I opened the camera app and saw a figure approaching the house. The image sharpened under the outdoor light. Trevor Ashworth. He moved toward the entrance, glanced at the street, and disappeared from the camera's immediate view. Seconds later, the image jerked as the door area shook, and a light came on inside my home.
I stood absolutely still. My apprentice asked whether something was wrong. I couldn't answer at first. The screen showed the open doorway of the house where my daughter slept, ate breakfast, and left her shoes beneath the stairs. Something inside me went cold.
Then I called 911.
The dispatcher told me to stay where I was until officers arrived. For several seconds, I considered obeying exactly. The building where I worked was across town, and an intruder was already inside my house. Then she asked whether anyone was home. I told her Zoe was spending the night at a friend's and that no one had permission to enter. I gave her the camera details, the suspect's name, and the address. She told me she would relay the information to responding officers and that I should not enter the house or confront the person.
I notified my supervisor and left the job site. I didn't race blindly through red lights. I had enough sense to know that crashing the truck wouldn't help Zoe or the officers. But every minute of the drive felt longer than the one before. My phone sat in a dashboard mount, its screen showing brief notifications as the cameras continued recording. I didn't watch video while driving. I waited until I stopped at traffic lights or could pull over safely. When I checked, I saw Trevor moving through the hall. At one point he carried what appeared to be a folder from my dining room. Later, the kitchen light went out and came back on.
I called Elena from the hands-free system. She answered on the second ring, sleep thick in her voice. "Marcus? What's wrong?"
"Zoe's okay. She's at Sarah's, right?"
"Yes. I checked with her mother an hour ago. Why?"
"Someone's broken into the house. I called the police."
There was a sharp silence. "Is Zoe safe?"
"Yes. She's not there. I'm coming home, but I'm staying outside until the officers clear it."
Elena exhaled shakily. "Who is it?"
"Vivian's son. I saw him on the cameras."
"Oh, Marcus." Her voice broke slightly. "Please don't go inside. You have no idea what he'll do."
"I won't."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
I heard her breathe. "Call me when you know more. I'll handle Zoe."
When I turned onto Maple Street a little before two, the neighborhood was dark except for porch lights and a few windows glowing blue with television screens. At the end of my driveway, I could see the front door hanging ajar. The frame appeared damaged. I stopped my truck several yards away, turned off the engine, and told the dispatcher I was on scene. She repeated that I needed to remain outside. I stepped back toward the truck and looked through the open doorway from a distance.