Peeping Tom - 1. Chapter 1

I watched through the window from the shadows. Not a single muscle twitched, save for the occasional blink of my eyes. I saw everything they did. They never suspected a thing. The people living in our house had no clue they were being stalked. I was good at what I did.

My observation skills had served me well over the years when I was in foster care. My birth mother abandoned me when I was a few months old. When I first arrived, the couple fostering me helped me come out of my shell, as I had been extremely shy. Love was not a concept I was familiar with. Even now, six years later, I am still somewhat reserved in showing affection. It didn’t matter to my family, and they had officially adopted me.

I preferred people-watching over actually interacting with them. Hence, the stealthy observing from the shadows. I was often called weird by others.

Mom was in the kitchen, the aroma of salmon wafting through the air. My belly rumbled, reminding me of how long it had been since lunch. She flitted about, checking whatever was in the oven, and adding some oil to a skillet on the stove. Moments later, the distinct sound of sizzling salmon skin reached my ears. I inhaled deeply. Salmon was my favorite.

When she deemed the skin crispy enough, she transferred the pan to the oven to finish cooking, then pulled the pan of roasted potatoes out and tipped them into a serving dish. She did the same to the sauteed vegetables.

“Honey, can you feed the animals while I get dinner on the table?” she called out.

A muffled reply filtered through the walls.

I left my hiding spot, one of at least a dozen, and walked across the yard, sticking to the darkening shadows. My steps were silent as I entered the house. After checking all the rooms, I finally made my presence known.

Mom patted my head as she passed me—the scourge of being short. She stood at the bottom of the stairs and called up to my brother, Wayne, who was standing on the landing like an idiot. “Come on, Wayne. Dinner is ready.”

Dinner was later than usual tonight as Mom unexpectedly had to work late. We headed for the kitchen and took our places. Wayne, being the Neanderthal that he was, started wolfing down his food.

“Wayne!” Dad said, “Slow down and at least taste your food.”

Wayne looked up and grinned sheepishly before turning his attention back to his meal. I took the high road and ate at a more civilized pace. The salmon was cooked perfectly, and I made a rumbly noise in appreciation. Mmmmm. I drank some water before finishing my meal.

When I was done, I went outside again. My parents knew I liked the solitude that the evenings offered. They like to retreat to the finished basement to watch TV. Dad was a little hard of hearing and could jack up the volume without disturbing anyone upstairs. Mom would put in her earbuds and listen to music or podcasts. The night air was cool, and the crickets chirped slowly. I walked through the neighborhood, once again sticking to the shadows. I was an expert observer. I knew attention to detail could be the difference between seeing something interesting and not.

I stopped and stood completely still when I saw someone sneaking around our neighbor’s backyard. Melting into a dark corner, I watched as they tested the windows to see if they were unlocked.

Theft? Not on my watch. I hurried home. I may be small, but I wasn’t going to stand back and do nothing.

I barrelled through the door at top speed. “Wayne!” I hissed loudly.

His footsteps thundered down the stairs. Light on his feet, he was not.

“What’s the matter?”

“Shhh. Keep it down!” Mom and Dad may be downstairs, but there was still a chance they might hear, and I didn’t want to worry them. “Hurry up. Two doors down, someone is trying to break into the Hendersons’. Go do your thing!”

Wayne was rather large and intimidating. He had a muscular build that I caught several of the neighborhood ladies oogling on more than one occasion when he sunned himself on the lawn. We lived on a corner lot with just a chainlink fence surrounding the backyard, so anyone walking by could see what was going on. It wasn’t my first choice, but I didn’t own the place.

He rushed out the back door and vaulted over the fence. I followed, albeit more gracefully. My legs may have been shorter, but I was more agile than Wayne.

I caught up to Wayne as he reached the Henderson’s yard. He ran straight at the intruder and tackled him to the ground. The man grunted as he hit the grass and tried to roll. I pounced on him and used the only weapon I had: my nails. I raked them across his face, and he screeched in pain.

The floodlight over the Henderson’s back deck turned on. I bolted, not wanting to be seen. Wayne hesitated for only a moment before he, too, took off at a dead run. We made it back to our yard and stood panting.

“Dude! We were badass! Did you see me take him down? He dropped like a college kid’s laundry bag after a month away from home.”

