Three Weeks Later
February 13, 2017
Clay was excited to see Claire’s white Polo pull into his drive. He stood in the doorway, waiting patiently to tell her the good news.
It was dark and chilly, and Claire was a little tired as she had come straight from work.
“If only my colleagues knew how many hours I put in. I’ve been told I do too much for my clients,” Claire sighed.
“By the way, thanks for the lovely text you sent earlier. So, what’s the good news, my love?”
Clay could barely contain himself. He placed both hands gently on the sides of her face and kissed her passionately. “My prayers have been answered. Come inside, beautiful.”
Once inside, Clay popped the cork from a bottle of chilled Prosecco. The cork ricocheted off the wall with a loud pop. “This bottle was intended for Valentine’s Day, but something important came up,” Clay said. “Babe, I know you don’t really drink, but have a toast with me.”
Clay presented Claire with a martini glass and poured a drink for himself.
Claire tilted her glass towards Clay. “Okay. So, what are we toasting to?”
“We’re toasting to buying you new replacement earrings,” Clay answered.
Clay and Claire sat on the love seat.
“But Clay, those were eighteen-karat white gold and diamond earrings.”
“I know, I was there when you bought them.”
“To life, love and prosperity,” Clay toasted.
On the coffee table was an opened envelope from Aviva Insurance. Claire spotted it immediately.
“Go on, open it, babe,” Clay requested.
Claire placed her drink on the table and picked up the letter. She opened it and read it aloud.
We hope you were satisfied with our handling of your claim. If you would, please fill out the enclosed customer satisfaction survey sheet so we may better assist you in the future. The enclosed check must be cashed within ninety days.
Claire reached inside the envelope and slowly pulled out the check. She was curious.
Claire’s green eyes widened. She was pleasantly surprised. “Oh!” Claire responded.
She was happy for Clay. “Twenty thousand? That’s a lot of dosh.”
Clay had more uplifting news. “I went to the bank today and they said they couldn’t renegotiate mortgage terms while my account was in arrears. So you can imagine how excited I was to come home to this,” Clay said. “For a moment I thought God had ignored my prayers, but he didn’t. He came through.”
Clay and Claire’s celebratory toast was pure elation.
However, their special moment was interrupted by a loud thumping at the door. Clay answered the front door.
“Good evening, Officer Richards. And the answer is yes…I have been drinking. And I’m likely to have a few more before the night is over. How can I help you, sir?”
Officer Richards was not amused by Clay’s attempt at humor. “I need to discuss your case. May I come in?”
The officer removed his police helmet and began writing on his clipboard. He refused to sit.
Claire was concerned. “Are you here to tell us you caught the guilty party?”
The officer removed his glasses and placed them on his clipboard. He was stern.
“The man who removed your possessions from your home—”
Clay stood and corrected the officer. “You mean stole.”
Tension in the room swelled, particularly between Clay and the officer.
The officer countered back. “Are you gonna let me talk!”
“As I said, the man who removed your property was just doing his job.”
Clay and Claire were taken aback by the officer’s comments. Clay stepped between Claire and the officer in a confrontational manner. “I never thought I would hear it from a police officer, but I guess crime does pay. That’s what you are saying. Unbelievable,” Clay responded sarcastically.
The officer continued. “This was not a robbery. It was a seizure of assets to satisfy a legal debt. Do you understand?”
Clay was in denial. “A legal debt, what legal debt?”
“Huntingdon Jaguar Specialists. Apparently, there were major engine repairs performed on your vehicle and you did not pay.”
“I just spoke with Jeff, the owner, and he said he would work with me. He was fine. I know Jeff, he would just call me. Anyway, the bill only came to five grand. He couldn’t have taken my car to satisfy a five grand debt.”
“And my earrings,” Claire added.
“You are wrong on both accounts. Jeff is not the owner. He’s an assistant manager. A bailiff was dispatched to seize your property. Bailiffs often seize up to five times the amount of the debt to cover legal expenses, storage, advertising costs and auction fees.”
