Clark had already received a vibrator in the mail and he'd only been opening packages for twenty minutes. The sad part was that this wouldn't have been the first sex toy one of his viewers sent him, and he was almost positive it wouldn't be the last. He knew exactly why they did it, too. Clark turned towards the camera with the toy in his hand and shook his head. "You guys have to stop sending me these things, I swear," he laughed. He tossed it over his shoulder, onto his bed, and grabbed the next package in front of him.

At the end of every month, Clark went down to his PO box and picked up everything his YouDoo viewers had sent him throughout the past four weeks, and when he got home, he set up the camera and opened them live. This had been going on for the past year, and it always ended up being his favorite time of the month. He'd done everything from die of laughter to crying uncontrollably because of some of the notes people sent him. They appreciated him, and he appreciated them more than almost anything else in the world.

The next item was a bag full of his favorite candy, and the moment he saw the colorful wrappers, his eyes lit up. "Holy shit, thank you Gina C. These are the best!" To prove it, he opened the bag and tore off one of the wrappers, popping the fruity piece into his mouth as he trashed the small box the candy had come in. "These are gonna get me through the next few days, I'll have you all know."

Just as he began to open the next box, he glanced at one of the comments. "I actually haven't gotten any packages from a Wendy, so it'll more than likely be in the stream next month. Sorry!"

He knew that a lot of people looked forward to seeing his reaction, so he tried his hardest to include everyone in one stream, but a lot of people sent their items too late and they'd roll over into the following unboxing video.

Clark figured it was time for a small break and leaned in close to the camera. "Hey guys, we're gonna do a quick bathroom break, so if you have any juice or anything that needs refilling, now's the time to get to it! I'll be back in about three or four minutes." He blew them a kiss and hopped up from his bedroom floor.

Before walking away, he pointed the camera down to the floor. He wanted to change into his PJs and didn't need anyone creeping on him in his underwear. That was for another type of cam show.

He made his way into his closet and flicked on the lights. He hated most of the items in his wardrobe but still wasn't sure how to go about convincing his parents that he needed to redo it all. He knew they'd be pissed if he tossed out all of his old clothes – even if he did donate – but at the same time, he didn't want to keep wearing shirts from high school. He was past that time in his life.

Clark grabbed a plain green shirt and a pair of baggy pajama bottoms and quickly changed. He checked his reflection out in the bathroom and then headed downstairs to grab a cup of water.

The moment he set foot on the cold marble floor, he knew something was off.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but the air was different. He stood at the foot of the staircase, one hand still on the railing, listening intently. He knew that his parents were out, but there was no reason for the house to be this quiet. He was a statue for a moment longer, up until he realized what it was. It was eight at night and his maid wasn't vacuuming. Marie had a set schedule – highly OCD – and the St. Murphys were happy to let her work whenever she wanted. On the weekends, she vacuumed at eight. She washed laundry on Wednesday, and on Fridays at noon, no later, no sooner, she went grocery shopping.

Once he realized why things felt wrong, Clark continued into the kitchen to grab that water. He skipped the lights since the fridge was so close to the archway. The fridge hummed to life when he pulled the door open. He grabbed a cup of water and filled it to the brim with water, sipping it loudly to keep any from spilling. He spun around on his heel and closed the fridge door with his other foot. As the light shut off, he saw the silhouette of a man in his home.

Clark's entire body tensed up and his blood ran cold. Without thinking, he dropped his glass. The cup shattered in front of him, but before the man could turn around, he fell to his knees and covered his mouth. He and Marie were the only ones home tonight. He'd been sure of it.

Clark began crawling across the kitchen on his hands and knees, trying to keep his composure. He'd seen movies. He needed to keep calm and think this out. Where was the closest phone?

His cellphone was upstairs, but there was a house phone just around the corner by the coat rack. If he crawled quietly and kept low to the ground, he could reach around the corner and snatch it up. He continued forward but froze when he heard the sound of another footstep in the kitchen. Slowly, Clark peered around the corner of the center island and saw a pair of black boots. He backed up and held his breath. He pressed his back against the cabinets and waited, strained to hear where the man was walking. The sound of his steps sounded further and further away. He was near the oven now, a good ten feet away from the door.

Clark took a shuddering breath and inched towards the door, his body shaking as he moved.

"Clark."