“Yeah. I saw. You did good, Wayne.”

“What about you? You really nailed him.” Wayne snickered at his pun.

I grinned, then displayed my weapon of choice and showed him the nails I kept meticulously manicured. I just had them trimmed the other day, so they’re not as long as I like to keep them, but they kept snagging on things. Still, they were sharp enough to cause damage.

In the distance, we heard sirens approaching.

I went to the corner of our lot and crouched by the fence. Wayne did the same. We watched two police officers go to the door. From this angle, we could only see the officers, not Mrs. Henderson. The distance was just far enough to make their conversation unintelligible.

The police scoured the Henderson’s yard, their flashlights creating a mini-light show. The strobe light effect was somewhat hypnotizing. I shook my head and focused my attention on the front door. It wasn’t long before the officers went back to talk to Mrs. Henderson again.

I heard a few scattered words, but it seemed as though they hadn’t found anything.

Standing, I stretched. “That’s enough excitement for one day. I’m going to bed.”

Wayne nodded, and we returned inside, where Wayne headed for the kitchen, presumably to scrounge up a tasty snack or two. He sure did love food.

I made my nightly rounds, checking to make sure everything in the house was okay. I climbed into bed and listened as the house settled, every floorboard and shadow pretending it didn’t see anything. I knew better. Eventually, my eyes grew heavy, and I slept.

The following day, I woke early. The sun hadn’t peeked over the horizon yet. I yawned and stretched before crawling out of bed to take care of business. After using the facilities, I silently slipped outside. I knew the rest of the household wouldn’t be awake until the sun was all the way up.

The morning was overcast, and the scent of impending rain hung heavy in the air. I glanced up at the sky, assessing the swirling dark clouds that were turning slate gray as the day began. I needed to make my rounds quickly. I jogged along the same route I took every day as the weather permitted.

I enjoyed blending into my surroundings and merely watching what others did. Today, though, was not going to be a good day for people-watching. I hurried along as the air grew damp. I made it home just as the first fat raindrops started to fall.

Mom was in the kitchen. “Morning, Tom. Your breakfast is ready.”

I gave an appreciative hum as she dropped a kiss on my head. I was grateful she was so reliable. I’d starve if I had to fend for myself.

Wayne showed up a few minutes later, lumbering into the kitchen, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Rough night, Wayne?” Mom quipped as she set his food down in front of him and ruffled his head. He gave a noncommittal growl. He would never appreciate the mornings as I did.

My plan to spend the day outside at the park down the street was quashed by a loud crash of thunder and the heavy sound of rain hitting the roof. Wayne bolted back to his room. He hated thunderstorms. He said when he was young, he got stuck outside during one. He’d been afraid ever since. Sure enough, when I peeked in on him, all I saw was a mound of blankets quivering ever-so slightly.

Eh, he’d survive.

Storms didn’t bother me, so I sauntered to the sunroom and flopped on the sofa. It was one of my favorite spots. In the winter, I’d often stretch out and let the sun warm me and watch the birds at the feeder Dad kept stocked. Today, there were no birds in sight.

The rain let up later that afternoon, and I was able to sneak outside again. I made my way to the Hendersons. Mrs. Henderson was an older lady who took care of her husband, who was in the early stages of dementia. He had his good days and his bad. It seemed like the bad were getting more frequent. Through her open window, I could see Mrs. Henderson in her living room talking on the phone.

“Yes, Detective, like I told the officers last night, I heard a commotion outside, and when I went to check, I saw the back of a man running off my property.”

She paused, listening to the detective.

“I couldn’t make out very much in the dark.” Pause. “He was tall. Our fence is four feet high, and he towered over it, so if I had to guess, I’d say he was a few inches over six feet.” Pause. “No, I didn’t see his face, nor could I say exactly what he was wearing other than he had on dark pants and a dark jacket.”

Another pause.

“Yes, I see. I’ll let you know if I remember anything else.”

She hung up the phone. I watched for a bit longer, but all she did was putter around her kitchen, cleaning and tending to what smelled like beef stew simmering on the stove.

It looked as if the would-be thief had gotten away.

Several days later, I was woken from a leisurely nap by the doorbell chime and then Wayne yelling, “I’ll get it! “I’ll get it!”

