It was hers.
She plopped herself down on the floor (all the while thinking how great it would be to buy a couch), and closed her eyes. A feeling of peace settled over her. This was her home, and hers alone. She would do it all herself. She… thought she heard a noise coming from the kitchen.
Opening her eyes, Julianne strained to listen. There was definitely someone in her house.
Quietly as she could, Julianne got to her feet. Looking around for a weapon, she spotted a pair of scissors lying on top of a box. Picking them up and holding them out in front of her like a sword, she made her way into the kitchen.
She peered around the corner into the room. There, sitting placidly on her counter, was a man she had never seen before.
“Ah, there you are,” he said, looking up and spotting her, “You’re a bit late, but that’s all right, we’ll make up for lost time on the way.” He grinned. His smile was friendly – in fact, everything about him was friendly. His ears were on the large side, and stuck out. His hair was light brown, short, and messy. He dressed casually, but his clothes were nice and well-kept. And the friendliest thing about him was his eyes – big and brown and trusting. Julianne stared into those eyes, unsure what to do. There was no way she could stab this pleasant-looking stranger. But there was still the question of what he was doing in her house.
“What are you doing in my house?”
“Um, it’s Tuesday. 1:30. Don’t tell me you forgot our appointment?”
“I don’t know you,” Julianne said, feeling flustered and confused.
“Oh, sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Kenrick – we’ve talked a few times. Mirian is usually the one receiving your messages, but sometimes she makes me take over for her. Anyway, I was sent to pick you up and take you back to headquarters. You ready?”
Julianne stared at him, wondering if he were insane. It seemed likely that he suffered from some sort of delusions or something that had convinced him of this whole situation about talking to her.
“Um, we’ve never spoken,” she said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The man, Kenrick, frowned, “Isn’t this 823 Maple Drive?”
“And aren’t you Patricia Cowel?”
“Oh, sorry. I know we’re not supposed to know you’re real name, but we’re snoops, it’s our job. I should have said, aren’t you Mocking jay?”
“I’m not Patricia Cowel or ‘Mocking Jay’. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh.” Kenrick slid off the counter and stared at her, “You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
“Then we have a problem.”
Today's Novel Idea Prompted by: A simple free-write.