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Who can you trust? In this tale, a man named Jack has to learn the answer to this question the hard way when a mysterious event turns his world upside-down.
This event challenges Jack’s view of himself, others, and even his own sanity as he tries to figure out what is happening to him before it’s too late.
The story begins with Jack’s passage into the world as a newfound widower, unaware his life is about to change forever.
Held on a cool day in late September, Jack’s wife’s funeral went the way Jack thought it would, with a lot of condolences, tears, and heavy casseroles stuffed in his freezer. His estranged children, to whom he’d barely spoken in years, handled the brunt of conversation about their mother while Jack tried to stay to himself.
Most of the people who attended seemed as though they were only there to scope out his home, a fourteen-bedroom mansion full of stained glass, staircases, and antiques. It took hours for the guests to leave.
But, finally, everyone left. And Jack was all alone.
It’s a funny thing, being alone, especially after the passing of a loved one. It can make you see things, hear things that aren’t there. Already, Jack could tell that he was getting second glances from his friends and family.
Is he alright? they wondered. He and his wife had been married for years, surely he had to be losing his mind.
Jack paid them no attention. He knew their concern was fleeting; so few of them called him after they attended the funeral.
It had been Mary who had always tried the most with the kids, and this fact was made very evident by the fact that, even after their awkward presence at their mother’s funeral, Jack’s kids didn’t stick around to comfort their father.
Maybe he and Mary had given them too much, or perhaps Jack had worked too hard. Estrangement was a funny thing. It didn’t always end in screaming and shouting.
Sometimes, family ties broke with little more than a whisper in the night.
When all was said and done, everyone except for Jack’s housekeeper stayed away, as though the man’s grief were contagious. Janine had only been with him a short time; he’d hired her when his wife fell ill a few months ago.
It wasn’t until a month after the funeral, his black suit shoved haphazardly back into his closet, that Jack began to notice things small things were going missing from the mansion.
The solution was obvious: cameras.
Of course, cameras were liable to get Jack more than a few questionable looks, but who did he have to question him? His wife was gone, his kids were as good as estranged, and there were few people, other than his housekeeper, who could side-eye him for his “paranoia.”
Sure, the cameras might have seemed a bit paranoid, but they were harmless. It wasn’t as though he was positive it was Janine stealing, but he didn’t really know her, did he?
They’d had a few conversations, and she seemed nice, but how was Jack to be sure?
Every morning, Jack would review the footage from the night before. Every evening, he would do the same for the preceding day. And so forth.
He discovered nothing, though he watched Janine closely (after all, she was one of his only visitors).
As the board game Clue noted, it was always the housekeeper. It was a joke, one of very few, that he and Janine had shared, as Clue had been a game they both loved as kids.
It was the maid in the drawing room; no it was Professor Plum in the courtyard! Perhaps it was Colonel Mustard in the fountain. Clue was a beloved part of Jack’s childhood. He loved a good mystery. That was why he didn’t hesitate to put up cameras.
He fancied himself a detective, in his old age.
He was sure Janine would understand, Clue lover that she was, too. Though, of course, he didn’t tell her she was being watched.
Janine was a consummate professional; that was Jack’s best description of her. He didn’t know much about her, a fact that he repeatedly tried to rectify by making small talk. He’d learned about their shared Clue hobby, and that was one of few things they had in common.
He assumed Janine had family, friends, even kids, but he didn’t really know her too well. She seemed nice enough.
But, as the old adage goes, you never know.
Jack and Dr. Tim Matthews, the psychiatrist his kids had been forcing him to see after his wife got sick, sat across from each other at their weekly appointment. Dr. Matthews often did house calls, which Jack found mildly irritating.
“A bit paranoid, don’t you think?” Matthews was pointing up at the camera in the corner of the ceiling.
“Everything all right, Jack?” he continued, his face concerned.
Dr. Matthews was near Jack’s age, and they both were two old men who had worked hard all their life. Jack wasn’t just Dr. Matthews’ patient; he fancied himself his friend, too.
Though that might not have been exactly on-par with medical ethics rules, Matthews was always there to help Jack. He’d been a godsend when Mary had gotten sick.
There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that Dr. Matthews would do anything he could to help him.
Though he could see on the good doctor’s face that he was concerned for his well being, Jack couldn’t help but feel a little bit annoyed. His kids, via email, of course (heaven forbid they actually called him), strongarmed him into seeing Dr. Matthews.
He looked at the doctor’s handsome, concerned face, wondering, for the millionth time, what he was writing on his clipboard.
Out of nowhere, Jack felt an urge to blurt out to the doctor that he was fired. But, he knew he’d receive another stern scolding from his kids.
“You’ll get the house anyway,” he’d tell his kids in the email after he fired the doctor. He knew how they watched him closely. They couldn’t wait to stick him in a nursing home so that they could sell this place.
Wait, wait, Jack said. He took a deep breath. This was the stress talking. The mysterious goings-on, him missing his wife, it was all adding up and making him touchy.
Enough of the suspicion. He cleared his throat, ready to talk to the doctor.
Jack squared his shoulders. You know what? he thought to himself, Matthews can believe or disbelieve—it’s his choice.
Jack knew what he was about. Though his wife hadn’t been too with-it at the end, Jack had always been, pardon the rhyme, sharp as a tack.
“You don’t miss a trick,” he remembered his former military CO saying. Jack had shaken his head in response to that. He knew he hadn’t lost his step—at least not mentally.
“Fine, fine,” Jack told the doctor. “Just noticed a few things going missing. I just hired that housekeeper, so I thought I’d check up on her.”
Frowning, Dr. Matthews shifted in his seat. “Sometimes, after a traumatic incident, things can get a little…fuzzy.”
He continued, “Why don’t you let me write you a prescription? Just something small to help you sleep and cope with what’s been going on.”