Dad pushed him back and told him to stay where he was. I inwardly laughed when I saw him sag with disappointment. He was a people person.

I concealed myself beside the large grandfather clock in the hallway and listened as Dad opened the door.

“Good afternoon. I’m Officer Mason, and this is my partner, Officer Daly. We’re canvassing your neighborhood to see if anyone may have seen someone who doesn’t belong here. One of your neighbors was broken into last night. Some property was stolen, and there were injuries.”

Oh, no!” Dad exclaimed. “Who was it?”

“Myra and George Henderson. Mr. Henderson was injured and taken to the hospital. Other than that, I’m not at liberty to divulge any other information. We were wondering if you or anyone in your family may have been awake around three a.m., and seen or heard anything?”

Dad shook his head. “No, we were sleeping.”

Officer Mason held out a business card, which Dad took. “If you remember anything, please leave a message at that number, and I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, keep your doors and windows locked at all times.”

“We will, Officer. Thank you.” Dad closed the door and glanced at the card before heading to the kitchen, where he stuck it on the fridge with a magnet. I followed him discreetly as he joined Mom in the living room and told her what the officer said.

“A break in? And poor George was hurt? Oh my. I need to call Myra and make sure she’s okay.”

I slinked back, concealing myself near the stairs as she hurried to find her phone. Thank goodness her head was attached to her shoulders, or she’d misplaced that, too.

Mom headed to the kitchen to make her call. I followed and got down on my belly, hiding on the other side of the wall, and peeked around the corner. Mom sat at the table with her back to me. Good. I turned my head so I could hear better. As long as I was still, I could make out what Mrs. Henderson was saying on the other line.

“...I was so scared when that man kicked in the door. Poor George didn’t know what was going on. The man grabbed him and demanded to know where the book was. I kept telling him George had Alzheimer’s and couldn’t remember anything anymore. He shoved both of us down and started ransacking my living room.”

“Oh, Myra! I’m so sorry. You must’ve been terrified.”

“I was! I was worried about George, too. I heard something snap when he landed. Turns out, he dislocated his shoulder. He’ll be in the hospital for a few days, and then the social worker told me I would need to check out a few nursing homes that provide skilled nursing and rehabilitation. She warned me that he might not be able to come home.”

Mom tsk’d. “Myra, I'm so sorry. I don’t want to sound insensitive, but it might be a good thing for George. He’ll get the care that he needs, and you won’t be so exhausted.”

I heard Myra sigh. “I know. I just feel so guilty that I’m not more upset that he’s in the hospital. If truth be told, I’m relieved.”

“You know if you need anything, anything at all, we’ll help you out. Gary said the same thing.”

“You and Gary are sweethearts, dear. Thank you.”

I saw Mom fiddling with the sleeve of her robe. “Myra, what on Earth could that man have wanted a book for?”

Silence stretched for several beats before I heard Mrs. Henderson answer. “Please don’t tell another soul other than Gary. I trust you. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Mom said as she sat up straighter.

“Well, you know that George retired from Redstone Energy, right?”

“Yes. He was some kind of engineer, wasn’t he?”

“He was a nuclear physicist and also had a doctorate in chemical engineering. He was part of the group that developed biostone fuel.”

I cocked my head. What the hell was biostone fuel?

Mom looked puzzled. “I’ve heard that term, but I’m not really sure what that is.”

“It took me a long time to understand, and I still don’t get all of it, but in a nutshell, biostone fuel is a type of fuel that is made from basalt, which is a common type of rock. I think it’s volcanic in origin. Most of the ocean’s floors are made up of it. Anyway, George said the fuel was formed when basalt was combined with certain chemicals at such-and-such temperature, relative humidity, and pressure. You know how scientific jargon is.”

Mom hummed her agreement. The woman could bake with the best of them, but had no idea about the how and why of how brownies became a solid treat from liquid batter. I wasn’t too sure myself.

“From what I understand, the fuel was environmentally friendly and could easily be mass-produced if not for the fact that mining basalt from the ocean floor was exorbitantly expensive. Mind you, this was forty-five years ago. So the idea was shelved. When George was forced into retirement after his diagnosis, he had all of his notes and formulas transcribed and printed. He bound them into a book and deleted everything from his computer.”

