“Lucky Me,” She Said
“Emily, let me explain!” On the doorstep stood a breathless Oliver.
“What do you want from me? Go sort it out with your boss!”
“You don’t understand. I’m sorry… You don’t understand. Please, lock the doors and call the police. Just trust me!”
Emily stared in confusion as Oliver ran off. What was all this about? Why was a simple repairman acting so strangely?
Suddenly, she heard noises from the floor below—raised voices, the sound of shattering glass, and Oliver’s desperate shout.
“Emily, run!”
The girl quickly slammed the door. She didn’t understand, but she did as Oliver said. She turned both deadbolts and twisted the key in the lock from her side. Then, with trembling hands, she dialed 999.
A knock at the door made her jump. Clutching the phone to her chest, she prayed for it all to be over.
“Sweetheart, you in there? We can hear you. Open up nicely, and we won’t hurt you—promise,” came a rough male voice from the other side.
Emily stayed silent, barely breathing. The voices stopped, but strange sounds followed—someone was trying to pick the lock.
“She’s shoved the key in. Listen, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Open up, now.”
“Go away! I’ve called the police!” Emily blurted before clapping a hand over her mouth.
“That was a mistake, love,” the voice sneered. “Let’s go, lads. We’ll be back, got it?”
The intruders retreated down the stairs, their footsteps fading into silence. Emily slid down the wall, still gripping the phone, her ears ringing.
Another knock. A sob caught in her throat—until a familiar voice called out:
“Open up, it’s the police!”
Emily sat at the kitchen table, recounting the story to a constable taking her statement. Her hands still shook.
“Tell us, who is Oliver, and how do you know him?” asked the second officer. From his tone and instructions to the constable, he was clearly the senior officer on duty.
“Six months ago, I bought a new washing machine. Last month, it leaked. The store sent me to a service centre, and Oliver was assigned as the technician.”
“Had you met him before?”
“No, never. I first saw him when he came to my flat.”
“So you let a stranger into your home?”
“That’s not fair! He was from the official service centre. I didn’t just let anyone in!” Emily shot them an indignant look.
And why would she have doubted him? Oliver had arrived on time, dressed in company uniform, carrying a large toolbox. He inspected the machine methodically, noted everything in a report, and handed her a branded service form to sign. There was no reason to suspect a thing.
“All done—good as new!” Oliver said, then handed her a slip of paper.
“What’s this?”
“My personal number.”
“Isn’t that against company policy?” Emily hesitated before taking it.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. Sometimes fixes uncover other issues. The service centre takes ages to process calls, but if you ring me directly, I’ll come as soon as I’m free.”
She exhaled in relief—it made sense. The centre had taken a week just to assign him the first time.
But days later, the machine leaked again. With no choice, Emily called Oliver.
“I’ll check it out. No charge, of course.”
“I don’t get it—what’s wrong with this thing?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll sort it. Lots of complaints about this brand, trust me.”
When he finished, he wiped his hands and smiled.
“That should be it. Hope I’m not needed again.”
“I hope so too. Thank you!”
Relieved, Emily put the ordeal behind her. She didn’t contact Oliver again—no reason to. He never gave her cause for concern. But when the machine leaked a third time, his number was disconnected.
Frustrated, she mopped up the water and slammed the machine door.
“Stupid piece of junk!”
She called the service centre. The operator was baffled.
“Oliver reported the issue fully resolved. You say he came back? There’s no record of a second visit…”
“You don’t understand. He said this model’s faulty and it’s easier to call him directly.”
Something was off. The centre sent another technician—but not until tomorrow evening. The operator assured her Oliver had no prior complaints, though he’d gone off-grid.
Then, a knock at the door. There stood Oliver, begging her to lock up and call for help.
“—And that’s all,” Emily finished. “I don’t know anything else.”
“Did you speak much during the repairs?”
“No. Why would I? I just asked if he needed anything.”
“You mentioned he had his own tools?” The constable smirked.
“They don’t carry rags, do they?” Emily bristled. “Ever had a washer leak? Water sprays everywhere when they loosen a valve…”
The officers exchanged glances. Emily caught it.
“What’s going on? Explain it to me. Those men threatened to come back—who were they?”
“No details yet. But we suspect Oliver’s linked to a string of burglaries across the county.”
“But nothing’s missing!”
“Not yet. We think scouts take jobs at service centres to case homes. They note everything—residents, routines. A bathroom alone tells them plenty.” The senior officer clarified at Emily’s frown. “Toothbrushes, hygiene products—it all paints a picture.”
Emily was stunned. Those men had been thieves. The constable handed her a form.
“Sign here, here, and here. We’ll call you in if anything develops. Stay reachable.”
“Wait—” Emily grabbed his wrist with a hysterical laugh, but he didn’t pull away. “You’re leaving me alone? They’ll come back! What do I do?”
“Don’t worry, we’ve got it under control,” the senior officer said tiredly. She released the constable’s hand and sank onto a chair.
“Best keep your door locked,” the constable muttered.
Emily snapped to attention as they left. She bolted the door, grateful she’d splurged on a sturdy lock. But the barrier did little to ease her fear.
Friends arrived that evening—her best mate and another couple. No one joked about the situation, but distraction was needed.
“Let’s play a board game,” her friend suggested.
“Brilliant idea!” her mate chimed in too cheerfully.
Emily reluctantly agreed. She still flinched at every sound, but the game helped. Then her phone rang. An unknown number.
“Put it on speaker,” her friend urged.
“Hello? Hello. Emily Whitmore?”
“Y-yes, speaking.”
“This is Sergeant Atkins. We attended your address earlier.”
“Yes, go on.”
“Good news. We’ve got your ‘technician.’”
“What?”
“Oliver. Caught on CCTV. As suspected, he wasn’t just fixing appliances. He marked flats for his crew. There’ll be a trial. You helped us—if he hadn’t warned you…” The sergeant trailed off. “You’ll be called to give evidence. Stay in town, keep any texts or calls. Don’t delete anything. We’ll be in touch. Take care.”
The line went dead. Emily shivered. Those men had known Oliver’s visit wasn’t innocent.
“That’s almost… romantic, in a twisted way,” her friend mused.
Emily didn’t agree. She’d learned that charm and smiles didn’t guarantee honesty. Sometimes they hid betrayal—someone ready to exploit trust for profit.
But one question haunted her: If Oliver was only in it for the money, why had he rushed to her door to warn her?
