“Does that mean I don’t have to close my eyes?” I ask him.

“You really should.”

My throat is tight as I swallow and the sound it makes is audible and wretched.

Marcus only chuckles, and then tsk-tsks me. “I said don’t be afraid, Delilah.”

“How long have you been here?” I ask him, focusing on my alarm clock that now blinks 12:12 in a harsh red, mocking me. My phone never alerted me that the power went out.

“Maybe a half hour ago … That seems about right.” Gesturing to the blinking clock, the man I believe is dressed in all black, or at least dark colors, only responds, “It had to be fast not to set off the alarm. Don’t blame yourself for not noticing right away. You were so caught up in … a case? I presume?”

I still can’t make out his features, but I know he has a hood above his head. Something that could easily block his face if he wished. His outline is defined with broad shoulders and the height of a tall man. Every other detail, though, is hidden from view.

So I keep my eyes open and ask again, “How did you get in?”

“The same as before. Does it matter?” he asks and I shake my head although it feels deceitful. Of course it matters. Every detail matters.

“I have a question for you,” I say and the words come out unbidden.

“I have some for you too, want to trade?” Amusement laces his response and I can’t ignore the stir in the pit of my belly.

There’s a touch of menace in his question but I gather my strength and my sanity, refusing to fall deeper into the hole I’ve found myself in.

“How did you get in before? The power didn’t go out then.” Although the second statement is firm with resolve, the moment it slips from my lips I question its truthfulness.

His tone reflects boredom and that strikes a chord inside of me as he turns his back against the wall, no longer looking at me. Instead he stares at my door and all I’m offered is a silhouette. “I know your security code; I know the brother of a man who was on your security detail who was preoccupied with … a more pressing matter. Another was busy with a broken light in the parking lot. Distractions. I get in with distractions and contacts and information that’s easily traded.”

With his tired and clearly disappointed response, he inhales deeply and I ask another question, some mundane part of me still struck on the how or possibly not yet willing to dare ask about the why.

“Who told you the code?”

With another tsk he reprimands me, much more seemingly entertained. It’s then that I find I’ve repositioned myself to face him squarely. With his head still firm against the far wall of my bedroom, he turns to look at me and for a moment, I see an outline of his face.