The Guy Next Door

Chapter 3

3

LEIF

T his guy is so strange.

Why does he keep looking at me like that? And why did he lick his bottom lip when he called me attractive…no— very attractive?

He was probably getting a smudge of a chocolate morsel off his lip.

It’s the last thing I should be fixated on, especially after he’s revealed that he believes I’m the target of someone who kidnaps men who are “my type” and that he was over here intervening in what could have been my kidnapping. Not to mention what he’s been doing—cameras watching my parents’ yard? What the hell? Where else does he have cameras?

He finishes off the cookie.

That was pretty damn fast, like the guy hasn’t eaten in days. I’m tempted to offer him leftover stroganoff from last night, but no, this guy’s not my friend. I don’t even know if I can trust what he’s saying. He could be bullshitting. Yes, someone else was in the backyard last night, but how do I know they’re not friends?

“Anyway,” he says, licking his fingers, “when I saw that guy lurking, I thought I might have had him, and then of course, as you’ll remember, things didn’t go according to plan. I wasn’t gonna put you in any danger, so I called the cops right when I saw him. I just didn’t expect them to be as quick as they were.”

Yes, that lined up with everything that happened. If he’s making this shit up, he’s doing an impressive job.

He takes a swig of water before his gaze returns to me. It’s hard to tell if he’s eyeing me in a strange way or if it’s just how it feels, like he’s undressing me with those wide, steel-blue eyes.

But I still have questions.

“If he came in through the back, why was the front door open?”

“I couldn’t be sure where he was in the house, and I figured if I opened the front door, which is right by the stairs, he’d have a hard time getting you out from your room without the whole neighborhood seeing. Figured it might stall him for a minute. Give me a chance to get to him first.”

Again, it makes enough sense, but barely.

And if everything he’s saying is true, I have a whole other world of concerns. “So what am I supposed to do now that you’ve told me I might have a guy stalking me? Go to the cops?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Let them know I was here, and I’m sure they’ll usher you on in to the right person to talk to, believe everything you’re saying, and have an armed guard watching you until this psycho moves on to his next victim.”

“Even I can tell that’s sarcasm.”

I couldn’t help myself, and my remark makes a smirk slip across what’s predominately been a fairly stoic face.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m a little bitter with the Wyachet PD. Yeah, you need to contact them.” He pulls a flash drive out of his pocket and sets it on the table.

“What’s that?”

“Surveillance video of the guy who was in your yard. Shows him breaking in and leaving the same way he came.”

From the cameras he has on our yard…

“Show it to them and tell them about the break-in. And I don’t know, if you could somehow find an explanation for why I was at your place other than me following your ass, that would be helpful.”

“What?”

“I figured I was gonna nail that guy last night, wrap this up, but then he fucking got away, and that cop saw me and took down my name, so now I’m in a bit of a jam because you need to let the police know what’s going on, but if they find out what I’ve been doing living next door, they’re gonna be up my ass about it.”

“If they find out you’ve been stalking me, you mean?”

“Yeah…”

I don’t know why the idea is kind of exciting. Maybe it’s just one of the intriguing aspects I’m learning about this man who was watching me. Stalking me. And who’s now making me wonder if I’m still here because of it.

But as much as he’s soothing my concerns around him, he sure as fuck isn’t soothing me around what might be the real threat: whoever sent me that letter.

“Can’t you show them that post about that letter?” I ask. “Or get them to find the guy who posted it and ask what was in the other letter?”

“He posted about the similarities. The cops didn’t think much of it. For instance, in your letter, the admirer says you’re like a marble statue. He’d written something similar in the one I was told about, but it compared him to a Grecian statue, and it’s my understanding that a lot of those were sculpted from marble.”

Goose bumps prick across my flesh, but I remind myself he could be making this up. He’s already seen mine on Insta.

“Told the cops to talk to that guy who posted on Reddit, but last I checked, they still hadn’t bothered. The detective in charge of the case didn’t seem enthusiastic about it either. Since I don’t know how or if Jason Kilbourne knew the second guy who disappeared, she said I didn’t really have anything for them to go off of. That it could’ve been a troll trying to cause trouble. Said they don’t get into wild goose chases over the shit people post on subreddits.”

“So the cops aren’t gonna buy any of this?” And really, I don’t know that I am.

“They won’t take it seriously. On top of all that, there’s another issue. When you walk in with this video and bring up this shit about the letter, they’re gonna find my name attached to the incident report, and I can guarantee you they’ll think this is all bullshit.”

“Why?”

Not for the first time since he came here, he hesitates. I don’t get this guy. It’s been like pulling teeth to get out what he was doing last night. He keeps holding back, but given everything he’s shared with me so far, I don’t get why he has to be so goddamn cryptic.

“Listen, dude, if you want to protect me, then I need to know what’s up.”

