The Sweep
1230 Words
I didn’t sleep that night. Not really. I just lay there most of the night, eyes open, the blanket pulled up to my chin like it could shield me from reality. My mind kept replaying everything, finding the recorder, letting Liam in, letting him… ugh. And then storming into his office like a lunatic, only to almost let it happen again.
What was wrong with me?
Worse than all that, someone had bugged my home.
That little black device had cracked open a fear I didn’t even know I was capable of. And now every shadow, every creak in the wall, every moment of silence felt like a setup and made me jump.
At some point during the night, Ethan rolled toward me and rested his head on my arm. The weight of him there, warm and innocent, was the only thing that kept me sane.
By morning, I’d made up my mind and called Cathy to let her know I was bringing Ethan over.
Ethan couldn’t be here when Mark came, or he would start asking questions to no end. Also, I needed some space to clear my head.
After breakfast, I dressed him in jeans and a dinosaur hoodie, packed a small overnight bag, and drove him across town to Cathy’s place.
She lived in Brooklyn, one of those older brownstone walk-ups just off Flatbush, with wide stoops and potted plants lining the front steps. The building had a creaky iron gate that always made a horrible screech whenever it opened, but the place had charm. A sense of warmth.
Cathy met us at the door, barefoot in fuzzy socks, holding a giant mug of coffee and wearing one of her worn, oversized NYU sweatshirts that slid halfway off her shoulder. Her brown hair was piled high in a frizzy bun, not a drop of makeup on, and somehow she still looked like she was starring in a skincare ad.
Ethan ran straight to her and wrapped his arms around her leg. She bent, kissed the top of his head, and scooped him up with a grin.
“My little prince! Ready for pancakes and cartoons?”
“Yes!” he beamed, already wriggling in her arms.
Cathy turned her sharp eyes back to me. “You’re leaving him here the whole day?”
“And the night, if that’s okay,” I said, glancing at Ethan. “I just… don’t want him around for any of it.”
Cathy didn’t hesitate. “Say no more. You think I’m letting my godson stay in a house that might be bugged? Or haunted. Not a chance.”
I sighed, some of the tension slipping off my shoulders. “Thank you.”
She softened. “You don’t have to say it. Just go handle it. Let me know what Mark finds.”
“I will.”
“And Isa?” she said, as I turned to leave. She walked up to me and hugged me. I immediately felt like crying.
By noon, I was home, showered, and nervously wiping nonexistent dust off the countertops when Mark texted:
Outside.
I peeked through the peephole and opened the door before he could knock.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and calm in that unbothered, ex-military kind of way. He wore a plain black T-shirt, jeans, and carried a sleek case in one hand. No smile, no small talk, just all business.
“Isabel?” he asked.
I nodded and stepped aside. “Come in.”
He walked in and scanned the space like he was already calculating every threat. His movements were smooth, efficient. He opened his case on the dining table and began unpacking his gear—meters, detectors, wands, and little boxes that looked like props from a spy movie.
“Where did you find the device?”
“In the couch. Between the cushions.”
“Show me.”
I did, careful not to touch it. He examined it briefly without a word, then set it aside and started his sweep of the living room.
His handheld device beeped softly as he moved from wall to wall, testing outlets, peering under furniture, checking behind frames.
“You’ve got a son, right?” he asked.
“Yeah. Ethan. He's four.”
“He ever play with this stuff? Might’ve moved something?”
I shook my head. “No. I only found it because I dropped the remote and reached between the cushions.”
He nodded. “You got lucky.”
Lucky. Sure.
I stood by the kitchen counter while he worked, chewing my thumbnail and watching every movement. He checked the hallway next, then the bathroom, and finally my bedroom.
That part made my skin crawl.
Seeing someone with gloves on sweeping my pillows and dresser made me feel like a stranger in my own space.
Then he paused at the outlet beside my nightstand.
He crouched, reached behind the dresser, and pulled out a small black plug.
It looked like a phone charger.
But it wasn’t.
“This one was live,” he said, holding it up with a gloved hand. “Real-time transmission. Whoever planted this will be able to listen to anything as it happens.”
I sank onto the bed. “Jesus.”
“I’ve seen these before. Pricey. Not something you pick up casually.”
He bagged both recorders and sealed the evidence with a marker, labeling each one before returning to his case.
“You’ve got someone watching you, Isabel. And they were in your bedroom.”
I stared at the floor, swallowing hard. “Can you tell who?”
“Not yet. But I’ll check the device logs later. If it connects to a known IP address or server, I’ll find it.”
“And until then?”
“Change your locks. Get a nanny cam, ironically. And don’t trust anyone you can’t bet your life on.”
I nodded, still dazed. “Thank you.”
He gave a short nod, packed up his case, and left with both devices.
The second the door clicked shut behind him, I locked it, deadbolted it, and shoved a chair under the handle for good measure.
Then I walked into my bedroom and stared at the outlet.
How long had that thing been there?
How many times had I talked on the phone in here? Laughed with Ethan? Cried by myself?
Had they heard everything?
Later that evening, Rachel called to confirm our meeting the next day. It occurred to me that we actually hadn’t seen and only spoken briefly on the phone after Cathy referred me. She seemed calm, firm, and no-nonsense. The kind of woman who wore all black and could silence a man in a courtroom with just a stare.
She didn’t press for details yet, just asked that I bring any information I had about Liam and the recorders. I told her that the tech guys had taken the recorders to go check them, but agreed to bring any other information I might have.
Then, just before bed, I pulled out my journal and wrote.
Tuesday – Tech guy found a second recorder. Live transmission. In my bedroom. Someone has been listening. Rachel meeting tomorrow. I feel like I’m being watched.
I stared at the words.
Then, after a moment, I added one more line:
If this wasn’t Liam… who else could it be?
- Writer
