Chapter 11
We sat at wooden dining table, four white-cushioned chairs, two mugs pushed aside. Daylight fell through large glass windows, bright on table grain. Dave gone, truck pulled from driveway. Jenna stayed opposite me, Mark beside me, shoulders not touching.
Mark set phone flat on table, screen up. My phone beside it, same SafeView feed mirrored. Porch view live, then he tapped History, yesterday and today thumbnails stacked.
"You sure you want see it?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "Together. Not you alone at midnight."
He tapped 9:42 AM today. Video buffered, then played. No music, just wind and porch creak.
Screen showed blonde woman in cream sweater, shoulder-length hair, gold hoops glinting, brown bag handles over arm. Me. Reaching for white door, dark round knob and deadbolt. Man in dark blue polo behind me, tense, close. Breath visible.
I watched myself jiggle knob. Fail. Jiggle again. Knob rattled, deadbolt held.
My voice from phone speaker, small and frustrated: "Why isn't it working?"
Mark flinched beside me. His on-screen self leaned in, hand hovered near my back, not touching.
Then his voice, flat reassurance that had sounded so wrong earlier: "Put your confidence, it's completely worked."
On video, I turned slightly, brow tense, hand still on door. No relief in face. Confusion deeper.
Camera then cut angle - low porch camera view, white housing filling foreground sharp, couple blurred below at door. I remembered that moment, neck prickling before I knew why.
Next clip auto-played: extreme low-angle close-up, my face looking up at camera, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, surprise and sudden understanding. Gold hoops caught light. Micro-expression held half second too long.
Jenna looked away. "I told him camera would scare you."
Mark paused video on my upturned face. "I thought video would make system feel serious. Instead it just shows me keeping you out."
I stared at frozen self. Saw how small I looked under that white eye, how natural anxious expression turned to exposed.
"Play through," I said. Quiet.
He tapped play. Video held on my face, then blurred to overexposed porch ceiling, then cut to black. End of clip.
Silence in dining room. Real wind outside moved green foliage beyond porch. No sound effects needed.
I tapped my phone, same clip on my device. I could save, delete, share. Power equal now.
"Why didn't you delete it?" I asked Mark.
He met my eyes, not camera. "I almost did. Felt ashamed. But you deserve to see what I saw. What I caused."
Jenna pushed second mug away. Pink lipstick ring inside. "I helped stage inside, poured coffee so it'd look lived-in. Thought test needed realism. It felt wrong right away."
I reached, paused video, saved copy to my phone. File named porch_09-42. Evidence, not threat.
Mark's hand rested on table, palm up, not demanding. Offering again.
"I see fear in your face," he said. Voice smaller. "Not confidence. I put that there."
I looked at live feed again, door still white, knob still dark, but now both phones showed it. Empathy opened crack. Not forgiveness yet.
May you like
"We keep this clip," I said. "Not to punish. To remember why we change rule."
He nodded, left palm still open. I didn't take it yet, but didn't push away. Next step ask why fear drove him to secret drill at all.
