Looking back, I should have realized that people like Monica don’t stop when nobody stops them.
« Keep the peace, Eleanor, » I muttered, the way I had been muttering it for a decade.
I looked down at the bill in my hand. Two hundred and twenty-seven dollars — for a woman who watches PBS and boils one kettle a day.
I followed the cable with my eyes.
Something in this house was drinking electricity like a thirsty horse, and I intended to find out what.
****
But one night, I couldn’t sleep at all, and even my pills weren’t helping.
The hum was faint — the kind of sound a person notices only at midnight, when everything else is quiet. I was sitting up in bed, staring at the ceiling, when I heard it again through the open window.
I pulled the blinds back an inch and squinted out at the driveway.
« What exactly are you doing? »
