Page 12 of Black Heart

Grumbling, I throw an oversized cardigan over my white tank and sleep shorts, tying up my hair while I pad down the stairs and into the entryway, glaring at the blinking green lights next to the door.

“I thought I killed you,” I mutter, tapping the screen to shut it down. “Die, Satan.”

The light goes out, and the screen goes black without argument.

“Good. Now stay that way.”

I’m in desperate need of coffee on a good day, which makes this morning an absolute emergency. But as I’m filling my carafe in the kitchen, the system springs back to life, its lights winking at me like tiny, mocking,beepingeyes.

“Seriously?”

Setting the carafe on the counter, I move to stab at the panel again. After a few more curses, threats, and disengage codes, it shuts down again.

Satisfied, I dress in gray sweats and leave for my morning jog. Staying in routine is the key to not panicking. Praying I’ll be able to leave my home, so electronically invaded, is instinct.

In the event Icanleave, I planned on collecting as much of the gadgets as I could, in pieces or whole, and dumping them at the police station as evidence.

Evidence of … what?My mind continues to needle at me as I run down the shores of the peninsula and back.Does this qualify as stalking? Harassment? What evenisthis? Definitely an invasion of privacy.

When I get back, out of breath and my hands on my knees, I find the security system active yet again.

But I’m outside, not locked in. I can escape. If I contact the authorities, maybe I can make sense of the madness.

But this is myhome. Everything I have, sequestered into a lonely lighthouse cottage my unknown father barely furnished.

And what’s stopping my electronic intruder from taking down everything in the time it takes me to drive into town and file a report as quickly as they put it up?

I don’t have friends. No one can protect the property orme.

“Shit,” I mumble, then climb up my porch steps and crack open the front door, ensuring I’m alone.

Throughout the day, the pattern continues. I disable the system, and it reactivates itself. I do it three more times before I resort to a baseball bat, which after my first swing sets off such a raging set of alarm bells that I scream along with it until I disable it byreactivatingthe damned security system until it happily blinks green again.

I’m so busy fighting the type of technology I used to love that the day flies, and by evening, I’m half convinced my house is haunted.

I think about the mysterious benefactor behind all this. It’s like having a secret admirer, but instead of flowers and chocolates, I get gadgets and surveillance.

“Romantic,” I say to the empty room, my voice thick with sarcasm.

Well, joke’s on them—I’ve named the control panel Bob. And Bob’s about to have a very tough time with me because he’s about to die.

Bob wins.

Tamper-proof hardware, encrypted locks on devices, reinforced mountings, backup power sources, and self-healing technology all prevented me from sending Bob to hell where he belongs.

I’m gasping for breath, my hair plastered to my face and body covered in sweat. A ratty gray sports bra and my jogging pants are still on, but I must have taken off my shirt at some point during the intense stand-off.

I’ve yanked off the neon pink sticky note from one of the cameras mounted to the left of the fireplace, clambering down the ladder and positioning myself in the middle of its lens.

And I’m currently giving it the finger while mightily waving around the bat with my other hand.

“I know you’re in there!” I yell. “What’s your game, huh? What the hell do you want?”

I get a steady green light in response.

“I used to like the color green,” I seethe. “It’s calming, means nature is bountiful, leprechauns love to wear it, and most people see it as a new beginning. But because of you, Ihate it!Turn it off!”

I volley the bat at the camera, missing it by inches.

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