Page 51 of White Noise

“Nothing. Keep going.”

He clears his throat and starts clicking through something in the background. “At approximately two thirteen in the morning, every internal security protocol was engaged simultaneously. Exterior lock, windows, secondary alarms, camera system. Everything.”

I lean forward, forearms resting against the island.

“And?”

“And the system stopped accepting remote commands.”

“For how long?”

Another click.

“Eleven minutes.”

My fingers tighten slightly around the aluminum can.

Eleven minutes.

I don’t need to ask which eleven.

That was him in my house. Him touching me. Him controlling the doors while I ran around like an idiot trying every exit he’d already taken away.

I take another drink even though my stomach has started to feel weird.

“What about the cameras?”

The technician goes quiet again.

I stare at the television.

“I was actually going to ask if you experienced any kind of power surge.”

“No.”

“Electrical interference?”

I almost laugh.

That would be one way to fucking describe it.

“No.”

“Any unusual device activity? Flickering lights, loss of power, network disruption?”

My gaze drifts toward the speaker on the far counter, then back to the television.

“Yes.”

He waits.

I say nothing.

Because what exactly am I supposed to tell him?

Yeah, actually, a six-and-a-half-foot supernatural psychopath crawled out of an old CRT, locked me inside my own condo, put his hands on me, then dissolved back into static after informing me I apparently belong to him now.

Totally normal troubleshooting issue.