The Stranger Beside You Read Online Free PDF

after what had felt like days did the man reappear, bringing her something to eat.  When he flicked the wall switch to turn on the light, Rosemary was stunned to discover that he had simply moved her down to the basement. 
    The man let her sit up to eat.  He would stand and wait impatiently until she finished and then he would tie her back down, take her plate, turn out the light, lock the door, and again leave her alone with only the darkness and her thoughts to keep her company.
    Rosemary was seventy-years-old.  She had told the man about her medication and he served the pills with her meals.  She was so scared, but he had not harmed her in any way other than holding her captive in her basement, bound to the old bed frame.  He didn’t speak, and her one memory of his voice from the afternoon when he rung the doorbell had faded away weeks ago.
    She had screamed loudly at first when she awoke to the darkness.  She had screamed as loudly as she could, screamed until her throat and lungs burned, but the screams had stopped when she realized no one could hear her.
    •  •  •
    A black and white showed up and parked behind the Volvo.  They were local cops, bored and uninterested in my tale of the intruder.  They asked questions, took some notes, and went methodically through the house to make sure that there was no longer any possibility of someone lurking in the shadows.
    One of the cops was comically tall and thin.  I immediately named him Lurch.  His partner had a baby face, as if he’d only recently graduated junior high school.  They were straight out of central casting.  They climbed into the attic, shoving boxes around, complaining between themselves about the dust and the scratchy fiberglass insulation.  Nothing up there, they said, and they were back down the ladder in three minutes.
    Lurch had a huge black flashlight.  He roamed the front yard, moving the cone of white light from side to side across the grass, I assume looking for clues or something.  He went about his work with all the enthusiasm of Grandpa Simpson.  The younger cop was the talker.  He asked loads of questions, scribbling my answers in great detail on a little notepad.
    I reluctantly recounted the events of earlier that morning, with the feds, and later coming home to find the front door unlocked.  The little guy looked at me through squinty eyes.
    “Your husband was arrested?”
    “It was a misunderstanding.”
    “Uh huh.”  He worked more on his notes.
    “What if the intruder comes back?” I asked.
    He shrugged.  “I wouldn’t worry too much about that.  Odds are you won’t be bothered again.  Whoever it was, you scared him off, but we’ll take a quick look around the neighborhood.  I’ve already been on the radio and there hasn’t been any other report of a prowler in the area tonight.  I’d suggest you get some sleep, Mrs. Nelson.”
    “How am I supposed to sleep knowing there was someone in my attic?”
    Before they left, I insisted they make another quick sweep of the house.  They were less than enthusiastic.  I stood alone at the window in the dining room at the front of the house and watched them drive away.  Again the house fell into eerie silence. 
    I checked every door, every window.  I couldn’t relax without knowing the place was locked down tighter than Fort Knox.  The truth is, I felt stupid.  The two officers had found no evidence of a prowler.  Had I simply imagined it all?  Maybe Tom had left the ladder to the attic down.  Perhaps he had gone up to look for something earlier in the evening and forgotten to put it back.  Anything was possible.  I mean, I’ve spent half my life hearing strange sounds at night.  I’m not a deep sleeper and I wake at a change in air pressure.  It freaks Tom out.  I mostly chalk it up to a motherly thing.
    I poured another glass of wine and sat on the sofa.  The knife and both telephones were on the coffee table.  There would be no more sleep