She loaded the first night.
9:34.
Basil on hood.
10:00.
Nothing.
11:00.
Nothing.
Midnight.
Nothing.
12:51 a.m.
Motion.
Corrine stopped breathing.
The interior garage door opened.
A person stepped through.
Gray sleeping shirt.
Cotton shorts.
Bare feet.
Dark hair pulled loosely upward.
Corrine leaned toward the screen.
The person’s face turned slightly toward the camera.
Corrine pressed pause.
Her own face stared back.
For several seconds, her mind refused to interpret what her eyes had already understood.
“No.”
She zoomed.
Her.
Eyes open.
Expression empty.
Keys in right hand.
She checked the hallway camera.
12:50.
Corrine emerged from her bedroom.
Walked directly down the hallway.
Stopped at the small table near the kitchen.
Opened the drawer where she had moved the spare fob after photographing both keys earlier.
Took it.
She had moved the key while awake?
No.
The time stamp showed otherwise.
Corrine watched herself open the garage door.
Basil lifted immediately from the hood.
He walked toward the driver side.
Her sleeping self unlocked the Subaru.
Sat behind the wheel.
Basil jumped into the passenger seat.
Corrine started the engine.
Garage door opened.
The car reversed.
Slowly.
Perfectly.
Then disappeared.
Corrine hit pause.
Her hands were shaking so violently tea spilled onto the table.
“Oh my God.”
Basil looked up.
Corrine stared at him.
“That was me.”
He blinked.
“I did that.”
Tears started without warning.
Not sadness exactly.
Fear.
Pure fear.
She pressed play.
Four minutes later, headlights appeared.
The Subaru returned.
Corrine parked.
Crooked.
Engine off.
Garage door closed.
Her sleeping self remained motionless behind the wheel for ninety-two seconds.
Basil sat beside her.
Watching.
Then Corrine opened the door.
Walked inside.
Basil did not follow.
He stayed in the passenger seat.
Curled into a ball.
Went to sleep.
Corrine switched to the second night.
Different time.
1:14 a.m.
Same pattern.
Hallway.
Keys.
Garage.
Basil waiting.
Car.
This time she did not leave.
She sat behind the wheel for six minutes.
Started the engine.
Turned it off.
Returned to bed.
Third night.
12:36.
She backed out.
Gone seven minutes.
Returned.
Fourth.
No driving.
Only sitting.
Fifth.
A short drive.
Always Basil.
Every time.
Basil was not obsessed with the car.
He was waiting for Corrine.
That realization broke something open inside her.
She looked at the white cat curled beside her.
“Every night.”
Her voice shook.
“You knew I was coming.”
Basil climbed into her lap.
Corrine buried both hands in his fur.
“You were waiting for me.”
She cried into his back.
Basil remained there.
Steady.
Patient.
Exactly as he had sat in the shelter.
Corrine called Iris.
Her sister answered cheerfully.
“What did the cameras…”
Corrine’s voice stopped her.
“It’s me.”
Silence.