The Thief

She gazes for a moment at her bedroom door and then says, not loudly, but enough for whoever she thinks is behind the door to hear: "Not again, you’ve already taken from me, so go to --."

This wintry night, when neither a murmur nor hum is heard within the walls of the Thompson residence, Elzebeth anticipates a thief.  The probability was created six months ago while living alone in her apartment. Bandits harassed and forced her out of the very home she had lived in for twenty years, and she knew they would return. She was one of the first tenants in the beautifully structured senior building, and she loved it; she didn't trouble anyone, and no one bothered her. Only that didn't last. Trouble emerged, and survival was necessary. Upstairs, neighbors directly above would constantly pound on their floor with a heavy object, often in the middle of the night. Elzebeth didn't know why and wasn't about to knock on their door to find out. She just walked softly and talked quieter, but they would thump all the more. The Apartment Managers were replaced annually, and Elzebeth grew accustomed to the change, but the last Manager was crafty, and she grew suspicious of his conduct. Behavior unbecoming of a manager, more like a devious ex-husband. He reminded Elzebeth of her husband who left her twenty years ago to be with another woman. She thought, my evil ex convinced this man to work here to torment me so they could take all of my money. She must be careful. She began gathering proof of deception, like the maintenance manager stalking her apartment, showing up at the door after hours, and repeatedly letting himself in when she was not home. Occasionally, he was seen with the lady who lived next door, visibly comparing notes about Elzebeth. No doubt plodding her demise. This lady screamed obscenities at Elzebeth in passing and gossiped about her to the neighbors. And then there were the ominous phone calls throughout the day. Clearly, her telephone was under surveillance along with everything else. Someone was after Elzebeth, and she wished to keep that information discreet and not share it with anyone. If she did share, she may not live to see another day. Elzebeth wondered every day why they were after her? 

There were many attempts to tell her three children about some of the incidents, but each glared at her with ridicule and dismissal. Though she only disclosed fragments of information in person, she couldn't fully reveal it on the phone since her accuser was listening. Yet Elzebeth had no one who could hear her pain and frustration with living in that environment. Every sibling and every friend had passed away, and there was no one to share her days. No one to help her fight the horror that waited in the shadows in her apartment and on this very night in her new home.

Thump! "Did you hear that!" Elzebeth shouted.  Then she thought, It's 1:00am; any minute now, the hitmen are going to kill everyone in this house. Fear coursed through Elzebeth's mind. "Why is this happening again?" 

She thought, What can I do?” I thought I would feel safer here.

Here was the residence of her daughter Carly and son-in-law Sam. The three of them live in a four-bedroom, three-and-a-half-bath craftsman home where the bedrooms are several feet apart. Its open-spaced and airy environment made Elzebeth a little uncomfortable, both figuratively and literally. Too much space allowed air to flow freely, leaving a cold atmosphere. The openness also felt ominous and less welcoming, unlike the cozy apartment she left. She loved her previous home and missed the neighbors, though she lived there for twenty years and never got to know any of them. Maybe if she had been a little friendlier and participated in the activities at the senior building, she would have been less of a target for those who chose to do her harm. But now it is too late.

One year to date, the family gathered to decide Elzebeth's fate. Her three children had lunch at her favorite restaurant to consider Elzebeth's moving out of her apartment. She requested the family meeting, but they settled her fate while she sat nearby. 

Elzebeth reluctantly moved in with her daughter, Carly, and son-in-law, Sam, precisely six months after the family meeting. She didn't want to move, but the people at the apartment gave her no choice. There was evil prowling, and now evil had followed her to her daughter's home. 

Just at that split second, Elzebeth heard a creaking sound from downstairs. Someone is coming up the steps, slowly and carefully. 

"Carly goes to bed at 8:00pm sharp. Sam stays up late occasionally, but that can't be him. I have to call someone. Maybe I'll call Michael, he lives the closest. No… I'll call Stephanie; she's probably awake." She leans her feeble body forward and reaches for her cell phone on the nightstand. And begins to dial Michael's phone number but hesitates. Though Michael, her son, lives only minutes from her, Carly is in the room across the hall; Elzebeth chooses to call her youngest daughter, who lives a state away. The phone rings several times before Stephanie picks up.

"H-el-lo M-om?"

“Oh… my…Stephanie." Elzebeth gasps. "… I think Carly and Sam are in trouble. Somebody is breaking into the house. I think they slammed into the garage doors. You know I can only run as far as my bad knees will let me…my heart."

"Wait…Ma. Why do you think someone is in the house? Did you tell Carly?"

 "No. I didn't want to wake Carly or Sam. Oh, my gracious, they must be in financial trouble, and these men have come to get my money. Wait…stay on the phone. I hear the footsteps of one of them. I'm calling the police."

"Ma, wait, let me get myself together. Let's think this through first."

"We don't have time. Something bad could be happening right now."

"Ma, listen to me carefully; we will not let anything hurt you. Me, Carly, nor Michael." Stephanie took a deep breath, for this was not her first, possibly not her last time saying these words. "Lock your bedroom door for your comfort and try to get some sleep. I'll call Carly."

Elzebeth was reluctant, but she did just that. She locked her door and went to bed.

This wintry morning, when neither a murmur nor hum is heard within the Thompson house, peace awaits. The sun begins to rise slowly, giving way to another day. Its light shines brighter, eliminating the darkness. Shadows disappear. 

Carly wishes to murder her alarm clock, though it is not the vile culprit that stole her sleep. Her sister called her at 1:30am, and there was no turning back, losing sleep and finding oneself at risk of losing their sanity in the midst of it all. The larceny of dementia. He is a terrible, wicked thief who devastates everyone in his path.

Carly wants to pull the covers over her head and fall into tranquility, but instead, she rolls out of bed, walks down to her kitchen, kisses her husband good morning as he has already begun his day, and pours herself a cup of coffee. After gathering her thoughts and feeling fully capable of the morning, she hikes back upstairs to Elzebeth's bedroom.

"Good morning, Mom; how did you sleep?"

Elzebeth stretches her neck, rolls her shoulders back, and says, "I slept pretty good."