Page 15 of No Control
I unlock the bottom lock and then move to the deadbolt. There’re more efficient ways to unlock a deadbolt, but I don’t want to ruin the lock. I need to leave this place untouched, and so after some tedious picking, I manage to unlock it.
Too easy. It’s too fucking easy.
That’s always what I think when I enter someone’s house. They think it’s their domain—that they’re somehow safe by turning the locks on the doors at night. Sure, it might deter the petty, amateur guys.
But a true nightmare?
Yeah, we’re gonna get in whether you lock up or not.
I turn the knob and push the door in slowly, relieved I don’t have to deal with an additional chain lock. That would’ve added a few more minutes. The scent of warm vanilla and sandalwood smash into my senses, and somehow, it’s welcoming. However, I highly doubt Lydia would be happy to see me here right now.
Talk about a bad second impression. I should’ve brought the mask.
But I don’t have one tonight, and so I continue without it, taking in the usual mess of a house. She’s not OCD when it comes to cleanliness, but the house isn’t dirty. It’s what I would expect out of a writer or left-brained person.
I’ve taken out a few.
My footsteps are dead quiet as I move through the small entry way into the living room. It’s plain, but she has some sense of décor, considering the cabin-themed pictures hanging on the walls. Nothing expensive. Nothing extraordinary.
I wander over to the bookshelf, first scanning the pictures accentuating the books on the shelves. Most are of Duke and her family—or people I don’t recognize. There’s only one of her and Mason.
Hate that.
I grab it up, narrowing my eyes at the smiling faces. Lydia’s appears strained, her lips tight, and Mason? Well, my guess is that he was probably drunk when the photo was taken. His eyes are slightly heavy, and he’s leaning against her, his shoulders slumped. I frown.
She could do so much better.
Part of me wants to smash the frame into a million pieces and burn the photo—but that would probably wake up Lydia.
And that would be bad for all of us.
So, instead, I flip the frame over, unlatch the hooks and remove the picture. I put the empty frame back on the shelf. I tilt my head at the picture as I take it in one last time, and then rip it quietly right down the center, separating the two of them.
They don’t belong together.
I shove the picture of Lydia into my pocket, only because I don’t want to throw her in the trash. I do, however, wander over and drop Mason’s picture in the trash after ripping him into a few more pieces.
Will she find it?
Probably. I kind of want her to.
I choose not to dwell on the thought and instead, take in the rest of the house. The kitchen is clean, dishes sitting neatly in the rack beside the sink. The kitchen table looks like it’s never used, covered in books and other miscellaneous items. However, in front of one of the chairs there’s a laptop.
And damn, I just can’t help myself.
At first, I read the cute little bookish stickers on the cover. They’re much more vanilla than I expected, but then again, some of the brightest lights are made with the darkest colors—or something like that. I open it, the bright light blinding as I click to unlock. I’m prepared to try and enter a passcode… But it doesn’t ask for one.
Come on, Lydia.
My lips flatline as I shake my head. We’ll go over her security later. I click through the windows she has open. The first one is a chapter outline, the next is a forty-thousand word partially written romantic comedy—gross—and the last is…
Our messages.
And that means she’s been thinking about them.
Or maybe that was just the last thing she did on the computer.
I can’t give myself too much credit. I’ve been irrevocably boring since I first reached out to her. I made it a point to be as mundane as possible in order to draw her into a normal business deal. She reacted much more strongly than I expected when we met—like she was downright terrified of me from the second she laid eyes on me.
