"My neighbor has someone chained up in his basement!" I cry.
"Uh…can you repeat that?"
"Um, I think my neighbor has someone chained up in his basement," I hiss into the phone, my face pressed to the glass. There's no movement from his house, but there's definitely still screaming. "Someone is screaming for help. They're also screaming murder."
"Oh, wow. Okay. What's the address?"
"My address is 2121 Morning Glory. He lives right beside me in Leticia Marrow's house, the blue one."
"Have you seen anything?"
"No. I just heard screaming."
"How long ago?"
"Twenty seconds?"
"I'm sending officers now," the dispatcher says. "I want you to stay on the line with me, let me know if you see or hear anything else."
"O-okay," I whisper, sinking into the chair because my damn legs feel like they're going to collapse.
"Do you know who your neighbor is?"
"Mason Hudson. He says that he's Letty's nephew. He just moved in last weekend."
"What does he look like?"
"Sex on legs." Shit. That's not what I meant to say. "Um, I mean, he's maybe 6'4" with dark hair, a beard, and crazy blue eyes. He looks like a hot lumberjack."
"A hot lumberjack," the dispatcher says with a surprised chuckle. "Uh, got it. Do you know if he has any weapons?"
"I mean, he's probably a serial killer, so he probably has all kinds of serial killer weapons," I mutter. "They usually have kits, right? I bet he has one of those."
"Have you ever seen him with any weapons?"
"No." I pause. "But he did buy theSerial Killer's Guide to Loveby Darcy Quinn at the bookstore, which is all kinds of suspicious, honestly. Oh, and he asked me to help him find this one book about a man who had a woman chained to his bed. He's probably using them for inspiration."
"The bookstore?"
"Yeah, theBook of Love. He's been following me there."
"He's following you?"
"Yes? No? I mean, maybe?" I huff out a breath. "I mean, it's suspicious that he comes to the bookstore only when I'm there, right?"
"Ah…"
"And then he asked me out. Who does that?"
"He followed you to the bookstore and then asked you out?"
"Yes?"
"And now you think he has someone chained up in his house?" the dispatcher asks.
Her tone implies that I'm the one in need of serious intervention here, but I heard what I heard. I could give him a pass on the books. We listen, and we don't judge. But we absolutely judge when someone is screaming in your houseafteryou bought those booksandyou're following your neighbor. The totality of the evidence does not point to rainbows and butterflies. It points to axe murder and mayhem.
"Are the police coming?" I ask.