I watched him leave and realized that fear had traveled farther from Vivian’s house than I had guessed.
That evening, an unfamiliar sedan stopped outside my home.
A woman in a tan jacket walked up the path and introduced herself as Simone Park, a caseworker assigned to review reports involving adults in the neighborhood.
She carried identification and asked whether we could speak somewhere private.
I checked her credentials through the agency’s public number before letting her inside.
She thanked me for doing so.
“You seem cautious,” she said.
“I am learning to be.”
Simone asked me to describe the signs at the upstairs window in the order they occurred.
She did not ask for theories about the residents’ relationship to Vivian.
I described Lucy’s observations, the white sign, the spoon, and the bell.
She asked whether I had ever seen an adult leave the house freely.
I said I had seen two people enter the van with assistance, but I had never seen the woman at the upstairs window outside.
Simone made a note.
“Please don’t try to initiate contact through the window,” she said.
“Some people may be harmed if a caretaker believes they are communicating with someone outside.”
I understood the warning immediately.
She examined the photographed debris and asked whether any items resembled medical supplies or personal effects.
I showed her the damaged fan and disposable pad fragments.
Her expression did not change.
“The materials themselves don’t prove wrongdoing,” she said.
“They may help explain what is being moved from the property.”
Before leaving, Simone asked one question I had not expected.
“Has Vivian ever asked you to stop recording the back of your property?”
I showed her the letter demanding a solid fence and camera changes.
Simone read it slowly.
“Please keep this original.”
I asked whether she believed the residents were unsafe.
“I believe they deserve to be heard without someone answering for them.”
After she left, I watched Lucy place candles on her birthday cake drawing.
She had designed a picture of all her friends bowling under bright blue lights.
There were no swimming pools in it.
I asked whether she was disappointed.
“I just want the lady next door to stop being scary,” she said.
I sat beside her and colored one of the bowling balls purple.
“Me too,” I said.
The next bag arrived during the school run, when my new camera was recording an empty patio under dull morning light.
