Watch Them Die

Hannah knew the movie. Still, she gasped when the camera cut to the bloodied corpse of Mia’s neighbor and friend sprawled on the pavement. One of the cops said that the girl had jumped from the building’s seventh-floor window.

“What is this?” Hannah muttered. Grabbing the remote, she ejected the movie. She went to the VCR and looked at the videocassette. It wasn’t the blank tape she’d slipped into the recorder this morning. It was a store- bought copy of Rosemary’s Baby. “Where the hell did this come from?” she whispered.

“Well, it’s not mine,” Joyce told her on the phone, three minutes later. “I’ve never even seen Rosemary’s Baby. I don’t go in for those scary movies.”

“Did you take Guy out tonight?” Hannah asked, thinking they might have had a break-in, a real one this time. Maybe the last one was real, too. “Did you leave the apartment at all?” she pressed.

“No, honey. It started raining shortly after you left. We stayed put.”

“Okay, Joyce. Thanks. Sorry to bother you.”

Hannah hung up the phone, then went back to the VCR. The carpet was damp in spots, and she figured she must have tracked in some rain earlier. On top of a stack of videocassettes, Hannah found the tape she’d slipped into the machine this morning. She played it in the VCR. It was her soap opera; a new episode she hadn’t seen yet, today’s episode.

Hannah stepped back from the TV. Again, she felt the cold, wet patches on the carpet beneath her feet. Frowning, she turned and gazed back at her shoes by the front door, just where she’d kicked them off when she had stepped inside. She looked out the window at the continuous downpour.

Someone else had tracked in the rain—and not very long ago, either.

Swallowing hard, Hannah moved toward the door, along the damp trail on the carpet. She’d locked up before taking her shower. Now, with a shaky hand, she reached for the knob and pulled open the door.

“My God,” she whispered. How did it get unlocked? Was he still inside the apartment?

She hurried down the hall to Guy’s room. A hand over her pounding heart, she listened at the door for a moment, then quietly stepped inside. He was asleep, still breathing. She peeked into his closet.

Hannah checked every closet and every damn corner of the apartment. She made sure all the windows were locked, too. Along the way, she turned on several lights. She and Guy were alone in the apartment, but she still didn’t feel safe.

Hannah inspected the door. Whoever had broken in must have jimmied open the long, sliding window, then reached inside and manipulated the door locks.

Hannah wanted to call the police, but she couldn’t. They were probably looking for her, like that private detective in Chicago. She couldn’t afford to go to the police.

Instead, she finished her glass of wine and poured another. By half-past midnight, she had a tiny buzz and figured she was the worst mother in the world for getting drunk at a time like this—with her little boy asleep down the hall.

She pulled a broom and saw from the kitchen closet. After measuring the front window and the broom, she set the broom across her two barstools, then sawed off part of the handle. Maybe she wasn’t so drunk after all, because the broom handle fit perfectly in the window groove. If anyone wanted to get into the apartment through that window now, he’d have to break the glass.

He would probably be coming back for the tape—as he had last night. She was now convinced that someone had indeed broken into the apartment and switched videotapes on her.

She didn’t want to give him a reason to break in again. And she didn’t want the damn tape in her apartment tonight. After peeking out the window, Hannah grabbed the cassette, hurried outside, and moved down the walkway a few feet until she was standing directly over the dumpster—three stories below. Someone had left the lid open again.

Whoever had delivered the Rosemary’s Baby tape was probably watching her right now. She almost hoped he was. She wanted him to know that the tape wouldn’t be in her apartment tonight. She wanted him to see her pitching his video over the railing into the dumpster.

The cassette landed on top of a green trash bag in the large bin.

Hannah quickly ducked back in the apartment, and double-locked the door behind her. Then she tugged together the front window drapes, but they still had an inch-wide gap between them.

She grabbed her blanket out of the bedroom, and a hammer from the tool drawer in her kitchen. Hannah curled up on the sofa, with the hammer on the floor beside her. She listened to every little sound in the night. Whenever she opened her eyes, she glanced at the sliver of darkness and moonlight between the drapes.

Hannah didn’t really fall asleep until traces of dawn showed through those curtains.

Four

“Mom, are you awake?”

Hannah managed to get her eyes half open. It took her a moment to realize she was lying on the living room sofa. Guy stood in front of her in his underwear. He gave her shoulder a shake. “Mom?”

She cleared her throat. “Hi, honey,” she muttered. “What time is it?”

“The big hand is on the eight, and the little hand is on the seven.”

“Okay. Go brush your teeth.”

Throwing back the blanket, she climbed off the sofa. She couldn’t have gotten more than a couple of hours of sleep. She tried to focus on the door and the front window. Everything was locked up. The broom handle was still in the window.

Putting on her robe, Hannah rubbed the sleep from her eyes. With a bit of trepidation, she unlocked the door and opened it. She padded down the walkway a few feet and stared down at the dumpster, still open. She noticed the green trash bag in there, but no video. He’d picked it up.

He’d seen her throw it away last night. How long had he stayed out there? Was he still watching her?

Shuddering, Hannah hurried back inside and locked the door again. She told herself that anyone could have taken the tape. The building’s maintenance man, the newspaper deliverer, or maybe a neighbor had absconded with it.

After walking Guy to Alphabet Soup Day Care, she returned home and called the video store. She told Scott she needed a mental health day. “I think it’s sleep deprivation,” she explained. “Can someone cover for me?”

“Yeah, there’s Cheryl,” Scott said. “I hate her with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns, but I’ll call her for you. Hope you feel better.”

“Thanks. Listen, can you do me another favor? Do we still have our copy of Rosemary’s Baby in the store?”

“Yeah, hold on a sec.”

Hannah waited. She wanted to know if the tape had been stolen. She hadn’t noticed an Emerald City Video label on it, but someone could have peeled it off.

Scott got back on the line: “Hannah? It’s here. Do you want me to hold onto it for you?”

“No, but can you do me one last favor? Could you go into the computer and see if it was rented recently, maybe returned early this morning? Sorry to be such a pain.”

“Want me to donate a lung to you while I’m at it? Ha, just kidding. I’m here to serve. Okay, Rosemary’s Baby was last rented two weeks ago by Laheart, Christopher. Returned on time. Anything else?”

Hannah sighed. “No, thanks. You’re a doll, Scott. I’ll be back to work tomorrow. See you then.”