The sound of the man's voice plunged Clark into an ice bath but instead of freezing, he vaulted up and took off, propelling himself towards the stairs. He climbed as fast as he could, all too aware that he was being chased. His mind raced, and once he reached the landing of the stairs, he was paralyzed. His phone was in his room. Could he lock the door and get outside and on the roof before he man broke the door down. Rather than risking it, he shot towards his father's room. He slammed the door closed and locked it, barreling over the bed. He made his way into the closet and tore at the clothes hanging up. He ripped a red sweater down and revealed his father's safe.

His first attempt at spinning the dial was useless. His fingers were slick with sweat. Clark swiped them off and tried again, this time unlocking the door. He swung it open and grabbed the gun with unsteady hands. Just as his father taught him, he turned off the safety and took a deep breath. He aimed towards the roof pulled the trigger once, surprised by the kick.

The banging on the door stopped instantly. Clark approached cautiously, unsure if it was safe or not. He dropped down his knees and checked the crack under the door. Two boots stood on the other side.

"Get out of my house," he yelled. He waited for the man to react, and when he didn't, Clark stood up and fired at the roof again. He repeated himself, this time slamming against the door. He could hear the man take off, and he flung the door open, watching the man flee. As he barreled down the stairs, Clark thought about firing again but held still when he made eye contact with the masked man. The intruder took off, sprinting out of the front door.

Clark let out a shuddered breath and headed for the phone. He dialed for the police and took a seat to catch his breath. They'd be there in ten minutes. In the meantime, Clark figured he might as well clean up that glass in the kitchen so nobody stepped on it.

He grabbed the broom from the closet and carried it to the kitchen. When he turned on the lights, he was finally able to see his maid's dead body in the middle of the room. Her white outfit was stained dark with blood, and it seeped from her body in a large puddle. Clark's eyes went wide and he dropped the broom, stumbling backwards.

"Marie," he whispered, tears spilling down his cheeks. He'd grown up with the woman. She was a second mother to him when his first wasn't around. She'd been in the family for nearly sixteen years.

There was a hole in his chest. Marie was dead and the killer had gotten away. Clark thought about dragging himself to the bathroom to throw up, but he swallowed his bile and buried his face in his knees instead, sobbing to himself.

He suddenly realized that he hadn't called his parents yet. With what strength he had left, Clark forced himself to stand and dialed his parents. His mother answered with confusion in her voice.

"Clark? What's wrong, honey? You're on the home phone."

"She's dead, Mommy."

"What?" He heard her shush her husband. "What did you say, baby?"

"Marie's dead. Someone killed her."

+

Stacy and Darin St. Murphy returned home faster than the police. They were already driving and Darin quickly turned around and headed home. The two found their son outside of the kitchen, crying and clutching Darin's gun for dear life. Carefully, Stacy eased the gun from his hands and kicked it away, taking him into her arms. Darin stood silently for a moment before he turned to face the kitchen. Just as Clark had sputtered out a few minutes ago, Marie lie dead on the tile, her body twisted at a grotesque angle and her mouth and eyes open wide. He felt a wave of sadness but knew he'd have to be the brave one out of the three of them. Despite Marie being their employee, Stacy had come to love the woman, and he knew how much Clark enjoyed her company.

"Clark, what happened?" his father asked. Stacy wiped the boy's eyes and squatted down next to him.

"What happened?" she asked, searching his brown eyes for an answer. He took in an uneven breath and said,

"Someone – someone was in the house. I – I – I went to get a drink and he was just standing there. He chased me and I scared him off with your gun. Then I found Marie." He could barely get the words out without feeling another pang of sadness deep in his soul. Stacy hugged him tight and looked up at her husband. He glanced back at the body then the knife beside her. A horrible idea popped into Clark's mind.

"What if they think I did this?" he whispered, pulling away from his mother. He looked between the two of them, terrified.

"What?" his father asked.

"The guy had on gloves and a mask. He probably didn't leave any fingerprints. It looks like I killed Marie." His voice cracked and he put his head between his knees again, trying to hold back a hysterical sob. He might end up being punished for this when he didn't do anything.

"Honey, no," Stacy said, brushing under his eyes. "Darin, go check the tapes." He nodded and left. Just as he disappeared, there was a knock on the open door and two officers stepped inside. Clark could hear the siren of an ambulance outside as well.

Darin typed in the password to the computer in his office, maneuvering to the folder where he stored each recording for the month. He opened the program and stopped filming, allowing the computer to save the file and store it. As quickly as he could, he skimmed through the video, looking for anything that seemed suspicious. Adrenaline spiked in his body as he caught sight of the shape of a man creeping around the perimeter of his home. He watched the man pick the lock in the back and enter the home. Ten minutes later, the man came sprinting out of the front door, obviously afraid of something. Despite everything, he smiled.

