The Intrusion

Twenty-Six

(Tuesday, March 20, 2018)

[Jordan]

The bright morning sun pierces through my window. My eyelids weigh one-thousand pounds. The sunlight seers my brain as a smoldering pain rises deep in my skull.

I groan.

My head pounds, the pressure on my skull compressing my brain like it is in a vice. I must have a migraine.

I roll over in bed to check the time on my phone. A rush of panic shivers through me when I realize it isn't on my bedside table where I charge it at night. I must have left it in my purse and forgotten.

When I push myself up, shooting pain reverberates through my brain. I finally manage to stand, but I feel so lightheaded and dizzy I have to sit back down. I place my head in my hands and hold it, waiting for the intense surge of pain to recede. Finally, once I start to feel marginally better, I get up.

I stumble like Frankenstein's monster into the bathroom, pour a glass of water and take two tablets of ibuprofen. After I swallow those with a sip of water, I take another pill out of the bottle. My mom always warned me never to take more than two ibuprofen at a time, but my head screams at me in sharp agonizing pain. I toss one more pill down my throat.

Right when the third tablet hits my stomach, my headache surges and a wave of nausea crashes over me. I narrowly make it to the toilet in time. A nasty brown liquid lurches up my throat, burning as it goes, and splashes into the bowl in front of me.

So much for those pills.

I wipe my forehead and mouth with the back of my hand. Sweat slicks my forehead. Droplets of vomit that splashed up from the bowl dot my face. I spit a couple of times to rid myself of the residual taste but it's no use.

The good news at least is after throwing up, my headache and nausea have died down. I pull myself up from the porcelain throne and make my way back over to the sink. I rinse my face in cool water and brush my teeth and tongue. Finally, I pour myself another glass of water and shuffle into the living room to sit down.

Judging by how light it already is outside and the lack of rush-hour traffic on the streets, I'm pretty sure I've woken up late. I'm not too concerned about it. No way I'm going into work with how sick I am.

I sip at the water, grimacing at each pang of pain it induces even though I know it will help in the end. Drinking water is the best help for a migraine, or at least so my mother's always told me.

Finally, once I've finished the entire glass, I decide I should send an email to work to let them know I'm sick and can't make it in.

I groan as I get up from the couch and make my way over to the glass dining table where I keep my purse. But when I reach the dining table I freeze where I'm standing and gasp.

My purse is still there, but all of the contents of my bag have been dumped out in the middle of the table.

Horror rushes over me. What's going on? Someone's been in my apartment! Someone must have broken in last night!

I check the door.

It isn't locked! It isn't locked!

I'm sure I locked it! I've been so careful ever since... that night.

I flip the bolt to lock in a fit and sit down at my table. I rake my hands through the contents of my purse. My phone and wallet are both still in my bag. All my cards are still there. I don't think any cash is missing. My car and apartment keys aren't missing.

I don't think anything is missing!

But why? If someone broke into my apartment and went through my purse, why wouldn't they take my wallet? Why wouldn't they take my phone? Fuck, if they were a thief, why wouldn't they just take the whole damn thing?

Unless they weren't a thief.

They must have been looking for something. Something specific.

But what?

And why?

I pick up my phone to send an email to work. I need to deal with that first before I can think any more about the intrusion. I hit the home button on the screen, hoping it turns on and the battery isn't dead because I forgot to charge it last night. However, when the screen lights up my heart jumps into my mouth and I gasp, almost dropping my phone.

The battery is at 86%.

There's no way that's possible! No way!

Oh my God!

Oh my God!

I had to have charged my phone last night. I had to have! There is no other way it's possible that the charge is this high.

Suddenly a horrifying thought occurs to me. Not only was someone in my apartment last night, but someone was in my room. Someone went through my phone! My purse! My things!

What were they looking for! What!

My mind flashes to the dream I had the other night—the dream about the intruder. The similarities between that dream and this are too strong to ignore. It can't just be a coincidence. It can't! It has to be related.

Something is terribly wrong here. Maybe the dream was a warning—a premonition. Or maybe it wasn't even a dream at all, and if it wasn't, I have no idea what it was.

But either way, something is really, really wrong, and I don't know what it is. Either someone broke into my apartment last night and came into my room while I slept, or something dark and unnatural is going on here, and I'm not sure which of those ideas I find more horrifying.

...I'm scared.