Bishop

Bishop had watched the house next door sit empty for over 5 years after he'd gotten back from Afghanistan for the final time and he'd been good with that. He hated noise and kids and this was the sort of neighborhood that invited families.

The house he was sitting in wasn't the house he'd grown up in, but it was the house he'd inherited. His folks had sold their entire farm after he'd joined the military and moved to the suburbs into this nice, large house. They'd been hoping for grandkids and family gatherings here and they'd paid for it outright.

When Bishop was in Iraq, his sister had taken her own life after her boyfriend of 4 years, who she had thought was about to propose, had broken up with her instead. He hadn't been told about it until after the funeral had already happened, he'd been too deep on a recon mission.

When his parents had been killed six years ago in a 17 car pileup on the highway, he hadn't found out about it for 5 weeks. He'd been behind enemy lines and deep on an extraction. He'd found out about it when he made it back to command, and the fact that he'd come into a LOT of money when the cause of the accident was revealed. Not his parents car, but the cause of the accident was the fault of the automotive company and it had spurred a huge nationwide recall. Everyone hurt or killed in the accident had gotten a giant settlement.

Bishop still opted to finish out his tour for the next 10 months and retire with the military before coming home. He'd been to this house once on leave and coming back to it didn't feel like coming home. Still, he knew his wife was going to love it and he'd made no arrangements to sell it.

When he arrived home, Olivia, his wife, was very obviously pregnant and showing. She'd tried to hide it, tried to deny it, but all the signs were there in their little house that another man had been there and often. Beer cans in the trash bag, a well maintained lawn mower and lawn, along with a brand new insert still in the packaging for the weed whacker. Things Olivia knew nothing about and refused to even think about learning. She'd had the boy down the street mowing for her for a while, but there were obvious signs that HIS mower was being used. There were other signs too, hundreds of them. From the wrong sorts of shows being on the 'continue watching' slots, to tiny facial hairs still in the sink in the bathroom.

So Bishop had packed up and moved to his parents house alone, left Olivia behind. When he filed for divorce, he made no mention of the settlement or the house. Olivia hadn't even known his folks had died, she was so out of touch with him and his family. She'd just assumed he was moving back in with his folks and he let her assume that. He told her he'd let her have the old house if she didn't try to come after his retirement and she'd agreed, though now he wished he'd made her sell it. The judge had intimated that he had no love for women who cheated on military spouses, giving Olivia a purely disgusted look, along with the belly she was now showing off.

He hadn't seen or heard from her again.

His one time friends had all gotten married and had kids, started a life. He knew no one anymore and he was good with that. He was good with the quiet corner lot in the nice neighborhood with the huge yard that butted up to the woods on two sides. He'd been great with the single house next to him sitting empty for five years, not knowing or caring why it was empty. The family across the street was rarely home and he was good with that too. Their two teenage sons were into every sport ever invented, it seemed like to Bishop, but that just made it so that house was almost always empty too. He liked living at the end of the street, the woods right there next to his house and the teenage athletes house where the street ended, then behind the house too so no one lived behind him and butted up to his huge yard.

The house next door wasn't separated by a fence like most of the houses were, but he hadn't worried about it since he never went back there. The lawn service mowed for him and a different lawn service mowed the house next door, so he never had to go out back for any reason.

In fact, he rarely left his office at all. His office had once been a bedroom on the corner of the house that looked into the forest from both windows. His bedroom was across the hall, looking into the forest from one side and the street and teenage athletes house with the other side. He didn't use the master bedroom that was on the other corner that looked into the house next door's master bedroom and the forest. It had been his folks room and it still had their stuff in it. He left that room closed up, their things untouched. He didn't need the space and there was no reason to disturb anything.

Five peaceful years later, Bishop was annoyed. A sign had gone into the yard of the empty house and not a week later, there was a showing. People were in and out all day long and it was loud and people, kids especially, kept wandering over into his yard.

He was going to have to get a fence.

Fuck.

He'd tried to concentrate, focus on the book he was writing, but his eyes kept being pulled to the window as kids yelled and people talked loudly.

A week after the open house, he noticed the sign was gone when he went to get his mail.

