Chapter 8: A Brazen Intruder

Agent Jones takes a turn down a quieter street, the lights of the city reflecting off the wet pavement, giving the whole world a dreamlike quality. The familiar sights of my neighborhood come into view—brownstones lined up like sentinels, the trees casting long shadows in the dim glow of street lamps. It’s a peaceful part of the city, a stark contrast to the chaos of Midtown, and it always feels like a breath of fresh air when I come home.

After the crazy day I’ve had, coming home feels sort of weird, like a fever dream. Everything has changed in the past twenty four hours. The entire trajectory of my life is about to take a sudden turn in a new direction, and I’m not entirely sure that I’m ready.

Finally, I’m pulled out of my thoughts as we pull up in front of my building. Jones puts the car in park, turning to me with a warm smile. “Here we are, Professor. Safe and sound.”

I nod, grateful for the smooth ride. “Thanks, Jones. I appreciate it.”

He returns the nod, watching as I gather my things and step out of the car.

“Wait,” Jones says, moments before I’m about to turn around to walk away from the car. “Almost forget, my bad. Take this.”

He hands me a brand new iPhone, or at least, something that looks like an iPhone - or, the iPhone at least five models ahead of the current one. There’s no logo on it, no branding - it’s just a sleek, elegant rectangle of black glass, with an LCD screen that flickers to life the moment he places it into my hands.

“The passcode’s your birthday,” he says. “Don’t lose it, obviously. That thing’s worth more than most people’s annual salary, and it’s the only way we’ll keep in touch with you from now on. Dr. Reed will contact you tomorrow midday to discuss your involvement in the project. You have until 12pm to make your decision.”

“I’ve already made up my mind,” I tell him. “I’m doing it. You can tell your bosses that.”

“No, you can tell them yourself,” Jones says, his voice taking on an edge of seriousness and gravity. “But anyway, take my advice on this - don’t rush into your decision. Take the night to think it over. Sleep on it. Take it from me - Frigid Rock is a hell hole. It’s filled with the worst of the worst, men worse than animals, absolute monsters. Personally, you couldn’t pay me any amount to spend even a week on that blasted rock. Don’t make your decision rashly. That’s my two cents, anyway.”
“Thanks Jones, I promise that I’ll think it through,” I say, but in my heart of hearts, I already know that my decision is made. Now that I know about the experiment, a project based on my own work and research, involving real people, prisoners who have already been brought to a special facility to be studied - there’s no way I could ever turn down the opportunity to be a part of that. I’d never get over the “what if”, and besides, I already feel responsible for what’s happening to those men on the island. Most people, people like James and Dr. Reed and like 99.9% of ordinary people, see deviant criminals as nothing more than heartless monsters, murderous men without souls. But I know there’s more to it than that. There are always shades of grey, and people can be so much more complicated than anyone could ever imagine.

Clutching the phone in my hand, I turn to face my building, taking in the familiar sight of the brownstone and the pretty window boxes filled with red begonias and sweet allison flowers, their honeyed perfume strong even at this late hour.

The cool night air washes over me, and I take a moment to just stand there, looking up at the familiar façade of my brownstone. It feels both comforting and suffocating, a reminder of the life I’ve built here and the one I’ve decided to leave behind, at least for a little while.

I turn back to give Jones a quick wave goodbye, but he’s already pulled the luxurious black car away silently, vanishing into the night.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The guy’s a secret agent, after all - stealthily disappearing without a trace is part of the job.

As I head inside, I can’t help but glance at the dark windows of Mrs. Greene’s apartment. I’ll have to tell her the news in the morning, and ask her to look after Mr. Mittens while I’m gone. She’ll be thrilled, I know, and it eases some of the guilt I feel for leaving him behind.

But as I climb the stairs to my apartment, the weight of the decision I’ve made settles over me again. This experiment, this choice I’ve made to dive headfirst into the unknown, it’s not just about my career or my research. It’s about confronting the demons of my past, the failures, the losses, and maybe, just maybe, finding a way to make something good come out of it all.

I fish my keys out of my pocket, ready to unlock the door to my apartment, when I notice something that sends a cold shiver of fear down my spine - my door is already unlocked.

There are no signs of forced entry, nothing to indicate a break in - but I know for a fact that I locked my apartment door when I left this morning. I’m pretty pedantic about security, and despite living in one of the nicer neighbours of Manhattan, I never take any chances. Someone, some stranger, has gained access to my apartment, and is probably rifling through my things while I stand around outside the front door.

What can I do? Do I call 911? Ring for the building superintendent? Damn, I really wish I carried pepper spray around with me. It would be handy right now.

Both of those would be the sensible choices for a woman on her own to make, but the anger creeps in, the feeling of violation, of disrespect, and I do something really stupid and impulsive. I slam open my front door and barge into the studio apartment, striding down the entrance into the kitchen living room area. I’m stopped dead in my tracks as I notice something very unusual next to the kitchen island - Mr Mittens is standing at his food bowl, wolfing down his kibble, happy and relaxed. He’s always finished his food well before I get back at 6pm, and it’s now closer to 12pm - so how does he still have food in his bowl? The only possible explanation is that whoever broke into my apartment must have fed him, which is honestly a bizarre thing for a would-be criminal to do. Even if they really like cats or something, it’s just so brazen.

I look around the room, looking for any sign of the intruder - maybe he’s left already? When I hear the last thing I expect.

A toilet flushing. And the sound is coming from my bedroom ensuite.

What the actual fuck? This has got to be the most brazen house burglar in the whole of New York city. The nerve! Using my bathroom to take a dump while robbing me.

What an idiot, the guy must have a serious lack of brain cells.

And he's about to have a whole lot less, after I’ve given him a good solid whack on the head.

Quickly and efficiently, as quietly as I can, I rummage through my kitchen pot and pans cupboard until I find my target - the heavy cast iron skillet that my ex-husband’s obnoxious sister gave to us as a wedding gift on our big day three years ago. I hate that bitch, but at least she had good taste in cookware.

Grabbing the heavy skillet by its cast iron handle, I creep down the passageway, towards my bedroom, and the stupidly audacious criminal who just relieved himself in my ensuite bathroom.

I glance over at my bedroom cupboards as I sneak past - no signs of him searching through my stuff. I half expected my whole apartment to be in disarray, clothes strewn about, drawers open, the whole place turned upside down. But it’s all just as I left it. Maybe he just arrived, and he hasn’t had a chance to trash the place yet.

Well, he missed his chance, and now he’s going to pay.

Taking up a spot next to the closed bathroom door, I raise the heavy skillet in the air, ready to bring it down on his head the moment he opens the door.

The doorknob turns slowly, and I hold my breath. Then the door swings open, and I see the last person I expect…