Lisa Stone - Stalker

The changeover must have taken place while he’d been having dinner or he would have seen the blank space on the monitor when he’d checked before. It was like a gaping black hole in an otherwise starry sky. A void, a chasm. There was no way he could have missed it. Later he’d have to move all the images along to close the gap or the disorder and lack of uniformity would eat away at him. But first he needed to confirm what exactly had happened. The final stage in setting up any security was downloading the software for the customer and changing the password, so there should be a recording up to that point.

Going into the Khumalos’ download history Derek rewound to midday, but there was no sign of any engineers and their house was empty. He slowly fast-forwarded and stopped at 12.30 as Mrs Khumalo parked her car on their driveway. He watched her enter the house. A few minutes later her husband returned home. At 1pm a white van with Eagle Eye Securities on the side pulled up outside. He knew the company; it was a large firm with franchises nationwide. They had a reasonable reputation although didn’t provide the personal service he did. Two men got out and went up the path to the front door.

Mr Khumalo let them in and Derek watched as he introduced them to his wife. The four of them went into the living room and Derek engaged the microphone on the camera there. The older, more experienced of the two engineers who introduced himself as Tony ran through their printed job description before they began the work. Clicking on fast-forward he watched them take their equipment from the van, and then glanced at the clock. It was now 7pm in real time. He needed to keep an eye on the time. In forty-five minutes he’d have to change into his motorbike leathers to go to Paul’s.

Fast-forwarding again he watched the new cameras being installed, each time Tony checked with Mr Khumalo that they were exactly where he wanted them. Then they began checking the existing cameras, their magnified faces suddenly looming at Derek down the lens. ‘You won’t find anything wrong with my workmanship,’ Derek said out loud.

Another glance at the clock and Derek nudged the tape on, but then stopped and reverted to play mode again. Tony was coming down the ladder in the living room having examined the camera in there. He was looking concerned and calling for Mr Khumalo. Derek felt his stomach churn.

‘Sorry to trouble you,’ Tony said as Mr Khumalo appeared in the living room, ‘but I need to check something with you. The cameras you asked us to install are the 3MP HD like the one we showed you? That’s what is on the quote.’

‘Yes, if that’s what we agreed,’ Mr Khumalo said. ‘Why?’

‘It’s just that this one in the living room is more sophisticated and comes with a built-in microphone. I hadn’t realized until just now. It’s not something I see much of in private homes unless there is live-in help or a nanny.’

‘I hadn’t realized there was a microphone either. We never use it,’ Mr Khumalo replied.

‘OK, that’s fine then,’ Tony said, clearly relieved. ‘I just wanted to check to make sure. It’s all up and running now. Five minutes and we’ll be finished and I’ll get you logged in.’

Derek breathed a sigh of relief and looked again at the clock. He should really be getting ready now but for his own peace of mind he needed to see the next bit. He moved the tape on to where they’d finished running their checks. Tony was sitting in the living room with Mr and Mrs Khumalo while the other guy was clearing up and loading tools into the van. Tony had evidently downloaded the software to access the system on their phones and was now telling them to think of a password. He handed them their phones so they could enter it without him seeing. As they did, the feeds from the cameras to Derek’s screen went blank. That would be the last he heard or saw of them. Eagle Eye Securities was now in control.

Mindful he was running late, Derek clicked the mouse to close down the computer and crossed to the wardrobe for his motorbike leathers. He’d need to change quickly if he was going to be at Paul’s for 8pm. Opening the wardrobe door, he became aware that something wasn’t right. The colour in the room, the shadows, the light coming from the monitors behind him weren’t as they should be. He knew the flickering screens of start up and shut down like the back of his hand: the various shifts in greys and blues on the monitors as the programs closed, culminating in four blank screens once the shut down was complete.

He turned. Blast! As he thought, the shut down had frozen part way through. He needed this like a hole in the head! First Khumalo disappearing and now he was going to be late for Paul, but he daren’t leave the computer like this. Without being properly shut down the system could reboot, and if his mother chanced to come in, who knew what she might see. He needed to get this sorted before he left.

Throwing his leathers on the bed he slammed the wardrobe door shut and returned to his workstation. The red and green lights on the computer were on which was hopeful. Something must be working. He waited a few moments to see if it would sort itself out and continue the shut down. When it didn’t he pressed Ctrl + Alt + Del to end the program and force shut down.

Nothing happened for a moment and then the screens lost their light grey sheen. Thank goodness. Hopefully the shut down would continue. But what was happening now? A new shade of grey on all four screens, then a large eye with a lens for a pupil appeared in the centre. Not that fucking pop-up advertisement again! His anger flared. He’d spent ages sorting all that out before. But then more words appeared at the bottom of the screens:

Watching You, Derek.

Derek! They knew his name. Red in the face and brimming with anger, he yanked out the plug and the image disappeared.

‘Yes, I’m coming now!’ Derek shouted down the phone. ‘I told you I got held up.’

‘If you’re not here by eight-thirty I’ll tell the police all I know,’ Paul said.

‘I’ll be there, and don’t threaten me! You little…’ He left the sentence unfinished. He needed Paul on his side. ‘I’ll be there,’ he said again and cut the call.

Jabbing the phone into his jacket pocket he stormed downstairs. ‘I’m going out!’ he shouted to his mother as he passed the living-room door.

‘Ooh la la. Someone’s in a bad mood,’ she returned tartly. ‘Don’t take it out on me.’

Hot, angry and aware he was losing control again he let himself into the garage, flung up the garage doors and mounted his bike. Calm down, he told himself. It’s dangerous to drive while you’re angry. Ignoring his own advice, he pulled on his helmet and leather gloves and started the engine. Giving it a good rev he left the garage in a plume of smoke and petrol fumes.

Bloody Paul! Bloody pop-up advertisements! He wasn’t sure which was upsetting him the most: Paul threatening to tell the police, or his computer targeted again by malicious spyware. Who knew what information the company had gathered on him or had access to? It was impossible to tell. When he returned home he’d have to install more security software and then spend hours scanning all the files to make sure they were clear of viruses, cookies and so on. Another evening wasted!

It began to rain, a murky drizzle, which added to his gloom. Irritated, he slowed the bike; light rain on a previously dry road made for a slippery surface, especially on two wheels. As for Paul, if he threatened to tell the police again he’d remind him of the text messages they’d exchanged, proof he was guilty of lying to the police, perverting the course of justice, and blackmailing him: all of which carried a jail sentence.