Chapter 2 - MINE IS IN YOUR BACKPACK
Ryan picked up the AirTag from his backpack.
“You put this on me?”
“In your bag.”
“That isn't better.”
Linda took a slow sip of coffee.
“You live downtown now. You come home at all hours. I don't know your neighbors.”
“You don't need to know my neighbors.”
“I need to know you're safe.”
Ryan stared at her.
That phrase.
I'm keeping you safe.
It had followed him through high school, college, first dates, weekend trips and every argument about independence.
Why couldn't he stay overnight at a friend's house?
Safety.
Why did Linda need the passwords to his accounts when he was seventeen?
Safety.
Why did she call three times if he was twenty minutes late?
Safety.
Ryan placed her AirTag on the table.
“You tracked me after I specifically turned location sharing off.”
“You turned off your phone location.”
“Exactly.”
“So I found another way.”
There wasn't even embarrassment in her voice.
Ryan almost admired the honesty.
Almost.
“Do you hear yourself?”
Linda's jaw hardened.
“One day you'll understand.”
“No. I don't think I will.”
Ryan pointed at the second tracker.
“And apparently while you were busy violating my privacy, somebody else decided to do the same thing.”
For the first time, real worry appeared in Linda's face.
“Where exactly did you find it?”
“Under the driver's seat.”
“How was it attached?”
“Black tape.”
“How long has it been there?”
“I don't know.”
Linda stood.
“We should call the police.”
Ryan gave her an incredulous look.
“You put one in my backpack.”
“That is different.”
“How?”
“Because I'm your mother.”
The answer came so quickly that Ryan knew she'd never questioned it.
He slipped both trackers into separate plastic sandwich bags.
Linda frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure you can't touch them.”
“Ryan.”
“I mean it.”
He put the bags into his backpack.
Linda moved around the table.
“Give me the unknown one.”
“No.”
“I can figure out who—”
“No.”
His voice stopped her.
Ryan had rarely raised it at his mother.
He didn't need to now.
“From this second forward, you do not track me. You do not come to my apartment unless I invite you. You don't call my landlord, my job, my friends or my neighbors.”
Linda's expression hardened with every sentence.
“You're being dramatic.”
“I found two tracking devices on my property.”
“One belonged to me.”
“That is not the defense you think it is.”
Ryan walked toward the front door.
Behind him, Linda said quietly, “You don't know what people are capable of.”
Ryan stopped.
There was something unusual in her tone.
Not anger.
Fear.
He turned around.
“What does that mean?”
Linda's face closed immediately.
“Nothing.”
“No. You said—”
“Go to work, Ryan.”
It was the same voice she had used throughout his childhood whenever he'd asked about things she didn't want to explain.
Conversation over.
Ryan left.
That afternoon, he went to the local police station.
An officer photographed the tracker and explained that ownership information wasn't something Ryan could simply pull from the device himself. There were procedures, and if he believed he was being stalked, he should document everything.
Ryan filed a report.
By evening, he had changed his apartment access code and ordered a small security camera.
At 10:14 P.M., the camera sent its first movement alert.
Ryan opened the live feed.
Nobody stood outside his door.
The hallway was empty.
He nearly dismissed it.
Then something at the far end of the corridor moved.
A shadow disappeared around the stairwell.
Ryan stepped closer to the screen.
The camera had captured only three seconds.
A dark jacket.
A man's shoulder.
Part of a face.
Ryan replayed it twice.
Then a third time.
He didn't recognize the man.
But the stranger had been standing in the hallway outside Ryan's apartment long enough to trigger the camera.
Ryan saved the footage.
A minute later, his phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
There was no greeting.
May you like
Only one message.
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHAT HAPPENED IN 2009.