Great,

Three very short weeks later, there was a moving van out front being unloaded by two men, but he saw no sign of the family. In the evening, a furniture store truck pulled up and more men unloaded new furniture and some appliances as well.

After that, the house went quiet. He saw no family or kids, though he had seen an internet truck outside a few days later, and the man was going in and out like someone was home.

Bishop was a little annoyed with how curious he was at not being able to see his new neighbors. It wasn't like he was staking them out, he only saw the front of the house when he was getting food from the kitchen or getting mail. He never used the living room at all, the TV had never been turned on once since he'd moved in. His time was spent in his office, either writing or reading.

It was a few weeks later when another truck showed up and unloaded wood and what looked like parts to a playhouse or something in the backyard.

That was fucking great.

Over the next two days, Bishop watched a small concrete pad being poured back at the forest's edge and the next week, he watched as different men came in and assembled what turned out to be a sort of shed. It wasn't a playhouse, it was more like one of those she-sheds, with a door and windows like a little house.

The day after it was finished, Bishop finally laid eyes on one of the residents of the house next door.

A kid. She hurried out of her back door and to the shed to look inside of it. She was small, maybe 10 or 11, 12 at the most and her long auburn hair was caught back in a ponytail. She spent the whole day taking things out to that shed, including a lot of large boxes she had to drag and tug and wrangle.

Why wasn't anyone helping her lift those heavy boxes?

The next few days Bishop could see her in the shed, working. Opening the boxes and building what was inside of them. A desk, shelving, several other things. At night, he could see in there more clearly with the lights on and after a few days it became clear that it was a painting studio and craft room. The kid was an artist and the parents didn't want her shit in the house?

He began getting used to seeing the girl every single day, like clockwork. She left her house around 8:30 in the morning, after he was already at his desk after getting up at 5 to drink his coffee. She came out her back door with a huge metal cup with a metal straw that she had to hold in both hands and went to her studio. She stayed inside it all day and sometimes into the night after Bishop went to bed.

As the weeks and then months passed, Bishop wondered about her parents. Why did they let her spend so much time holed up that way? Didn't she do ANYTHING else? When he knew school started, he was actually grumpy about seeing her every day. Why wasn't she in school? They were letting her just do whatever she wanted with no discipline at all? Were they even home? Maybe they traveled and she stayed there all alone, he knew he'd never seen another person or a car. She had groceries delivered the same way he did.

It was late fall when the day finally came that he went out to get his mail the same time she was out front getting her own, focused on a small box that was in her mailbox.

Hesitating, Bishop finally decided he'd had enough wondering.

"Kid!" he growled, stepping closer.

The girl looked up, looking a little worried and Bishop immediately had to re-assess. She was older than he thought, a teeneager at least. That made more sense as to why her parents let her be alone, but still. It had been months and he'd seen no sign of an adult anywhere.

"Where the hell are your folks?" he demanded, then knew after he said it that he probably sounded rude. He didn't really care. He wanted answers, not a nosy brat coming to bother him.

"My... parents?" she asked softly, confused.

"Yeah, your fucking parents. Where the hell are they?"

"Home, I guess?" she answered, glancing around like she was looking for help if he got out of hand. Like he was crazy.

"You guess?" Bishop demanded, looking at her house. "Are they home or not? How come I've never seen them?"

The girl looked back at her house, confused, then looked back at Bishop. "They are in their own home, this is MY home. My house. I live here myself... I'm 22, asshole!" she snarled, then turned and stormed away back into her house.

Bishop stared, a bit mystified. He didn't know much about kids, but he did know how to tell when people were lying. She hadn't been lying. She wasn't a kid, she was a woman, even if she was miniature.

Going back inside, he tried to forget about it. About all of it. He no longer had to worry, she wasn't a kid all alone, she was a woman.

Why the hell did a tiny little woman need a house that huge with all that space when all she ever used was the shed?

Didn't he only use the office?

That was different, he'd inherited the house, she'd bought that one, then put a separate shed on it to basically live in.

It ate at him. Not just that, but the thought of a girl as pretty as she was, living there all alone. It wasn't safe.

After that day, he did notice the girl warily watching his house when she came to and from her shed, looking at the windows like she was wondering if he was home.

