А Финн: The Woman in the Window

He steps toward the bed slowly. And again.

“My mom has no idea. About any of it. She wasn’t even there—she got back the next morning. My dad made me swear not to tell. He wants to protect her. I feel kind of bad for him. That’s a pretty big secret to keep from the person you’re married to.” He steps a third time. “She just thinks you’re insane.”

One more step, and now he’s standing beside me, the blade level with my throat.

“So?” he says.

I whine with terror.

Then he sits on the edge of the mattress, the base of his back against my knees. “Analyze me.” He cocks his head. “Fix me.”

I recoil. No. I can’t do this.

But you can, Mommy.

No. No. It’s over.

Come on, Anna.

He has a weapon.

You’ve got your mind.

All right. All right.

One, two, three, four.

“I know what I am,” says Ethan, soft, almost soothing. “Does that help?”

Psychopath. The superficial charm, the labile personality, the flat affect. The letter opener in his hand.

“You—grew up hurting animals,” I say, trying to steady my voice.

“Yeah, but that’s easy. I gave your cat a rat I cut up. I found it in our basement. This city is disgusting.” He looks at the blade. Looks back at me. “Anything else? Come on. You can do better than that.”

I draw a breath and guess again. “You enjoy manipulating others.”

“Well, yeah . I mean . . . yeah .” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s fun. And easy. You’re really easy.” He winks at me.

A tap at my arm. I flick a glance to my side. My phone has slid down the pillow, lodged against my elbow.

“I came on too strong with Jennifer.” He looks thoughtful. “She got—it was too much. I should’ve gone slower.” He lays the blade flat on one thigh, strokes, as though whetting it. It zips against the denim. “So I didn’t want you to think I was a threat. That’s why I said I missed my friends. And I pretended I might be gay. And I cried all those fucking times. All so you’d feel sorry for me and think I was this . . .” Trailing off. “And because, like I said, I sort of can’t get enough of you.”

I close my eyes. I can see the phone in my head as though it’s illuminated.

“Hey—did you notice when I undressed in front of the window? I did that a couple of times. I know you saw me once.”

I swallow. Slowly I pull my elbow back into the pillow, the phone dragging along the flesh of my forearm.

“What else? Daddy issues, maybe?” He smirks again. “I know I’ve been talking about him some. My real father, not Alistair. Alistair’s just a sad little man.”

I feel the screen against my wrist, cool and slick. “You don’t . . .”

“What?”

“You don’t respect other people’s space.”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”

I nod again. Brush the screen with my thumb.

“I told you: you interested me. That old bitch down the block told me about you. Well, not everything, obviously. I’ve learned a lot since. But that’s why I brought that candle over. My mom had no idea. She wouldn’t have let me.” He pauses, considers me. “I bet you used to be pretty.”

He moves the letter opener toward my face. Slips the blade beside a lick of hair on my cheek, flicks it away. I flinch, whimper.

“That lady just said that you stayed in your house all the time. And that was interesting to me. This weird woman who never went outside. This freak.”

I wrap my hand around the phone. I’ll swipe to the passcode screen and let my fingers walk out those four numbers. I’ve tapped them so many times. I can do it in the dark. I can do it with Ethan sitting next to me.

“I knew I had to get to know you.”

Now. I touch the button on the phone, press it. Cough to mask the click.

“My parents—” he begins, turning to the window. He stops.

My head turns with him. And I see what he sees: the glow of the phone, reflected in the glass.

He gasps. I gasp.

I snap my eyes to him. He stares at me.

Then he grins. “I’m kidding.” He points at the phone with the letter opener. “I already changed the code. Right before you woke up. I’m not stupid. I’m not going to leave a working phone right next to you.”

I can’t breathe.

“And I took out the batteries from the one in the library. In case you were wondering.”

My blood stops.

He gestures toward the door. “Anyway. I’ve been coming over at night for a couple of weeks, just walking around, watching you. I like it here. It’s quiet and dark.” He sounds thoughtful. “And it’s kind of interesting, the way you live. I feel like I’m doing research on you. Like a documentary. I even”—he smiles—“took your picture with your phone.” A grimace. “Was that too much? I feel like that was too much. Oh—but ask me how I unlocked your phone.”

I say nothing.

“Ask me.” Threatening.

“How did you unlock my phone?” I whisper.

He smiles broadly, like a child who knows he’s about to say something clever. “You told me how.”

I shake my head. “No.”

His eyes roll. “Well, okay—you didn’t tell me .” He leans toward me. “You told that ancient bitch in Montana.”

“Lizzie?”

He nods.

“You—were spying on us?”

He heaves a deep sigh. “God, you really are stupid. By the way, I don’t teach disabled kids how to swim. I’d rather kill myself. No, Anna: I am Lizzie.”

My mouth drops open.

“Or I was,” he says. “She’s been getting out of the house a lot lately. I think she’s all better. Thanks to her sons—what are their names?”

“Beau and William,” I answer, before I can stop myself.

He giggles again. “Holy shit. I can’t believe you remember that.” Laughing more now. “ Beau . I swear I just made that up on the spot.”

I stare at him.

“That first day I came over. You had that freak website on your laptop. I created an account as soon as I got home. Got to know all sorts of lonely losers. DiscoMickey, or whatever.” He shakes his head. “It’s pathetic. But he put me in touch with you. I didn’t want to just write you out of the blue. Didn’t want you—you know. Wondering.

“Anyway. You told Lizzie how to code all her passwords. Switch out letters for numbers. That’s NASA shit right there.”

I try to swallow, can’t.

“Or use a birthday—that’s what you said. And you told me that your daughter was born on Valentine’s Day. Oh-two-one-four. That’s how I got into your phone and took that picture of you snoring. Then I changed the code, just to have fun with you.” He wags a finger at me.

“And I went downstairs and got into your desktop.” He leans toward me, speaks slowly. “Of course your password was Olivia’s name. For your desktop and for your email. And of course you just swapped out the letters. Just like you told Lizzie.” He shakes his head. “How fucking stupid are you?”

I say nothing.

He glares. “I asked you a question,” he says. “How fucking stupid—”

“Very,” I say.

“Very what?”

“Very stupid.”

“Who was?”

“I was.”

“Very fucking stupid.”

“Yes.”

He nods. Rain slaps the windows.

“So I made the Gmail account. On your own computer. You told Lizzie that your family was always like, ‘guess who’ when you talked, and that was just too good to pass up. Guess who, Anna?” He giggles. “Then I sent the picture to your email. I wish I’d seen your face.” He giggles again.

The room is airless. My breath is short.