Story code: ST-001352
Part 3: The Projection Screen
Sarah stood by the catering table, polishing a silver serving tray with a white linen cloth. On the lawn, the ambient chatter of the neighborhood association members had taken on a fractured, uneven rhythm. Several guests clustered near the bar, their heads bent over a single smartphone screen, while others glanced toward the wooden privacy fence. Julian Vance remained beside the tripod camera, his hand resting on Clara Higgins’s shoulder with an air of practiced, paternal guidance, though his fingers pressed visibly into the fabric of her coat.
Near the catering station, the AV technician jogged back to his console, his brow furrowed as he looked at a tablet screen. Without checking the individual channel volume sliders, the technician reached for the master link controls, connecting the wireless mic receiver directly to the primary lawn speakers. A low frequency hum vibrated through the air as the two large, black speakers mounted on the maple trees activated. Behind them, the motorized projection screen mounted on the vinyl siding of Julian’s house began to lower, its white canvas unrolling with a steady, mechanical drone.
Julian raised his free hand, signaling to the crowd. His smile was wide, teeth catching the late afternoon sun, though the muscles around his eyes remained flat and unmoving. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Julian’s voice boomed through the tree speakers, rattling the empty wine glasses on Sarah’s table. “If you’ll direct your attention to the main screen, we are going to showcase the safety mapping routes our community drone program has been executing. Clara has kindly volunteered to help us demonstrate the clarity of the neighborhood perimeter checks.”
Clara did not move toward the front row of seating. She stood rigid, her arms crossed over her chest, her boots pressed firmly into the turf near the hydrangea bush. Julian turned his back to the tripod camera for a brief moment, stepping closer to her. He leaned in, his lips moving rapidly, his face inches from hers.
Because the technician had opened the main audio channel without checking the levels, the wireless collar microphone on Julian’s shirt picked up the shift in his voice. The rustle of his collar against the mic casing rasped through the lawn speakers, followed immediately by his whispered words, amplified to a volume that drowned out the hum of the projector.
“We are on the final slide, Clara,” Julian’s voice echoed off the wooden fence boards, flat and demanding. “You will tell the camera that you authorized the flight paths over your roof. If you refuse, the code enforcement officer gets the documentation on your unpermitted patio extension first thing tomorrow. Just nod and read the prompt on the screen.”
Sarah watched the crowd. A woman near the front row froze, her wine glass stopping inches from her mouth. Two board members standing near the drinks table turned slowly to look at the tree-mounted speakers, then back to Julian. The AV technician, preoccupied with securing the digital connection between the drone’s storage card and the media player, did not immediately adjust the volume sliders.
Julian did not seem to realize his voice was carrying. He kept his posture stiff, blocking Clara from the direct line of sight of the main camera, his eyes fixed on her face. Clara slowly shook her head, her chin rising as she stepped backward, away from his reach.
On the projection screen, the loading wheel disappeared, replaced by the file directory of the drone’s memory card. The file names were labeled with dates spanning the previous three weeks, each entry marked with coordinates. The first video file began to auto-play, displaying a high-resolution, aerial view that hovered directly over the fence line, looking straight down into Clara’s backyard and toward her second-story windows.