Claire waived her index finger at the officer. “Excuse me, but I’ve worked with bailiffs in the past, and they cannot just break into your home and remove property.”
Once again the officer had an answer. “You are right. But they can access your property if a door is unlocked or a window is opened. I noticed that you like to keep your bedroom window ajar.”
Reality slowly crept into Clay’s conscious. Both Clay and Claire recalled the incident where a strange man had wanted verification of the identity of the owner of the residence—the man Clay had thought was a voter registration agent for the council.
“But my bedroom is on the second floor; you’d need a ladder to get up there.”
“A thief probably wouldn’t risk it. But a bailiff is protected by a court order. My advice to you is to contact your insurance company and notify them immediately. You are not entitled to any compensation. It would be a criminal offense prosecutable by law if you proceeded. You have been advised.”
The officer placed his police helmet on and departed.
Clay collapsed onto the love seat, staring at the check. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye. Claire sensed Clay’s inconsolable state.
“I needed that money. That was my lifeline. Why didn’t he just keep his nose out of my business?”
What had started as bitterness evolved into rage. Claire saw a hostile side of Clay she had never seen before. She was wary.
Clay started his rant. “Maybe I should have thought twice about retiring here in England.”
“What are you talking about, sweetheart?”
“How can a perfect stranger just sneak into someone’s home and take what they like? How is that even legal? Imagine this…we’re sound asleep in bed and some stranger enters through our bedroom window in the early hours of the night. I promise you, Claire, it’s not gonna end well for him. He’s got two choices, and neither of them are good,” Clay assured.
“And what two choices might that be?”
“Leave in a stretcher or in a body bag.”
Claire was uneasy at Clay’s emotional meltdown. “But we don’t do that here in England. This is not the States,” she defended.
Clay stood with the check in hand. “But I’m not English. I’m from Chicago. And where I come from, we have no problem defending our property. And we don’t resolve the issue with harsh language.”
Clay crumpled the check in his fist. He was seething with anger.
“Should I go home?”
Claire’s soft voice momentarily snapped Clay out of his wrath.
“Come here. Of course not. You’re my rock. I need you. I’m gonna lose this house now; I need to accept the inevitable. I’ve run out of time and options. I can deal with losing my Jag; it’s just a car. It can be replaced. But I can’t recover from losing this house.”
Clay received a text from Emily, his publisher. He read the message, then flung the phone onto the love seat.
“Who was that?”
“You can read it. Just when I thought my creative mojo was back, I get hit with a bombshell.”
Claire read Clay’s text.
Where’s my paranormal manuscript? I just approved another twenty grand advance. Call me wh
en you’ve got something. Emily.
2 a.m. Valentine’s Day
Clay didn’t sleep a wink. He felt dejected and was consumed with hopelessness. He slid out of bed to get dressed. He awakened Claire from a deep sleep.
“Clay, where are you going? It’s almost two o’clock in the morning?”
“I just need to take a walk. I’ve gotta clear my head. Thank you for making me realize that all the anger in the world will not solve my problems. Only God can. I’ll be back, hun.”
Clay kissed Claire on the lips and grabbed his jacket.
After circling the estate twice under a bright full moon, Clay leaned against a red Royal Mail mailbox. He stared into the starry sky.
“Lord, I have no idea what you are trying to tell me, but you’ve got my attention. My faith is hanging on by a fingernail, and I feel as though you’ve abandoned me. This is more than I can bear. Please help me. Please. Amen.”
Clay shoved his hands in his pockets and walked home in the brisk cold.
He entered the bedroom and watched Claire as she slept soundly. Clay reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. Inside his wallet, a yellow sticky note seemed to beckon him. Desperation weakened Clay and his faith.
“Lord, forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he prayed.
He undressed and lay next to Claire’s warm body until he drifted into a deep coma-like sleep.
Chapter 6: The Last House on the Left