“Did the thief find the book?” Mom asked.

“Yes.”

I may not be nuclear-physicist-smart, but I recognized the implication of what Mrs. Henderson acknowledged.

Silence hung heavy as Mom digested this bit of news.

“So this type of fuel can be weaponized?”

“I’m afraid so, dear. Before George declined, he told me that if the knowledge fell into the wrong hands, it could be more dangerous than nuclear weapons.”

“Oh, shit.” I rarely heard Mom swear. I had heard enough and was about to leave when Mrs. Henderson started talking again.

“There’s one more thing. I knew that making this type of biofuel was a complicated task with a lot of steps. George was smart enough to leave out several key components when he printed the book. He told me he'd hidden those elsewhere, but didn’t tell me where. He only said that those particular elements were highlights. I don't know what he meant by that. The thief ransacked George’s study while stealing the book. He left as soon as he found it, so he probably doesn’t know he’s missing crucial information.” Mrs. Henderson sighed.

“Did you tell this to the detectives? If this man realizes there's missing information, he might come back. ”

“Yes, dear, I told them for that very reason. They're increasing their patrols, but unless they have reason to believe he’s going to show up again, there’s not much else I can do. I’ve been looking into security alarms, but there are so many choices, and some are so expensive!”

“If you need some guidance, Gary can come over and give you some advice.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful, dear. I couldn’t ask for better neighbors.”

Their conversation turned to other, more boring topics, so I scurried away silently, seeking out Wayne. I found him down cellar with Dad.

“Psst.” I gestured for him to follow me.

He glanced at Dad, who was absorbed in doing laundry, before trotting over to me.

“Come on,” I whispered.

When we were outside, I filled him in on everything I overheard.

His jaw dropped, his tongue nearly hanging out. “The asshole you scratched was stealing a how-to manual for a global-world-destruction weapon?”

I batted him upside the back of his head. “Cool it with the Broken Arrow, John Travolta. Jesus.”

Wayne had the decency to look sheepish.

“Mrs. Henderson said that the book wasn’t complete. Her husband hid some crucial elements somewhere else, but she doesn’t know where. The cops are increasing their patrols, and she’s getting a security system. Those things take time to get installed, and when the thief, or whoever he’s working with, realizes it, he’s going to come back.”

Wayne cocked his head and grinned. “And we’re going to be waiting.”

I nodded. Hopefully, Mrs. Henderson would stay somewhere safe for the time being. She was a sweet lady who would bring delicious baked goods over once in a while. Wayne was partial to the peanut butter cookies she baked.

We snuck back inside, and I listened for any sounds. I heard Mom and Dad talking in their bedroom. I gestured for Wayne to be quiet, softly padded down the hallway, and stopped outside their door, which was slightly ajar.

“Damn, Kelsey. Who would’ve ever thought that old George Henderson is a mastermind behind the creation of a science fiction worthy formula that could save the planet or completely destroy it?”

“It doesn’t sound real, does it? Before his memory went, he was the sweetest man. Remember when we first brought Tom home? He doted all over him.”

I vaguely remembered those days. As skittish as I had been, George Henderson patiently lavished attention on me, slipping me treats, buying me toys, and speaking softly so as not to startle me.

He didn’t deserve to be in the hospital. I knew I had to do whatever I could to help.

“Myra has decided to stay with her daughter until all this blows over. The federal agents are involved. She was hesitant to tell them about the missing pieces, but the severity of the situation convinced her to give them all of the information. Apparently, back when the biofuel was under development, the federal government tried to get involved due to the potential threat. George suspected that the agents who he dealt with were corrupt. It turns out that he was right. After the project was scrapped, he saw a news story revealing that those two agents were selling information to Russia. Don’t forget, this was during the Cold War.”

“Wow!” Dad looked flummoxed. “I’ll call Myra and see when she wants me to come over and help her decide on a security system. This is unbelievable.”

Their conversation drifted off into more mundane topics. I backed away and slunk down the hall to where Wayne waited. After telling him what I overheard, we decided to take shifts staking out the Hendersons’ house.

The movies make espionage and covert operations look exciting. In reality, it was a whole bunch of sitting around, watching, and doing nothing.

