“Domiciliary Valentine”

            To whom it may concern,

I hope this message finds you well. I wanted to inform you that I won’t be able to work this Wednesday, the 14th. I understand that this is short notice, but I have had a killer –

Blank. The computer screen turns off as the power in the house shuts down again.

“Are you kidding me?” Addison growls at her dim reflection in the blank computer monitor. The slick black surface reflected back her disheveled dark hair and her dumbstruck eyes glaring through their wide-rimmed glasses. She moaned as she stood up from her desk and looked at her phone. Even though the Wi-Fi router had shut off with the rest of the power, she luckily still had some bars of service on her cell.

She found the number for the local utility company. When she hit call, at first, she worried if her service would hold for a connection; now, however, she was stressing if someone would even pick up, as the other line continued to ring. Fed up, she ended the call and instead found their email address, springsus@cssu.org. The message she sent them wasn’t as formal as the one she was in the middle of composing, but it got the job done. She needed the power (more specifically, the Wi-Fi) back on as the only email she had access to on her phone was her personal – the professional email she used for such formal emails was logged in on her computer, and she forgot the password to that one some time ago.

Ding! Chimed her phone. It was springsus@cssu.org, saying they’ll be sending a representative to her house “ASAP”. She was skeptical about how committed they were to that acronym, but she did admit they at least responded fast. She replied by telling them her breaker box was outside the house, and there would be no need for any face-to-face meeting. Before hitting send, she knew whoever was at the other end of that email might find that strange, so she added she had somewhere she had to get to, and would be walking instead of taking her car; Though of course, she would be doing none of that, instead retreating to her upstairs room and finding a book to read until she knew that whoever was coming had already came, worked, and left. Simply put, Addison wasn’t the most comfortable when meeting new people.

She sat near her bedroom window with the curtains pulled closed as she opened Sylvia Townsend Warner's "Lolly Willowes." It was a book recently recommended to her by her online friends – a great read for a particular kind of shut-in, they’d said – and she was happy for an excuse to finally start reading it.

The sound of a vehicle was heard pulling into Addison’s driveway, and she surmised that this was some kind of utility van here to check on the breaker box. She was pretty impressed with how quickly this company responded, leaving out the never-ending ringing of their main line. She could hear faint tinkering coming from the side of the house but managed to tune it out. This went on for several moments until she registered the absolute silence from outside. Curious, she leaned forward and slowly pulled one curtain out so she could peer down. She instantly locked eyes with the utility worker standing near her driveway. He was wearing nondescript coveralls which didn’t seem to have any patches or company logos on them. His hands were on his hips as he stood there; how long he had been looking up at her window, Addison couldn’t say.

Quickly she threw the curtain back into place and retreated to a corner of her room to be as far from the window as she could. Her hands were clutched tight to her breath as she took sharp exaggerated breaths. There she stood for several moments, doing her best to remain as motionless and soundless as possible as if the utility worker were to someone levitate up to this second-story window and try to spot her through it.

But nothing like that happened. Addison heard the utility van start up and back out of the driveway. She counted to ten, then slowly crept to her window. She pulled the curtain by a fraction of an inch and peeked one eye through the crack. Nothing. She gradually pulled the curtain back further and confirmed that the man had left. With this realization, she noticed she had been holding her breath since her advance to the window, and let out a heavy, shaky breath, then quickly took in and exhaled several more before her breath leveled.

When Addison came back downstairs, she saw her laptop was booting back up. “Thank God,” she muttered delightedly. She slid into her chair with such enthusiasm that it swiveled thrice around. She grabbed onto the desk to stop herself and logged back in. She opened up her email and saw she had a message from springsus@csu.org, which read,

“Hello,

We have a report that you have a power outage at your residence. Would you like us to send someone over?”

This was followed by a link to set up an appointment, and a confirmation of her auto-pay details. Addison surmised that there was a delay in communication, and whoever sent this email was not made aware that she had already asked for someone sent here already. She typed back,

“Thank you, but your company already sent someone over to fix my blackout. I would like to thank you for how fast your overall response time was – five stars!” Sent.

She opened her drafts folder and was happy to see the previous email she had been working on was saved there. She was about to continue typing this one up when Ding! A new message popped into her inbox.

springsus@cssu.org had sent a message, asking, “Hey, addyka19@hotmail.com, I hope you are satisfied with my service!”

Addison snorted a quick chuckle. These people sure weren’t good at communicating with each other, which was funny considering how quick they were to respond to her. Good customer service, she supposed.

“Yes very much, thanks! I didn’t get the name of your employee who came over and fixed it, but they did good!” She left out the part of that awkward eye contact they shared – it was probably not a big deal anyway, she was aware that she sometimes saw things in people that were more just her imagination.

Ding!

springsus@cssu.org, “Thanks. My name is Levi, I’m the one who was at your house earlier. You have a very lovely home!”

Despite herself, she smiled at the message. She felt a need to reply and keep this conversation going, but she wasn’t sure what to say. She chewed on her lower lip as she stared at the message, thinking. Finally, she leaned forward and typed, “Aw you’re sweet. This was my mom’s house and I did my best to take care of it when I moved in.”

Almost instantly springsus@cssu.org, or Levi, replied. “Was your mom’s? What happened?”

Addison started to type her reply, telling the story of how her mother went missing two years ago, with her body found in the river almost three months after she was declared missing. She stopped herself; that didn’t feel like a story to tell someone she just met (would that even be the right term, as it’s all online?), especially through a company email. She read Levi’s question over again, and replied, “I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about that yet.”

