“I’m sorry I yelled. Thank you for your help. I panicked. We need a few minutes of quiet before we make a statement.”
“Ms. Bergstrom doesn’t talk, does she?” said the security man. He looked concerned.
Christopher held up my phone. It was a miracle that it was still intact. “She can tell me what happened. We’ll share the details with you and the police when they arrive.”
He helped me to my feet. I’d stopped crying, but my nose was running. I sniffled, embarrassed about my outburst. I must look a fright. Bedraggled hair, mascara down my face, ripped stockings, and barefoot. I was like Cinderella after her stepsisters had gotten through with her, the stage before the fairy godmother arrived. Was Christopher my fairy godmother? Or was it Dr. Maeve? Either of them was an unlikely visual in a ballgown which made me chuckle despite my fading terror. Dr. Maeve and I had another online therapy appointment in a few days, and our conversation would be about tonight’s attempted abduction.
At my first limping step, Christopher scooped me into his arms and carried me into the lunchroom. He placed me on a brown fuzzy couch on the far side and sat beside me. The guard closed the door, leaving us alone.
“What happened?” Christopher’s blue eyes were as cold as ice, but his voice was gentle. “I lost my shit. I was terrified when I found your phone, but couldn’t find you.”
He pulled me onto his lap. It felt safe there; he was warm, and my shivering stopped. I leaned into him, his heart pounding like a racehorse. Tension leached out of us both at the physical contact. At first, I said nothing, taking time to calm myself. I held out my trembling hand for my phone and wrote.
“Can you talk?” He pressed a kiss to my temple.
I shook my head.
“Whisper.”
My tears threatened again and my throat felt too thick for words, but I wanted Eric caught. I trusted Christopher, and I needed him to speak to the police. Speaking out loud for them tonight was out of the question. For him to tell my story, I had to share. I told myself to breathe.
“There was a line for the bathroom,” I whispered. “It took so long. I stopped to ask where you were when Mrs. Brown knocked me over. My shoe broke, and I sprained my ankle. I’d been at the end of the line and I was alone in the hallway. When I stood up, Eric grabbed my elbow and twisted my arm behind my back. He forced me out the emergency exit. When I fought, he slammed me against the wall.” I reached up and touched the lump on the back of my head. Christopher’s careful fingers found it, too. His face was a storm cloud, but he said nothing and let me continue.
I summarized what had happened after Mrs. Brown bowled me over until I had escaped and was running. I finished with, “A homeless couple in the park pushed their cart into the path and he tripped.” I stopped to take a breath. “He acted like you’re the one who has abducted me. He said he was saving me.”
“There’s something wrong with him,” said Christopher with a squeeze.
“He left his car in the middle of the street. There should be traffic cam footage. I want him put in jail. He scares me, and I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. Every time I’m not in the room with you, I feel like he’s watching, waiting. As soon as I let my guard down, like tonight, he reminds me he’s dangerous.”
As I finished talking, there was a knock at the door. Keys jangled as the security guard let in two police officers. It was Andrew and his usual partner, Officer Park. Andrew looked uncomfortable and wouldn’t look me in the eye. The last time I’d seen him, I’d been on my dad’s kitchen floor.
“Ms. Bergstrom,” said his partner.
I nodded in recognition. We’d met several times in the years he’d been Andrew’s partner.
“We’d like to get a statement,” he said.
I slid off Christopher’s lap, but took his hand.
“Elizabeth has stress-induced selective mutism,” said Andrew. “She’s complained for months about a stalker. Her house was invaded several times, and she was followed. It looks like it’s escalated.”
“Selective what?” said his partner, arching an eyebrow.
“She’s unable to speak,” said Andrew. “She was in an accident and witnessed something horrible. Her voice doesn’t work most of the time. She texts and she whispers.”
Andrew hadn’t believed me a couple of weeks ago, but tonight he was on my side. Hot tears filled my eyes. It was almost enough to make me cry again, but I held myself together.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Andrew grabbed a chair and sat near me. I texted him.“I told Christopher.”
He looked at his phone. “Dr. Winters will speak for you. Then we’re going to ask you some questions. Can we do that?”
I nodded.
Christopher repeated my story, stressing that from the beginning I’d known my attacker was Eric Dahl. That he’d been stalking me since June and I lived in terror of him, though nobody else believed, not even family.
Andrew blanched at Christopher’s choice of words.
As Christopher finished the account, he held up my right foot for the officers to see. It bled from cuts and scrapes on the bottom. My left was in the same condition, but he didn’t touch it. My left ankle was swollen and turning purple. Maybe a sprain, but it could be broken.
