Forgetting everything he said, I run out the front door, rushing for the police car. Clouds of heat billow from the tailpipe into the cold night. They’re like the beam of safety twirling around a lighthouse.
Tears roll down my face, and I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate as I meet Shaw, who gets out of the cruiser and meets me at the back of the car.
“He was in the house. He…”
Shaw takes off at a run, pulling his gun and rushing into the front door I left ajar in my haste.
The other officer gets out, pulling his gun.
His dark eyes take me in, but he says nothing. As he walks past me, his eyes are trained on the front of the house.
“Please, don’t leave me here alone,” I plead.
His face shows disgust at my weakness, but he stops walking. Every few minutes, he looks toward my house, where the other officer flicks lights on as he moves from room to room.
Shaw exits, stowing his gun. Pulling a flashlight, he calls for the dickhead standing stoic and quiet to my right. “Fortescue! Come here, will you?”
He gives me a look, huffing as he pulls out his own Mag Lite.
While I watch him go, I wonder if he’s watching me. I’m disobeying.
I said I’d get the cops off his trail, not send them looking for him the first chance I got.
The things he said… The things he did…
My ass stings still, my center throbbing along in time with each burst of warmth.
Biting my cheek, the thoughts spin in my head. How could he be the man I killed? Did he actually say he was? Because he was not dead. Or did he say he knew who I killed?
Either way, he knew things he shouldn’t. But he also said something about making me come, which means he’s been in my home, touching me while I sleep….
My racing heart batters my ribs, and I can’t keep myself composed as I bend over to catch my breath.
“Ms. Allen, are you alright?” Shaw asks, urging me to straighten.
“He was in there. He came through my window.”
“That’s impossible. Your window faces the street. We haven’t gone anywhere. We’ve been here all night.”
His partner looks annoyed with my antics.
Their scrutiny, however, has me questioning my sanity.
“He…” I trail off, not knowing what to tell them. I can’t tell them what he said because I’d incriminate myself.
“Did he touch you?” Shaw asks, looking over his shoulder at his counterpart, who leans against my fence, unaffected by my meltdown.
“He spanked me,” I admit. There have to be marks. He’d hit me so hard.
Now, the detective on the fence is intrigued as he scoffs. “This is what we missed game night for? Come on, Shaw. She’s clearly got a fucking screw loose. Let’s 72-hour hold her ass and get going.”
Shaw gives his partner a look that could kill. “Can we see where he hit you? Can we take pictures and document them?” Shaw asks, and it makes me uncomfortable.
I don’t know if I should show them without Allison present, but by the time she gets here, the marks might be gone.
“Can we do it inside?” I ask, looking around. Somehow, I know he’s lurking.
Detective Fortescue grumbles, walking to the car. He opens the door, leans in, and grabs a clipboard I know all too well. They’re going to report my injuries and add them to my growing file. Which is going to anger the fuck out of the man who just escaped from my window.