“Oh, I’m sure Detective Roth will let you know. She’ll be the one you need to ask for when you go to the station.”

“So you want me to go to the cops and tell the truth? I thought you said you were in a jam.”

“Yeah, that’s where it’s tricky. You’re free to do whatever you want, but if you want to be believed, tell them you got that note and that a friend told you about seeing the post on a subreddit related to the previous disappearances. I reached out to you about it, and we became chummy. We’re friends, and that’s why I was over.”

“Why would I say that?”

“Because that’s your best chance to be taken seriously.”

“What if I find out I’m protecting the wrong person?” I’d have to be a moron not to ask.

“That’s where you’re gonna have to trust me. Trust that I already know you’re in danger, and that I’m gonna protect you better than any cop. You can go in there with this stuff, and I know what Detective Roth is gonna say: It’s all circumstantial. None of this means anything. This kid Zane’s gotten in your head. You’re reading into things. So when you get done talking to them, you’re still only going to have one guy who’s interested in protecting you.”

What if what he’s saying is true? What if there really is somebody trying to kidnap me? Or…what if it’s not true? What if the cops are right to think the issue is in Zane’s head? Hell, what if he never even talked to the cops?

“And I’m supposed to take your word for all this?”

Those steel-blue eyes shift back to his plate, only a few crumbs left now. “There’s a lot I’m not explaining. Some of it you’re not gonna get answers to; other parts, I’m sure Detective Roth will illuminate, and then, well, the moment I walk out the door, you’re free to google the fuck out of everything I just said.”

“You think I didn’t google the fuck out of Zane Grayson already?”

Of course I looked up the guy who pulled a gun on me. Tried to find social media accounts. Any info I could. The most I came up with was that he was in the AV club in high school.

He smirks. “Looks like you’re gonna have to get more creative with your web searches. You’re a smart guy. You’ll figure it out. Now about my gun…”

“I should’ve already given that to the cops.”

“Shoulda, woulda, coulda.”

I don’t know that it’s a smart idea to give it back to him, but I also don’t want that gun sitting around my house any longer. Makes me think of all the articles I’ve read about people getting hurt by the guns in their homes, especially since I don’t have a safe to lock it in.

“Maybe I don’t want to give it back,” I confess. “Guns are dangerous. You could hurt yourself or someone innocent.”

“I’m very good with a gun, Leif.”

He sounds confident, but that doesn’t make me feel much better. “If I give it back to you, are you still going to be watching me? Like you have been? With the cameras and being a creeper next door?”

He closes his eyes, rubbing his hand over his face. “I’ve thought a lot about that after blowing my cover like that, but if you tell me right now to stop, I’ll pack my bags and be out of your hair.” He purses his lips, his hand balling into a fist. “But, Leif, I really don’t think that would be a good idea. And I don’t want the next time I see your face to be on some cheap Wyachet online news story.”

It’s hard not to believe a guy when he says something like that with such intensity.

I take a moment to consider all the shit he’s told me.

About last night.

The subreddit.

The letter.

The video.

The cops.

“I guess if you’re gonna be my personal bodyguard, you need a gun,” I say, and he looks taken aback.

Despite how wild this all is, in a fucked-up way, it makes some sense. Or maybe our chat has left me spinning to the point where the absurd suddenly sounds reasonable.

One thing seems apparent: Zane believes what he’s telling me. That doesn’t mean it’s true. He could be having a mental breakdown. Maybe that’s why the cops don’t believe this shit he’s talking about, but either way, someone was actually in my place, and he scared them off. Surely, even if he was suffering from a delusion, he could have happened to intercept a burglar.

And there are other possible explanations. He could know exactly what he’s doing. Maybe this is all some elaborate con worthy of a true-crime podcast. He wants to manipulate me with this story so he can rob shit from my parents’ house. Had a friend break in the other night to make these outrageous claims seem more plausible. Although, that seems like a lot of work when he could have just worn a stocking over his head, put that gun to me, and gotten me to do anything he and his friend wanted while they packed up shit from the house. Or use this con on a wealthier family.

On the flip side, everything he’s saying could be true.

Whatever the truth may be, I’m willing to take a chance on Zane’s version. At least until I’ve had some time to think it over, maybe come to my fucking senses.

I make him wait outside as I head upstairs and fetch the shoebox I stashed the gun in. When I return it to him, he says, “Thanks. Love Converse. Hope they’re my size.”

He glances around awkwardly, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Oh, see? You like my humor after all,” he teases.

“I think you’re very charming for being awkward as fuck.” As soon as I say the words, I regret them because his eyes are on me again.

There’s something about the way he looks at me. And he called me very attractive. Is he bi or gay? Or is he so damn awkward these kinds of looks and comments could mean anything?

“Okay,” he finally says as he looks to the porch. “I’m gonna head back to my place…watch some footage from last night. Kidding. That would be weird.”

“Yeah, that comment was more in the creeper realm.”