Every night for the next month, Wayne and I took shifts sneaking out of the house to run surveillance on the Henderson home. An entire month of long, boring hours spent listening to cicadas and chasing off the occasional trash panda who came along in search of leftovers.

Summer days slowly faded, being replaced by cool nights with a bit of a sting in the air. Fallen leaves made it harder to be stealthy, but I thought that might work in our favor.

Our patience finally paid off one evening. Indian summer had snuck in, and the night was warm. The crescent moon created deep shadows to hide in. It was well past the witching hour, and George and I were about to swap places, with me taking over.

The sound of leaves crunching underneath someone’s foot alerted us to the intruder. A man dressed in all black, wearing an equally dark backpack, crept up to the house. He hesitated at the back door, wiggling something before the door opened with a soft pop!

Silently, we followed. I motioned for Wayne to stay on the deck. He had no clue how to be stealthy. I slunk along the hallway, keeping as low as I could. The rug muted any sound I may have made.

My heart thundered as I followed the thief through the house, making sure to stay hidden in the shadows. He made a beeline for the cellar, and I heard him rummaging through the stacks of totes and boxes that were lined up on the built-in shelves. Mr. Henderson had been a very organized man when he still had his wits about him.

It took a while before he found what he was looking for. I watched as he rifled through the box and took out a small stack of what looked like magazines. He stuffed them in his backpack and gave a quick look behind him before taking the stairs two at a time.

I hoped he would exit the same way he came in. I breathed a sigh of relief when he headed for the back door. Once outside, I yelled, “Now!”

Wayne came running full speed, and in a move any NFL linebacker would be proud of, slammed into the thief, and he hit the ground with a forceful oof. I leaped onto his back and dug in. The man screamed. Wayne and I made as much noise as we could, creating quite the ruckus. Lights from neighboring porches flicked on, and in the distance I heard a siren. It was complete chaos for several minutes.

The first officers on the scene rushed into the backyard. Wayne had the intruder pinned down, and the officers had to pry him off. Blood ran down the guy’s face, and tiny pinpoints of red marred the back of his shirt where I had sunk my sharp daggers.

“Get him away from me!” the man cried, cradling his arm where Wayne had sunk his teeth in. That was pretty badass, if you ask me.

The next hour or so was a beehive of activity as the Feds arrived. A young agent was tasked with keeping Wayne and me out of the way. Two federal agents were being read the riot act by someone who must have been their superior. The FBI had been running their own surveillance. How they missed the thief sneaking onto the Hendersons’ property, we’ll never know. Probably a momentary lapse in observation. Sitting around just watching shit got tiresome. I could vouch for that.

Finally, an agent came over to us. “Let’s get you home. Your parents are worried sick about you, and your mother won’t stop hounding my probie until she lays eyes on you herself.”

As soon as the door opened, Mom wrapped her arms around me. “Oh my god! Tom, you’re ok! She turned and pulled Wayne close, cupping her hands around his face, and kissed his head, squishing me in between them in the process. I wriggled uncomfortably. “You didn’t get hurt, did you, Wayne?”

The agent smiled. “They’re both fine, ma’am. They were instrumental in catching the guy who was after the information that Mr. Henderson had hidden. Yesterday, we managed to catch George in a lucid moment, and he told us the last components needed to create biostone fuel were embedded on the last page of a copy of the children’s magazine Highlights: Hidden Pictures, which we found in a box Mrs. Henderson pointed out in the basement. We discovered one of George’s nurses is in cahoots with whoever is behind all of this. We have her in custody.”

Shaking his head, the agent said, “We got lucky with George being lucid while she was on duty. Sure enough, she passed the information along, which is why we had the house under surveillance. The thief got lucky and managed to slip past it. He got unlucky when he ran into Tom and Wayne. He might’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for your pets stepping in and uh, detaining him.”

Mom gasped, and Dad’s eyes widened. They were dumbfounded. Dad managed to sputter, “You mean to tell me that this case was broken wide open because of our cat and dog?”

Wayne wagged his big-ass Great Dane tail and grinned his goofiest doggy grin.

I jumped down from Mom’s arms, perched on the windowsill, and gave my paw a half-hearted lick, then swiped at some dust on my whiskers.

The agent smiled. “It appears so.”

I shot him a disdainful glare.

“Mrreow!”