Though he’d said he wanted to talk, Eric flung me against the cold cement wall. My pulse raced out of control. I clenched my jaw to keep the tears from getting worse. With an arm on either side of me, he trapped me in his personal space. I wanted to turn away, but there was nowhere to go. He leaned in, his face in mine, his hot breath struck my face. Confronted with him, I froze. My limbs wouldn’t obey as my heart drummed against my ribs. The wind brought goosebumps to my bare arms. I shivered, though the rain had stopped.
“I’ve been waiting all night to talk to you. That creep you’re with needs to keep his hands to himself. I just need a minute.”
He wasn’t sane. I tried to knee him and get away, but he blocked my attempt and slammed me against the wall. My vision swam as my head throbbed from the impact, a painful heat on the back of my skull. My mouth was dry as my former husband berated me about Christopher. His voice came from a distance as though he were yelling through a tube. I had trouble concentrating on his words. My stockinged feet were wet and cold as icicles. The pain in my ankle and head warred with each other. I kept my weight on the other foot, but it left me unsteady.
“We have to get out of here,” Eric said. “You’ll listen when we’re alone with fewer distractions.”
I was dazed, and though I fought, he towed me into the darkness. He held my hair in one hand and my arm with the other. My struggle was ineffective, useless. Any self-defense I’d learned, now forgotten. My feet couldn’t grip the slick pavement behind the Museum as he dragged me deeper into the blackness of the alley.
“Stop fighting, Elizabeth. We want to be together. Don’t you feel our connection? I’m saving you from that asshole.”
He was so much crazier than I remembered. Unstable and delusional. I tugged in the opposite direction, making him earn every yard of ground he gained, scraping my feet. He removed his keys from his pocket and pressed a button on the fob. A trunk opened on the black car parked nearby. He wrestled me into the trunk while I struggled in silence. My breath came in gasps as I scratched his neck and face, but he didn’t let go, though I’d bloodied his face with three long scratches. I tried everything to get away. Everywhere he gripped, bruised my flesh. He was too strong. I sobbed and my chest hurt with the effort to breathe.
It wasn’t until he closed the lid of the trunk that I found my voice and screamed—too little, too late. It was after midnight and dark, the back alley deserted. The streets, too, would be empty this time of night. Any noise I made was covered by the blaring music of the Christmas party that had resumed.
The engine started, and the car moved. I beat at the roof of the trunk from inside, but it was ineffective. I needed to think. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. In movies, people were locked in trunks and abducted all the time. I’d been skeptical about the likelihood of that and Googled it years ago. All cars made in the US since 2002 were required by law to have a trunk release in the car.
When I opened my eyes, I searched for a glow-in-the-dark sticker that should be on the release. I was in luck. It was near the latch of the trunk. I pushed the lever, and the latch released. I eased the trunk open and peeked out. The car picked up speed. I couldn’t escape from a moving vehicle. Not far away, police sirens wailed. If I got out, I could run toward help.
I waited for an opportunity and one came sooner than expected. The car slowed, then stopped for a red light. I lifted the lid and slipped out, leaving the trunk ajar, not wanting to close it fully and make either noise or a sudden movement that would alert Eric to my escape. I hoped that the poor light would hide the lid’s movement.
The deserted streets remained quiet, but I was only a few blocks from work. We’d circled around from the rear on one-way streets. The tires of Eric’s car dug into the gritty sand on the surface as the car advanced when the traffic light changed to green. I didn’t care about my bare feet or sprained ankle. I ran toward safety. Adrenaline must have kept the pain at bay. I had a head start and was fit from running the last few months. Brakes screeched behind me and I risked a backward glance.
Eric parked in the middle of the street. He flung open his door and checked the trunk. The lid had risen with the motion of the car. He must have seen it in the rear-view mirror. My feet slapped the pavement and my chest burned from running in the wintery air. My stockings had holes and provided no protection for my feet. The gritty sidewalk scraped my soles, but I couldn’t stop. Footfalls thundered behind me. Eric must have abandoned the car to pursue on foot. I pushed harder, my breath loud in my ears as I fled toward the Museum, thankful he wasn’t using the car for the chase. On foot, I had a chance.
I passed the homeless couple I’d given change to on several occasions, lying in sleeping bags at the edge of the boulevard park that ran the length of several blocks in this part of Portland. They were park regulars.
“You need help, Miss,” the man called as I ran past.
I pointed to Eric behind, filled with desperate hope they could slow him down. I was a block from the Museum stairs; he wasn’t far behind and gaining. A crash and curses sounded in my wake, but I didn’t stop until I reached the steps. Eric lay sprawled on the sidewalk, tangled in a borrowed shopping cart—the contents strewn everywhere. They’d pushed the cart into his path. I’d thank the couple later for their timely assistance.
I raced on, leaping the stairs three at a time until I reached the front door of the building. I didn’t stop until I was inside and at the edge of the party. Everyone here was oblivious to what I’d just gone through. My heart thumped double-time and my chest heaved as I gasped for breath. I needed to find Christopher or hide. Eric might still follow. He’d found me once and would again.
Chapter 19
With the adrenaline fading, the throbbing of my swollen ankle resumed. I ignored it and looked around. Christopher’s voice rose above the chatter of the guests and the music. I limped toward the restroom hallway and followed the shouting. He was berating a security guard who shifted his feet and kept his head down in the face of my boyfriend’s wrath. Christopher brandished my phone in the poor man’s face and gestured to my shoes as he yelled.
“Where the hell is she? Don’t tell me she stepped out for a fucking breath of air barefoot. Her shoes are broken and her phone’s on the floor. Get a security team down here.”
The security guard pointed at me, his hand quivering as he said, “Is that her?”
Christopher broke off mid-rant and turned. The worry left his face, but not the anger. He ran to me, grabbing me into a hug. I yelped, off-balance, my weight shifting onto my injured foot. He was tense and shaking all over.
“Are you okay? Was it Eric?”
His voice was too loud and hurt my ears with its volume.
I nodded. My trembling legs couldn’t hold me any longer. When he let go, I collapsed onto the floor and burst into tears.
Christopher must have taken a deeper look at the condition I was in as his tone of voice changed, becoming more controlled. “Call the cops. Is there somewhere I can take her to clean up?”
The security guard opened a door just beyond the emergency exit. He flicked the light switch on inside.
“This will be private, Dr. Winters. It’s the security break room, but nobody will bother you. I’ll call the police and direct them here when they arrive.”
“Thanks,” Christopher said.
He took a deep breath as I tried to compose myself, too.