“That’s okay, I understand,” Levi wrote, “I’m sorry if I upset you by asking.”

Now it was Addison’s turn to begin replying instantly. “No no you’re okay, it’s not a big deal. I appreciate your concern tho!”

Now Levi was asking what Addison did for a living, and she would explain how she took several stay-at-home jobs such as transcribing, data entry, proofreading, and the like. Their email conversations went on throughout the day until Addison said she had to get to sleep. They said their good nights, their nice-chatting-with-you’s, and Addison logged off for the night.

The next day, Wednesday the 14th, she had a small breakfast of buttered toast and coffee. She brought a second cup of coffee to her computer to see what work she had for the day. After a few hours, she concluded her workday, which excluded her usual last job of the day as she requested this day off, to have more of the afternoon to herself. Though she felt guilty for lying about a migraine to get out of work, it felt worth it when she checked her email. Skimming through the list, she saw she had two emails in her inbox which were both sent from ‘springsus@cs...’ the rest of the email address being concealed by the width of the inbox’s border. She opened the first one, which was curiously received at the same time Addison’s alarm was set to go off. She didn’t remember telling Levi what time she’d be waking up, so she decided this was just some weird coincidence. The email read, “Mornin’. :)”

Addison beamed. She eagerly typed a response back. “Morning Levi! How did you sleep?”

Ding! went the notification, with a slight echo to it – Addison made a mental note to take a look at her computer’s speaker system later. Levi, “Okay I guess. It took a while to actually get to bed though, I had to stay up late.”

Addison, “oh no! Why? Did you have a late night call for work or something?”

Levi, with another echoing Ding, “Something like that haha. Its no problem, it all worked out :)”

Addison, “I’m happy to know! Oh and, hey…”

Levi, “Hey??? Haha :)”

Addison, “Happy Valentine’s Day <3”

Levi, “Aw, Happy Valentine’s Day! :)”

Another, almost immediately after the last, from Levi, “Hey, can I confess something to you?”

Addison, “Sure, what’s up??”

Levi, “Well, I really like you Addison, and in the spirit of Valentine’s Day I decided I didnt want to keep any secrets between us… :|”

Addison, “You’re really sweet Levi. Whatever you need to tell me, I’ll understand.”

The echoing Ding again, as Levi’s reply read, “That makes me so so so happy, thank you! :)” As Addison read this message, another came through in the thread – a picture.

It was a picture of Addison’s house during the daytime. Addison tensed, and she started to worry that Levi was outside her house right now. But as she looked closer, she could see her bedroom window; she realized her curtains weren’t nearly as concealing as she believed, because she could clearly see herself sitting near the window, reading "Lolly Willowes."

Ding! Ding…

Levi, “I’m sorry I just really liked the view, and I had to take a picture.”

Ding! Ding…

Levi, “Are you there, Addy?”

Addison had stood up away from her computer and was now pacing around the desk. This was something she never even considered a possibility; how do you take the news of someone taking a picture of your house, especially with yourself in plain sight in the picture? If her curtains are that easy to see through, what else could people have seen? Had she just been on display for the world to see? Her heart was thrumming so hard in her chest that she just knew it was going to pop out of her chest and plop sadly on the hardwood floor. Her vision was tunneling as the room began to spin, and she had to sit back down in her computer chair.

She blinked frantically, watching her inbox filled with more and more messages from Levi. Ding!-ding… Ding!-ding… Ding!-ding… that progressively maddening echo with every new email. And why did he have to keep using that company email? springsus@cssu.org? Why didn’t he ever use his own? That’s when she realized – if this conversation was all under why thread, why were there two different unread emails, both starting with “springsus@cs...”?

With a vehemently trembling finger, she scrolled down the inbox until she found that second email from “springsus@cs...” which was received sometime around 11:00 in the am. She clicked on it, and read an email from springsus@csu.org, saying.

“Hello,

Unfortunately, we did not send anyone to your residence yesterday; our records indicate that we have not sent a company representative to your residence on file since last November. If you have any questions or would like to have a technician sent to check your utilities, you can contact us by…”

Addison stopped reading. She felt like she was going to be sick – for a second, she wondered if maybe it would be better if she was sick all over her computer; destroying Levi’s means of communicating with her.

Ding! Ding…

Ding! Ding…

Ding! Ding…

Levi was persistent and relentless in trying to get her attention. She looked at the limited space which revealed parts of the messages he sent, things like, “I’m so sorry if I…” and “Addis I love…” and, “please answer m…” and, “you’re being fuckin...”

Then suddenly, the dinging stopped. In the brief moment of silence, Addison heard a strange click, then Ding! Ding…

This latest message from springsus@cssu.org gave the inducement, “Sent an image.” Addison didn’t want to open it; she knew she shouldn’t. Yet her hand moved the cursor to the email. With a tentative click, she opened the email.

Addison’s mouth dropped open as the rest of her body went limp. She felt as if she were floating in a pool of carbonated water as prickles ran up and down her person, seemingly disintegrating her spine. What the image showed was a point of view through thin wooden slits, like the sliding doors of a hallway closet. Between these dark, thin strips of wood, in the illuminated view, she saw her own back as she sat in her rolling chair, looking at her computer, and the green mug of coffee she brought in from the kitchen earlier still sat on the desk.

She urged every muscle in her body to turn around, but her movements were slow, sluggish, and lethargic. Her eyes, through pools of tears, moved toward the closet with its slit doors behind her. Another email Ding! In her inbox, but now she realized that the echo was not an issue with her computer’s speakers.

The faint follow-up Ding… came from the other side of that hallway closet’s doors.