Stella's Keeper

I squint my eyes to check the tiny alarm clock on my bedside table. It reads 3AM.

I only put her down an hour ago and she’s already crying.

But I don’t let her cry. Not even for a minute. Not anymore, not after him.

Popping out of my comforting blanket and stepping onto the cold floor, I think I hear a noise. It’s only a small whirring, I’m sure it’s just coming from the boiler room. We just turned on the heat yesterday, so I’m not used to the sound.

Why am I trying to convince myself that it’s the boiler room?

I tiptoe into Stella’s room so as to not startle her, I don’t need the crying to turn into wails.

“Hi little miss, what seems to be the matter?”

I do a quick scan of Stella and of the room, nothing out of place, she still has her teething rings, she’s not sick, so I deduce she must be hungry. She’s definitely hungry, I’m sure of it; she wouldn’t eat at her usual time.

As I walk with Stella out into the living room to sit on the couch and watch This Is Ours, I start to hear that whirring again. But Stella is starting to calm down and my show is starting and I know I won’t be able to watch this at any other time and I will get an accidental spoiler from Marie if I put it off too long.

Right as Stella is beginning to eat again, right as I get a key flashback on the screen, she starts crying again. That’s when I realize.

The whirring is getting louder.

There must be another pitch, one that is too high for my older ears to hear, but is blasting in Stella’s.

It is getting louder, and louder, I cover Stella’s ears because the cries officially turned into wails and into screams and my ears feel like they could bleed with this sound and I want to move and figure out what is going on but my body is frozen to the couch. I can’t move.

Until there’s a loud bang. And the sound achingly becomes a distant memory.

Once my bones can shake that sound, I hold Stella even more tightly and walk towards the door.

There’s a box. A big box. A heavy box. It’s dented. It’s very obvious that it was dropped here. It’s even more obvious when I look up and see the tiny blinking light and an outline of a drone in the distance.

What the hell?

My brain immediately tells me to call the police. That they can handle this. There might be something bad in here. I shouldn’t open it.

But that made it worse last time. It’ll surely make it worse this time. Private use of drones has been outlawed for years now. That means it was meant for me.

I keep Stella wrapped in my arms. I can’t put her down. As much as I don’t want her to be here when I open this, I don’t want her to be alone in that room. Whoever gave me this package knows I’ll open it immediately. Either they know my impatience or they are watching the streetlight cameras. I won’t let Stella be out of my sight.

I grab the boxcutter from the mudroom, not turning my back to the box, and begin shredding the tape.

It made such a loud noise, it must be something heavy.

But I open the box and it’s not. Well, the real contents of the box is just paper. There are weights to keep the package heavy enough, otherwise it would blow in the breeze.

I reach in and grab the stack of papers bound together in a spiral, plastic covering the cover page as if it’s a confidential draft of a novel.

“Watch Your Back” is written on the front in boldface and italics. No punctuation. No other words.

I’ve seen too many horror movies not to immediately turn around and think there is someone behind me. Fortunately, there was not.

I shut the door, lock it, turn the alarm on, and make sure all my windows are locked. I knew they would be but I had to check again.

When I finally feel an ounce of air back in my lungs, I place Stella in her highchair and the spiral pages on the counter.

I flip through and there aren’t words or sentences on every page. Only some of them.

***

On page 3, “He is back out.”

On page 12, “You need to leave.”

On page 94, “A car will pull up in 10 minutes.”

On the last page, “You can trust me.”

***

I immediately recognize the numbers of the pages. Jackson’s birthday.

This is it. This is what I knew would come one day but didn’t know when…or how.

I put systems in place for a reason. This is just the beginning of the Rube Goldberg.

Pulling Stella from the highchair and putting her into her stroller-turning-car seat, I run to my closet and pull out the bag. The one waiting for me.

I turn off the alarm and open the door.

The car is just pulling up.

10 minutes exactly.