I sat there for nearly a minute, breathing slowly, letting the initial surge of adrenaline settle so I could think clearly. Knee-jerk reactions were how people got hurt in situations like this. I needed logic. Strategy. Control. I saved the photo, took a screenshot of the message with the timestamp, then forwarded everything straight to Detective Harris with a short note. They’re stalking my property. I have visual proof now. I did not expect a reply immediately. It was still early evening. But knowing it was documented gave me one thing I desperately needed. Leverage. The kind of leverage that turned a messy neighbor dispute into a criminal investigation.
I set the phone down, stood up, and paced the cabin. I could feel something simmering low inside me. Not fear. A kind of anger I had not felt in years. Anger sharpened by violation. I paused by the window, staring out at the darkening tree line, waiting, listening. Nothing moved. But the woods suddenly felt too still, like whatever had been out there had slipped away the second I saw its handiwork. I ran a hand through my hair and forced myself to step away from the window. I locked both doors, double-checked the latches, and walked to the porch to flip on the floodlights. Bright beams washed over the yard, transforming the forest edge into a harsh metallic wall of branches and shadows. “You want to play games in the dark?” I muttered under my breath. “Not tonight.”
I went back inside and took inventory. Trail cams running. Locks secured. Breaker box reinforced. Still, I was not about to sit there alone, waiting to see if something else happened. So I grabbed my phone again and called Randall. He answered on the first ring. “You all right?” he asked immediately. I exhaled. “Depends on your definition of all right. I just got a photo message. From the woods. Someone took a picture of me. Threatening text attached.” He muttered a sharp curse under his breath. “Send it.” I forwarded it. There was a long pause. “Then that’s Joey. Or someone with him. They want you scared.” “Well,” I said, “they picked the wrong engineer.” Randall chuckled darkly. “Good. Because I’m coming up.” “You don’t have to.” “I’m coming,” he repeated. “Give me ten minutes.”
Despite everything, I felt a subtle wave of relief. Not because I needed protection, but because having another set of eyes, and someone who knew these mountains better than anyone, felt like placing another stone between myself and chaos. Ten minutes later, I saw the glow of Randall’s lantern through the trees. A moment after that, he walked onto my porch, raincoat dripping, expression set in a grim frown. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “Let me see the message again.” I handed him my phone. He studied the image, frowning as if memorizing every pixel. “That’s taken from the old game trail,” he muttered. “Half-mile loop behind your property. Only folks who know the ridge use it.” “Which means Joey,” I said. “Or Karen,” he added. “Don’t underestimate her. She’s crazy, but she’s crafty.” I nodded. “What do you think they’re planning?” “Nothing good.” He sank onto one of my chairs. “But I’ll tell you this. People like them push as far as they think they can get away with. Once someone pushes back harder, they fold.” “And how do we push back harder?” I asked. “By making sure the law has everything. Every message. Every threat. Every photo. And by making it damn clear that their bullying won’t work.”