Bishop rarely turned on the lights in his house. He didn't need lights to see his laptop, the keys were backlit. He didn't like to be in the bright, lit up places, he liked the hidden anonymity of darkness.

The day of the first snow, he saw the girl leave her shed at twilight and that made him curious. She never left early.

Getting up, he went down the hall and into his parents' old room to go to the window so he could see. The lights in the kitchen below the master bedroom were on, but he couldn't see in from where he was. Going down, he watched her from his own kitchen. He found himself amused to see her climbing up on the counters to get in the cupboards and get things down. She was making something, dinner maybe. After watching, he realized she was making home-made cocoa on the stove. Sitting cross legged right there on the counter, she sat sipping a mug and staring off at nothing, lost in thought.

What was her story? Was it some sort of tradition for her to make cocoa when the first snow came? The way she'd seen the snow and rushed inside, he imagined that must be it. It seemed logical.

The girl seemed sad as she cleaned up, then turned out the light.

The light turned on in the master bedroom moments later and Bishop went back up to his parents room.

The light was on in the large room, but it was empty. He could still see that she had the room done in teal and coral colors with a lot of white.

He was about to go back to his office when the bathroom door opened and steam billowed out, followed by her in nothing but a towel with another wrapped around her hair.

Grabbing something small, she pointed it across the room, then started swaying to unheard music as she sat at her vanity and pulled the towel off her hair.

Bishop watched as she brushed her hair and put product in it, then cleaned her face. Seeing such a mundane thing both tugged at him and pissed him off.

How many times had he seen Olivia brush her hair? For as long as they were married? Not nearly enough, actually. It seemed like a lot to him, but he knew he was rarely home. In the 12 years they were married, he probably wasn't actually home for a full year of it. Hell, he probably hadn't been home for a full 6 months of it.

The girl stood and pulled her towel off and immediately, Bishop felt embarrassed and aroused. As she turned and he saw her profile, the first thing he noticed was that she had great tits for her size. Probably a small handful, but on her frame they looked perfect on her. She also had a nice ass. When she turned again, his eyes dropped and he cocked his head slightly. He wasn't sure he liked that she had no pussy hair, but his immediate thought as he looked at that little mound of flesh between her legs was that he bet her cunt was fucking tight as hell.

He got a hard on just thinking about it, something he hadn't bothered with for years. He'd had no interest in sex or girls or getting off, Olivia had soured him completely. Every cunt out there was tainted with another man's dick.

Still... he could look?

Moving back to sit on the edge of the bed, he watched her and jerked off for the first time in a very long time.

The second he finished, he was angry and disgusted with himself for giving in to something so basic and spying on that girl.

It didn't stop him from watching her when she went out to her shed the next morning and wondering once again why she went clear out there to paint. What was her deal? Why have that huge family house to herself, then build that shed and go all the way out there to paint. There were at least 4 bedrooms, he knew it. It was the same as his own house, but reversed like a mirror image.

He watched her out there, painting, swaying to music and messing around on her laptop.

When she went out just after the mail arrived, he went out to his own mailbox, watching her as she struggled with a package as big as she was.

He didn't offer to help, he just watched her get it into the house. Watching from the kitchen, he watched her bring a stack of flattened boxes out to her shed. When she came out, she was carrying large, thin boxes like oversized pizza's in a tall stack to her chin. She took those into her house, then went back and got a stack of smaller, but still large envelopes that were thick like they held smaller paintings.

Half an hour later, an Uber arrived and she carted everything out to it, the man in the SUV helping her load boxes into the back.

She was back in 45 minutes with an empty hand cart and a fast food bag, smiling and waving at the UBER driver.

Was that how she made her money? She sold her paintings? He was sure that's what she'd just done, mailed off a lot of paintings.

The next day, she had several large boxes delivered and they were all canvases, some of them huge.

Bishop tried to focus, looking at his computer, but his eyes kept going back to her little shed, lit up in the snow. The way she bopped her head to music and sometimes stopped painting to dance a little before going back to her work.

It was kind of adorable.

When a week had gone by and he'd gotten no work done, he was frustrated. He needed her out of his system!

