Chapter Six: Garden of Control
697 Words
Celestine sat alone on her porch, night wind brushing against her arms. Each creak of swing echoed louder than traffic nearby.
Streetlamps buzzed overhead, flickering.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown sender.
Text: "Smile, darling. You're beautiful when afraid."
"He’s outside." She whispered aloud.
She texted Jasmine.
Cel: He messaged again.
Jas: Want me over again?
Cel: No. Too dangerous.
Jas: Then go somewhere. Somewhere safe.
Safe.
What did that even mean anymore?
Celestine stood up, glanced across road.
Dark sedan.
Parked there since sunset.
She approached slowly.
Car empty.
Inside: a red notebook. Same brand Tyler always carried.
She opened it.
Pages filled with ink sketches. All her face. Each drawing captured moments never witnessed—her yawning at dawn, her crying silently, her dancing in room alone.
Last page:
"One more touch, and you’ll understand.
I’ve always been beside you."
She ran.
Back inside. Locked door.
Turned.
Mirror on wall had word smeared across in lipstick:
"MINE."
Celestine didn’t sleep that night.
She sat by her bedroom door with her phone in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. Every sound—the groan of pipes, the distant bark of a dog, even the hum of her ceiling fan—felt sharper, darker.
She stared at the mirror with that single word etched across it. "MINE."
The red lipstick hadn’t faded.
Her heart refused to calm.
By dawn, she made a decision.
“Mom, I want cameras,” she said at breakfast.
Mrs. Miller blinked. “What kind of cameras?”
“Security cameras. Real ones. Ones that can see everything.”
Her mother frowned. “Cel, we already talked about—”
“I’m not making it up,” Celestine snapped. “He’s breaking in. He was in the house. He’s watching.”
Mrs. Miller opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again. “Alright. We’ll look into it.”
Celestine nodded but didn’t feel any safer.
At school, things were worse.
Tyler was more visible now. Bolder. He sat closer in class. Walked behind her in hallways. He even brushed past her shoulder once in cafeteria.
“You should stop pretending,” he whispered when she flinched.
“Pretending what?” she hissed.
“That you don’t see me.”
She stared at him, shaking.
“You don’t exist to me,” she snapped.
His lips curled into a smile. “Then why do I live in your head?”
Jasmine pulled her aside after chemistry.
“You need help,” she whispered. “Like, real help. From someone who can actually do something.”
“I tried police. I told my mom. No one cares.”
Jasmine glanced around, leaned closer. “Then we go outside school. There’s this guy. My cousin knows him. He’s a tech nerd. Sets up surveillance stuff for clients. He’s low-key, but good.”
Celestine hesitated. “You trust him?”
“More than I trust that creep not breaking into your house again.”
That weekend, they met at a park.
The guy—Nico—was quiet, mid-twenties, wore sunglasses and a faded hoodie. He listened as Celestine told her story.
When she finished, he nodded slowly.
“I can set you up,” he said. “But you’ll need to give me access to your network. Everything. Even your phone.”
“Why?”
“If he’s watching, he might be listening too. Or worse—controlling your tech.”
Celestine swallowed. “Okay. Do it.”
He handed her a new SIM card. “Start here.”
By Monday, the cameras were installed—tiny, discreet. One in her bedroom, one at the front door, one on her windowsill.
For the first time in weeks, she slept.
But only for an hour.
At 2:37 a.m., her phone buzzed.
Nico.
Live feed alert. Movement detected.
She opened app.
Front door camera.
Figure in a hoodie. Standing completely still. Staring into lens.
She couldn’t see his face, but she knew. Somehow, she always knew.
She zoomed in.
In his hand—another box.
Then he placed it on the doorstep and vanished into dark.
Nico texted again: Don’t open that. I’m coming over. —
- Writer