“I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”

He turns to start off the porch, but an idea springs to mind. “Wait!” I say. “Stay right there.”

I don’t even wait to see if he heard me. Just close and lock the door. I head back to the kitchen and grab the leftover stroganoff. When I return to the door, I hand it to him.

“I made it last night, so it’s still good. Not everyone likes stroganoff, but give it a chance. I have a pretty awesome spice combo for it.”

He stares at the Tupperware as if he doesn’t know what he’s holding before saying, “Um…thank you…I guess.”

“Yes, thank you is the correct response, creeper,” I tease with a wink.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling as he turns and, without another word, heads back along the walkway to the driveway, then to the sidewalk, glancing my way briefly as he returns to the Morgans’ place.

I close and lock the door. I take a deep breath, almost a gasp, as though some part of me is surprised I survived that encounter. Mom and Dad would freak out if they ever found out what I’d just done.

Hell, if they heard the wild shit he told me, they would already be on the phone with the cops. And I’m trying to figure out if that’s what I should be doing, but instead follow another of his suggestions.

Sitting at my desk, I run Google searches while Kyra hops about her cage, which I’ve set nearby to keep her company. She chirps, her head bobbing about like she’s trying to figure out what’s captured my attention.

“Zane Grayson” “disappearance”

“Zane Grayson”

“Z Grayson” + “disappearance”

This isn’t going anywhere…

“Disappearance” + “Jason Kilbourne”

I’m inundated with headlines and posts.

I see what I’d expect—information about the day he went missing, interviews conducted with family members, pleas for information from the public.

Zane knew the person he believed was the second victim of this mystery abductor, and he saw a response on a subreddit about my Instagram post, which gives me an idea.

“Reddit” + “disappearances” + “Jason Kilbourne” + “victims”

The first result looks promising: serial abductions in Wyachet, Georgia.

I follow the link to a forum about Jason and see a comment from Dman281. A quick scan reveals this is the post Zane read about the second victim, Michael Grayson.

Zane Grayson…

They’re related.

Now I get why he was so cryptic.

“Well, Kyra, I found a little something about our new friend.”

I read the post:

Dman281

4 mo. ago

Hey everyone. Lurker on this sub, first-time poster. Wanted to see if anyone knows anything about JK receiving a letter from a secret admirer before his disappearance. I know Michael Grayson, and he contacted me about a letter from a supposed admirer about a month before his disappearance. He was trying to figure out who sent it. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, and I’ve tried to give the cops this information, but they don’t seem interested or think there’s a connection.

From what he read to me, the letter was very ornate—like poetic language, not the way people talk. A lot about his appearance. Had some weird shit about how he was like a Grecian statue. No signature. Will provide more specifics to any serious inquiries, but please, no bs.

If anyone knows of something like this with JK, please reach out. I’m not on here much, but I’ll get a notification for PMs.

EDIT: If you run a blog or podcast, please do not contact me. I’ve shared all I’m comfortable with, but any help is appreciated.

The guy posted this four months ago, so everything Zane told me about the post and my letter checks out.

I pull up on my phone the pic of my letter:

Leif,

I see you.

Heart and soul that you wear on your sleeve.

The beauty of this form—a marble statue in a world of drooping clay.

An heir to the beauty of your ancestors.

I hope, when you look in the mirror, you see yourself as I do—

A divine gift to the mortals who have the privilege of finding you in their gaze.

Maybe one day I can find the courage to share these feelings with you face-to-face.

Or maybe it’s best to let them remain untainted by the disappointments that come once a dream has been realized.

Just know, you are seen.

You are adored.

Sincerely,

Yours and only yours

Marble stone instead of a Grecian statue, exactly like Zane said. A lot about looks. Unusual, poetic language. Not signed.

But Dman281’s description is so vague, couldn’t a lot of love notes fit this description?

Still, it’s more ominous now that I know it might not be some cruel prank from my ex-friends or their asshole buddies.

As I put my phone on the desk, Kyra approaches the edge of her cage and tilts her head, like she’s watching me as I continue my investigation on my laptop, this time for “Michael Grayson.”

While Zane didn’t have any social media accounts I could find, Michael does. An Instagram with plenty of pics…

He and Zane have similar eyes, and their hair color’s about the same. I suspect brothers, which is confirmed when I see a pic of them together, the caption reading: “Just chillin’ with my bro.”

Fuck.

Knowing they’re brothers is bad enough, but as I review the photos of them together, it’s clear how close they were— are …we don’t know that he’s dead, I remind myself. Although, given how long it’s been, it’s hard not to be skeptical.

There’s plenty about what Zane shared with me that doesn’t make sense, but this adds a layer of clarity, confirming that, even if he is delusional, he’s got a good reason to be.

But am I really about to trust the guy who broke into my house and pulled a fucking gun on me?

Fuck, I guess I am…