Clark had been brave.

He saved the files to a thumb drive and put it away safely. He might need it later to defend his son. He considered calling their lawyer but decided against it. If they asked any suspicious questions, he'd step in and end the conversation. Darin returned to the front of the house to find Clark sitting on the stairs, talking to an officer.

"What did you do after you grabbed your father's gun?" the woman was asking. Clark glanced at his father.

"I wanted to scare him away, so I—"

"I got it," Darin said. He turned to the woman questioning his son. "He fired off a warning shot that scared away the person trying to break in. Right now, I need to get him back in the right headspace. You understand, don't you?" She looked as if she wanted to disagree but nodded reluctantly. "Good. What's the deal on the man that broke into our house and killed our housekeeper? Seems more important than what my son did." Darin wasn't a lawyer, but he did know a bit about firearm laws in California. The last thing he wanted was his son admitting something that could be misconstrued as negligence with a gun.

"We haven't found anything yet except for a few muddy footprints outside."

"Fantastic," Darin sighed. He helped Clark up, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders carefully. "I'm taking him upstairs. If you have any more questions tonight, you can ask me or my wife." The officer glared at him but smoothed her face out and forced a smile.

"Of course, sir."

"Let's go," he said to his son. He guided the boy upstairs and led him to his room. Clark sat on the bed and watched as Darin moved around the room, cleaning up and getting him ready for bed. He lifted the laptop, made a face when he saw himself on the screen, then closed it. He leaned in to kiss his son on the top of the head and started to leave.

"Dad?" Clark said suddenly. His old bear, Furface, was clutched to his chest, just like when he'd been scared years ago.

"Hm?"

"Can I... sleep with you and Mom tonight? I'm scared. I'll sleep on the ground, I don't care. I just—"

"Of course, Clark. We'll be in there in a bit."

Clark nodded and grabbed a few pillows from the bed. Darin watched him leave then let out a sigh. This was a mess. He headed downstairs and stood beside his wife. She was recounting what they'd been doing that evening. They'd gone out to dinner and were heading to a movie when Clark called, begging them to come home because something terrible had happened. They weren't sure what it was until they arrived to find the door hanging open and their son on the ground crying.

Stacy was still shaken up. She looked to her left, into the kitchen, and watched as the men photographed her friend's body. She swallowed down her despair and tried focusing on one thing at a time. Right now, the police. Tomorrow, her son. And then... She wasn't sure what came after this.

"I think that's all for now. We'll let you know if we find anything out about this man," the officer said. Darin considered telling the man about the video tapes but thought against it. He'd talk with Deborah, his lawyer, before handing anything like that over.

"Thank you," Stacy said. She took her husband's hand and walked to the living room. The two sat there for almost two hours, talking amongst themselves and waiting for the clean up to be over. Marie's body was removed and the clean-up team got right to scrubbing away the blood. By the time they were finished, Stacy was practically asleep in her husband's arms. He guided her up to bed and waited until everyone was gone before he closed the front door. He walked to the kitchen to turn off the lights and paused. It looked as if Marie had never been there, using today to take a break instead of what had really happened.

He turned off the light and climbed the stairs solemnly, relieved to see that the other two were already asleep. He changed into his pajamas and slid under the sheets with Stacy. As he pulled the covers up she rolled over and looked at him.

"What are we going to do?" she whispered.

"I don't know."

"We have to do something. The security tapes weren't enough. Someone tried to attack Clark. We have to do something, Darin. I can't sleep knowing that man could be out there just waiting to try and harm him again." Darin reached out and brushed a strand of black hair from her face. His fingers lingered on her skin, cupping her cheek. He had no idea what he was going to do, but he said,

"I'll take care of it. Before I leave, I'll take care of it." Stacy looked back at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt. He remained still, his eyebrows never once knitting together or furrowing. This was enough for her.

"Promise?"

"I promise. I swear."

"Okay," she said. "Try to get some sleep." Stacy rolled over again and Darin reachedacross the bed to pull her close. Heclosed his eyes and tried to sleep but his mind was racing. What was he going to do? How was he going to go to work withoutknowing that his family was safe back at home? He listened to the sound of their breaths – Clark's slight snores risingin volume every now and then – and he was finally able to drift asleep. He had an idea of how to keep everyone safe.