I have practiced how to use the camera so many times, but my hands won’t do what I want them to. They’re shaking and sweating and useless.

“Come on,” I whisper. “You can do this.”

The record light flashes on, my room glowing red, and I stand by my window, daring myself to pull back the curtain.

I follow the noise scraping from left to right, and I don’t want to see what’s there. If it’s really him, what does he want from me?

My breathing fills the room, frantic and jagged, and my nails have cut tiny half-moons into my palms. But it’s now or never, so I grip the curtain, focus on my mother, and pull.

Something slips below the window, and when I look down, he’s standing by our front door. He has a long branch in his hand, and seeing his shape in the darkness, my heart finds another gear, pulsing through my skull.

He drops the branch and steps back, holding one arm to his face and turning the other around and around like he’s playing charades, like he wants me to film him.

“Who are you?” I whisper, holding the camera up.

This is not going out live. Whatever I film, Danny will edit it and put it out as additional highlights.

He stands there, staring up at me, every part of him covered except his eyes, and I slowly reach for my phone, ready to dial 999. That’s when I notice a shape behind him, slowly moving forward, getting closer step by careful step.

It’s Jamie, and he has a hammer in his hand.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

He’s going to get hurt, and I can’t handle this. I feel sick and helpless, and before I can do anything, he swings and smashes the man on the shoulder.

The man yells and turns, and Jamie swings again, hitting the man in the chest, and he stumbles back, looks both ways, then starts running.

Jamie pauses for a moment, as if he has realized how stupid he’s being, then he runs after the man, and I pull on a hoodie and my shoes and follow them, because sometimes I can be just as stupid.

I see them down the street, and Jamie tackles the man from behind, pulling him to the ground. He’s holding the hammer above his head, saying something I can’t hear while I run toward them, yelling Jamie’s name.

He stares up at me and looks both happy and confused at the same time.

“I caught him,” he says.

The man still has his face covered, but you can tell from his eyes that he’s shitting himself.

Jamie looks down and says, “You are sick, you know that?”