Jennifer Gibson was on a mission. She had been living in her new home now a little over six months. She suspected that something wasn’t quite right from day one: the day the pantry door slammed so hard that the walls shook. She went over every scenario again and again in her mind, but nothing made sense. A big heavy door like that doesn’t move because of a little breeze, much less slam with the force that it did. That was just the beginning of the strange things she had encountered since moving in. The constant feeling of being watched and followed around the house. Maybe that could be dismissed as paranoia. But what about the dog? Why did he seem to see the things that she felt? Why did he stare at empty corners and growl at thin air? And the art studio—the art studio was personal. She couldn’t shake that feeling. Why would some random person want to trash her studio? Why the big black Xs just like the ones she had marked the walls and cabinets with? But above and beyond every question she could ask herself was the unshakeable feeling that she was not welcome there.

      She felt a darkness in her home, a heavy, cold darkness. It was like bearing a physical weight. She couldn’t stand it. She stayed in her room to hide from it. But even there, she could feel its presence. She kept her head buried in the blankets to avoid it as much as possible. She was scared to death to even get up to pee. Her days had been reduced to hiding out in her bedroom until Peter got home. But she was so angry with Peter that when he was home, she didn’t want to see him. How could he abandon her on this? They had always believed in one another, no matter how ridiculous an idea may have been or big a dream was, no matter what everyone else had to say. They promised to take each other seriously. To respect one another. How could he just dismiss her like this? He wouldn’t even listen to the possibility that something was wrong with the house.

      “Well, there is something wrong with the house. And I am going to find out what it is!” she said out loud as she drove toward the city.

      Bill looked up at her, listening intently to her every word.

      “You believe me don’t you, boy? Yeah, I know you do. Don’t you worry, little guy, we are going to find out what’s going on.”

      Jennifer arrived at the South Los Angeles County Library at 9:00 a.m. just as the doors were being unlocked.

      “Excuse me, ma’am, but we do not allow dogs in the library.”

      “Oh, I am sorry. Uh, he’s a service dog in training.”

      Jennifer dug through her purse, retrieving the paperwork she had received from the trainer she hired for Bill. She had a seizure disorder, and although she had not suffered a seizure in over a year, she never knew when to expect one. Peter wanted the dog trained to detect when she might have a seizure. That way, she could get to a safe place before one ensued.

      “Here they are.” She handed the papers to the librarian, who looked them over, then handed them back.

      “Okay then, is there anything I can help you find today?”