would be this totally reasonable phenomenon, and then he’d swing the fire escape door open and shut and also check every place inside my apartment where someone could be hiding. We’d have a few drinks and make popcorn. He’d show me again how the kind of dead bolt I have on my door is the very best kind and then we’d watch a movie. If I still seemed too imaginative he’d just stay over. That’s what he did last year, or back when I lived at home. That time my parents left me alone in the house for a weekend and he found out I was staying up all night with a butcher knife hidden under my pillow. In the morning you’re a little embarrassed, but it’s totally worth it because at least that way you get some sleep.

Something about my mother’s reaction had made everything worse instead of better. No one is coming for you, no one is after you. I’d thought of the incident as more of a random thing. It hadn’t really occurred to me that this might be specific, that I could be a target. How to Make Your Daughter a Neurotic Mess. I wished she’d offered to do my laundry or take me out for breakfast, the way I imagined other mothers might do.

The key in these situations is to just put the guy right out of your mind. When I say The Guy, I mean whatever it is you’re afraid of. Get busy; make your brain do something else. I know this is the right answer, but suddenly all I wanted to do was to demonstrate that I didn’t care. I don’t even care that you’re out there, watching me; I’m going to do everything right here in my kitchen, everything right next to the window. I opened up the freezer door and made a big show of prying two ice cubes out of the tray and let them slide into a glass nice and slow. I added a big splash of my mother’s whiskey and watched it swoosh around and raised my glass to the room.

Cheers, sir! I said.

I gave a little curtsey and knocked back half the drink. I was proving something. I was showing him reckless. I put the radio on and slipped on my rubber gloves and commenced dishwashing: little sip of booze, squirt of soap, quick lather. Rinse the plate and repeat. When the sink was empty I let the water suck down the drain and added more whiskey to the ice. There was a dog barking down the street.

The lights were all still on. That’s normally the first rule of being on your own: if you don’t want to know what’s outside the house at night, you switch all your lights on and keep them on. It’s brighter inside than out. The garden outside your window becomes black and soft and felty. That makes you feel safe. Or, it used to.

I scooped a little coffee into the pot and put it on the stove. It wasn’t even one o’clock yet. I didn’t want to be in the kitchen but I also couldn’t leave the back door unwatched. The coffee boiled and I turned off the stove but I didn’t pour it into a cup. Instead I poured a little more whiskey into the glass and swished it around. I tried counting my blessings, like Rosemary Clooney in
White Christmas
.