John Doe
I hear about Hailey Adams the same way everyone else does. The media is all over it. But beyond that, because I’m sitting outside her house. Actually, I’m on her front porch, dressed in my new Texas Gas Service uniform. I’m waiting for the old bat to come back to the door to grant me permission to enter the premises. She says she has to check with her daughter. She says she doesn’t understand. The house is all electric, as if the Adams are the only ones in the entire world, as if no one else in the neighborhood matters.
I try to explain again that I’m here to fix the gas meter. But she’s not buying it. She gives me a suspicious look and then slams the door in my face. I hear her lock it. I wait a few minutes and only briefly do I consider giving up and leaving. Then I hear a scr
