A Stroke of Luck
“Emily, please 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 bewilderment as Oliver hurried away. What was happening? Why was an ordinary repairman acting so strangely?
Then came the noise—shouts from the floor below, shattering glass, and Oliver’s desperate cry:
“Emily, get out!”
She slammed the door shut. Though confused, she followed his instructions: bolting the door twice, twisting the key in the lock, then dialing 999 with trembling hands.
A knock made her flinch. Clutching the phone to her chest, she prayed for it all to end.
“Sweetheart, you in there? We can hear you. Open up nicely, and we won’t hurt you—promise,” a rough voice taunted.
Emily held her breath, silent. The voices faded, replaced by unsettling scraping—someone trying to pry the lock from the outside.
“Stupid cow’s jammed the key. Listen, don’t make this harder. Open up!”
“Go away! I’ve called the police!” she shouted—then clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Bad move, love,” the voice sneered. “Lads, let’s go. We’ll be back, yeah?”
Footsteps thudded down the stairs, fading into silence. Her ears rang as she slid to the floor, phone still gripped tight.
Another knock. A whimper escaped her—until:
“Open up! Police!”
——
At the kitchen table, Emily recounted the ordeal to the officers. One scribbled notes while the other, clearly senior, fixed her with a steady gaze.
“Who’s Oliver, and how d’you know him?”
“Six months ago, I bought a washing machine—brand new. Last month, it leaked. The shop sent me to their service centre. Oliver was assigned as the technician.”
“Had you met before?”
“No! First time was when he came to my flat.”
“So you let a stranger into your home?”
“Excuse me? He was from the official service centre. I didn’t just invite some random bloke in!”
And why would she? Oliver had arrived promptly, dressed in company-branded overalls, tools in tow. He’d inspected the machine, jotted notes, and handed her a formal report to sign. Nothing seemed amiss.
“All sorted! Good as new,” he’d said, then slipped her a slip of paper.
“What’s this?”
“My number.”
“Doesn’t that violate company policy?”
“Don’t misunderstand. Sometimes repairs reveal hidden faults. Going through the centre takes ages; call me direct, and I’ll come ASAP.”
Relieved, she’d agreed—after all, the centre had taken a week just to assign him.
But days later, the machine leaked again. Oliver returned, apologetic: “I’ll check it—no charge.”
“I don’t get it. What’s wrong with this thing?”
“Don’t worry. This brand’s notorious—trust me.”
After the fix, he wiped his hands, smiling. “That’s it. Hope I’m not needed again.”
“Me too. Thanks!”
No further contact. No red flags. Until the next leak—and Oliver’s number rang dead.
Furious, she called the service centre. The agent was baffled: “Oliver reported the job complete. He visited you again? There’s no record…”
“You don’t understand! He said this model’s faulty, that calling him direct was faster.”
Something was off. A new technician was scheduled—for *tomorrow*. The agent assured her Oliver’s absence was unusual, that they’d “look into it.”
Then the knock. Oliver, begging her to lock the door and call for help.
——
“That’s… all I know,” Emily finished.
“During repairs, did you chat with him?”
“No. Why would I? I just asked if he needed anything.”
“Tools were his own, then?” The junior officer smirked.
“Since when do they carry *tea towels*?” she snapped. “When they detach the valve, water sprays everywhere—”
The officers exchanged glances. Emily caught it.
“What’s going on? Those men threatened to come *back*—who *are* they?”
“We’re still piecing it together. But we suspect Oliver’s linked to a string of burglaries.”
“But nothing’s missing!”
“*Yet*. Scammers often take service jobs to case homes—note layouts, occupants, routines. They’re thorough. Just a bathroom reveals plenty.” At her confusion, he added, “Toothbrushes, toiletries—tells them who lives there.”
The shock numbed her. Those men had been thieves.
Signing the statement, she grabbed the junior’s sleeve. “You’re *leaving* me? They’ll *return*!”
“Stay calm. We’ve got it handled,” the senior said tiredly.
Alone, she triple-locked the door, grateful she’d splurged on a sturdy one. Yet fear gnawed at her.
Friends arrived that evening—Jack and a marriedAs the door clicked shut behind her friends, Emily realized that even in a world where trust could be a weapon, kindness—like Oliver’s warning—could still be the unexpected key to survival.
