Page 4 of Texting Dr. Stalker

“Go on.” He arched his chin at the notepad. “Don’t try to speak. You need to let the soft tissue in your throat heal. But if you have questions or concerns, write them down, and I’ll do my best to answer.” He sniffed. “But answer mine first, please.”

Sucking in a breath, I flipped awkwardly to a clean page and clicked the pen.

The sooner I answered him, the sooner he’d leave me alone, and I could breathe again.

My hand shook a little as I scribbled a reply.

I don’t know how I ended up here. I’m Sailor Rose. You’re Alexander North. And yes, I remember him hurting—

Scowling as tears flushed my eyes, I crossed outhurtingand wrote:

I remember himkillingme.

Doing my best to ignore the gush of icy fear to run and never come back, I added:Where is he? Is he still in my house? How am I not dead?

Alexander crossed his arms as I held up the notepad for him to read. Glancing left and right, studying the other patients in various states of healing in the large ward, he did his best to shed whatever tension crackled through his shoulders.

“He’s been arrested, so no, he’s not in Melody’s—sorry,yourhouse, any longer. You’ll have to file a restraining order if he gets out on bail, but for now, he’s in custody.”

My heart fluttered with fresh terror.

Would he try again?

How long would he be locked up for?

If he knew I was here, speaking to my neighbour…God, he’d do worse than just kill me.

Another tsunami of fear drenched me.

I hated it.

Hated the icy, prickly terror that banded my ribs and suffocated my lungs.

I-I need to leave. Right now.

Straightening his spine, he added, “And you’re not dead because Jim’s dog slipped his leash while out for his usual walk and bolted to your back door. Jim chased him, saw all the furniture tipped over, you on the floor, and your boyfriend with his hands wrapped around your throat.” His voice grew harder. “He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. He strode into the kitchen, grabbed Melody’s favourite cast-iron pan and walloped him around the head. He was the one to call for an ambulance and the police. You’re alive because of him.”

His voice faded as silence fell between us.

I had an overwhelming urge to run home to my neighbourhood and throw my arms around James McNab. The eighty-three-year-old pensioner who’d flirted with my nana, Melody, across the fence most Sundays when they pruned their rose bushes.

Nana had always said he was a sweet young lad, but she didn’t do younger men.

At fourteen years his senior, she was perfectly serious, despite them being as wrinkly as the other. I think Jim, me, and the entire street knew Nana’s excuse was only because she’d been married to her soulmate for seventy-four years and lost him two years ago.

Placing the notepad back on the bed, I scribbled:

Is Jim okay? Milton didn’t hurt him?

Dr North huffed with faint amusement. “He’s fine. His dog is too. I believe Jim arranged for a few of his friends to help straighten up the knocked-over furniture, then locked up your house and tucked the spare key under the lavender pot.”

I shook my head, once again overwhelmed at the close-knit community of our street. When I’d first moved in, it’d taken some getting used to—having complete strangers know absolutely everything about me had felt like an invasion of privacy. But now, with Nana gone, it felt as if she was still around. Still watching over me.

Nervousness prickled down my spine as I struggled with what to write next.

Dr North must’ve sensed my flagging energy as he unwound his crossed arms and raked a hand through his glossy red hair. “Just rest. I’ll be by later to check on you again. You should be free to go home tomorrow.” His professionalism returned, hiding the neighbour I’d spied through lamp-lit windows and fence palings. “If you need anything, just ring that button.” He pointed at a remote on the bedside table. “A domestic abuse councillor will want to speak to you before you’re discharged. Do you have anyone you’d like me to call to let them know you’re alright?”

I managed to hide my flinch.

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