That's what he needed... to find out all about her and get her out of his system.

The next morning, he watched her as she went out to her shed, then slipped over to her house and went in.

Her kitchen was clean, immaculate even, but he'd known that. He'd watched her every night clean up after herself after her meals and she did the same thing in the morning before she went out to her shed. Looking around the rest of the house, it was also clean and as unused as his own house was.

He saved her room for last, looking through her things. On her desk were labels, printed out and laying in a tray and he picked them up to look at them.

Sabina.

Was it a typo? Was it supposed to be Sabrina?

Sabina Metcalf.

No, there were at least 30 of them missing from the sheet, he was sure it wasn't a typo.

Looking under it, he opened the folder and looked over the business outline and Etsy information.

Whimsy and Wonder with Sabina.

She had a TikTok, whatever that was, and a schedule with times she would be livestreaming tutorials for painting basic fantasy backgrounds and images. After that was a timeline for other tutorials including video games and cinematic recreations. There was a whole month for nothing but something called 'Tolkien'.

Putting it down, he looked through her other papers, but they were more of the same. Her getting her little business off the ground.

Opening drawers, it was mostly art supplies with one drawer full of legal documents.

Sabina O. Metcalf.

So it was definitely not a typo.

Moving to her dresser, he looked over her clothes, then moved to her vanity and looked at her make-up, jewelry, hairthings and toiletries.

So far she was boring and basic.

Her nightstand on the left held an inhaler, some cold medicine and some tampons. The other was more interesting, even if it was piled high with sketchbooks and pencils. The drawer held a vibrator, along with batteries. Flipping it on, he held it in his hand a moment before turning it off and putting it back.

He left her laptop for last, opening it after glancing out her window to make sure she was still in her shed.

He tried the obvious passwords, but they didn't work.

He knew one of the most popular pins, though and he went through her papers until he found her social security number. Typing in the last 4 digits, her computer opened and he smirked. 90% of the people he knew, most of them military, used the last 4 of their social as their pins. It was easy to remember and no one else knew it.

Opening her internet, he immediately went to her browsing history and was incredibly surprised to see quite a bit of porn sites. There were mostly sites that had drawing models, especially hands for some reason. He wondered if hands were an issue for her? Maybe they were just hard to do, though he couldn't imagine why. A block with five fingers seemed simple enough.

Nothing else, really besides her social media. Her Etsy store.

He'd need hands on her phone to really see what sorts of things she was into.

Still, he was intrigued by the amount of porn sites she visited.

Clicking on the last one she watched, he froze up when he heard a sound downstairs.

Jumping up, he looked and her shed was dark and empty.

Closing the tab, then the laptop, he put it away and slid into her closet just as she opened her bedroom door, talking.

"... don't have any more than that right now, why?" she asked the phone that was pressed to her ear as she threw herself on her bed. "What time? ... I guess I can, but just you, ok? And you can't tell them you're here. ... No, nana was super explicit in the way she had it all written up. ... No, it's ok, you can, just don't say anything, ok? It's not like she's going to come over and check. ... Yeah, he would tell, but he hasn't come over since I moved in. We're still fighting. ... You say that, but your brother was nothing like mine. Stavos is a complete douchebag," she sighed, kicking off her shoes and climbing into the blankets as she listened to whoever was on the phone talk. "Sure, so what day will you be in? ... No, I don't drive, you'll have to UBER here, I'll text you the address. ... Alright, Shannon, I'll see you next week, then. I'm gonna go for now, I'm not feeling so well. I think I'm getting sick, but I should be over it by next week, promise. ... No, just achy and stuff, freezing like I have a fever. ... No way and don't you tell them either! I mean it, if someone shows up here to check on me, I'm blaming you! ... No, I'll be fine. I have groceries delivered and I have soup here, I'll be fine. ... I don't know, I don't feel like finding the thermometer," she told the phone while opening her drawer and pulling out the ear thermometer. She put it in her other ear while she listened to the phone, then looked at it when it beeped. Grimacing, she rolled over and curled up, still listening to the phone. Finally, she spoke again, "Alright, Shannon, I will, promise. I'll text you later, ok? I'm going to take a nap. ... Love you too, bye."