“What about the suspect?” the officer asked. “The man who grabbed you.”
I tried to remember details beyond the fear. Height. Build. The color of his hoodie. The stink of his breath. I gave them everything I could. When I finished, there was a rustling on the other end. Typing. Papers moving.
“Okay,” he said eventually, voice still neutral. “We have a report of an incident matching that description. A malewas found unconscious near the path around that time, with significant injuries. Another male was detained at the scene.”
My stomach dropped.Detained.
“Is he—” I swallowed. “Is the man who attacked me… is he…”
“In hospital,” the officer said. “Conscious. Stable.”
I exhaled slowly. I didn’t know whether it was relief or disappointment. Relief that he wasn’t dead, that I wasn’t linked to a death. Disappointment that he still existed, somewhere out there, breathing.
“What about the other man?” I asked. “The one who helped me. Is he okay?”
There was a pause. A subtle shift in tone, like he’d turned a page in his script.
“What other man?”
“The one who pulled him off me,” I said, pulse picking up again. “He came out of the trees. They fought. He stopped him. I ran while they were fighting. I…. he… did he come forward? Did he say anything?”
Another pause. More typing.
“There was one male at the scene when officers arrived,” he said. “He was arrested for aggravated assault. The injured party was transported to hospital. No one else was present.”
My heart lurched.
“Arrested?” I repeated. “For… for helping me?”
“As I said, ma’am, he was at the scene and appears to have inflicted the majority of the injuries. We have to go by what we see when we arrive.”
“No.” My voice sharpened. “What you saw was the aftermath. You didn’t see him pull that man off me. You didn’t see what he stopped.”
“Ma’am.”
“Did he give his name?” I pressed. “The man you arrested. Did he give a name?”
There was a quiet exhale, like the officer realized he wasn’t getting off this call quickly.
“Yes,” he said. “Jaxon Ward.”
I said the name out loud as soon as he did. “Jaxon Ward.”
It felt strange in my mouth. Heavy. He repeated it, spelling the surname, like he was checking I’d heard right. Charged with aggravated assault, he added, almost as an afterthought. Charged. No mention of the man he stopped. No mention of me. Just a charge. A file. A box ticked on someone’s form.
“Does he… does he have a lawyer?” I asked, grasping at something, anything.
“Ma’am, I can’t discuss his case details with you,” the officer said, that thin patience stretched thin. “What I can do is add your statement to the file and pass it on to the investigating officer.”
“Then do that,” I said. “Please. I want it on record that he saved me. That I was there.”
“We’ll note it,” he replied. “And just so you’re aware, there are existing records on Mr. Ward. Priors.”
“Priors?” The word sat like ice on my tongue. “What does that have to do with last night?”
“Context,” he said, a little too quickly. “Look, I understand this is distressing, but there was a serious injury involved. He went overboard. It’s complicated.” Isn’t it always?
“Overboard?” I repeated softly, more to myself than him.
