Page 259 of The Last Good Man

I will never know what has prompted me to say that.

Why would I think about something so extreme?

Maybe it hasbeen all the talking about how unsafe this place is.

This isn’t a delivery.

It’s Saturday evening, and I haven’t ordered anything.

All big mistakes are made in a split second.And thatseems to happento me while weighing my options.

Should I push the door back closed and try to lock it, or should I spin around, sprint to the kitchen, and grab my phone?

My phone is in my purse.

“Call the police, huh? That’s something new,” a voice overflowing with disdain echoes not far from me.

I try to push the door closed when I recognize his voice and instantly realize I don’t have enough force to fight him back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I bark, changing my strategy and not moving an inch, forcing the man to stay where he is.

Ellis Wilton carelessly presses a shoulder into the doorframe and looks inside my apartment.

Now I know why I regretted that evening when I invited him here for a drink before politely inviting him out.

“So that is your man?” he tosses at me, the tip of his shoe in.

I cross my arms over my chest.

“Are you going to force your way into my apartment?”

“I’m not in your apartment.”

His eyes are red and unfocused, and he looks like he’s on something. Alcohol and drugs, perhaps.

I take a whiff, trying to detect a smell.

I can’t tell whether he’s drunk. He looks drunk. He might as well be furious. But why?

We haven’t talked in ages.

“You know what? I’m not going to argue with you. You’re here uninvited, so getthe hellout of my place,orI’ll call the police.”

With renewed confidence, I spin around and go straight to the kitchen, not realizing he’s entered my place, locked the door, and followed me in.

Only when I fish out my phone,andhe sneaks behind me and knocks it out of my hand, does the realization of how dangerous he isoverwhelm me.

“Are you for real?” I push out, not believing my eyes.

I think I read somewhere that in half of the attacks––or were they crimes?––the perpetrator is someone you know.

And also, in half of those instances, it’s someone connected to you, like an ex, a boyfriend, or a husband.

I’m sure part of the problem in all instances is not seeing something like this coming.

I’m stunned.

I’m also in denial.

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