The phone call instantly stopped. Beverly slowly turned her head toward the fence.
At that exact, terrifying moment, someone unlocked Owen’s back door behind him—from inside his dark kitchen.
Owen did not turn around immediately. The soft, heavy metallic click was unmistakable. His back door had a deadbolt that could only be unlocked from the inside.
Someone was standing inside his house.
Beverly stared intensely toward the wooden fence. "Owen?" she called out, her voice probing the darkness.
He smoothly pressed the side button on his phone, locking the screen without stopping the audio recording, and slipped it into his shirt pocket. Behind him, the back door opened three inches. A thin line of pitch-black darkness appeared between the heavy door and the frame.
Owen’s workshop stood twenty feet away. Inside were saws, heavy chisels, and crowbars—tools heavy enough to be used as devastating weapons. He did not reach for any of them. Instead, he stepped silently backward behind a large plastic rain barrel, pulled his phone back out, and quickly texted 911.
Intruder inside my home. Neighbor discussing plan to make house unsafe. 418 Briar Glen Road. Back yard. Please approach quietly.
The back door opened wider. A man stepped onto the porch.
The intruder wore dark canvas work clothes, tight gloves, and a black baseball cap pulled low over his face. A small tactical flashlight hung from his belt. In his right hand, he carried a heavy canvas tool bag.
Beverly appeared at the far side of the chain-link fence. She must have slipped through the gate between her yard and the narrow drainage path behind the houses.
"Owen?" she called again, louder this time.
The intruder stopped on the porch. Beverly saw him through the gap in the fence. "What are you doing outside?" she whispered sharply. The man just raised one gloved finger to his lips, demanding silence.
Owen remained absolutely still behind the rain barrel, his heart pounding so hard it felt like a drum in his throat. The intruder walked purposefully toward Owen’s utility meter. He knelt down in the dirt beside the exterior service panel and unzipped the canvas bag. Beverly stood on the other side of the fence, watching nervously.
Owen lifted his phone just high enough over the barrel to record video.
The man removed a screwdriver, wire cutters, and a small plastic container. He glanced nervously toward the dark kitchen window, then began rapidly removing screws from the lower metal panel.