Page 8 of Malice

“Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

I accept the help, knowing I’m still weak after my ordeal. I was given the police report to read and learned that after Chester decided I was dead, he blew his brains out in my kitchen. At least he bled on the tile. I wanted to replace those anyway.

Jocelyn helps me into an armchair, and as I sit looking around my living room, the emotion bubbles up again. I wouldn’t have called her, but the police found her in my phonecontacts and called her. She dropped everything and drove out from New York for me.

“I should make more of an effort. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” she says, turning to me and giving me a stern look only an older sister can pull off. “I get it. You don’t owe me an apology for chasing your dreams.”

I nod even though I still feel like an ass. “I thought I was getting away from trauma, but I walked right into it.”

“He took advantage of you, and that’s not your fault.”

“I know. I saw the red flags right away, but he wouldn’t let me go.”

She kneels in front of me, placing her hands on my knees. “The boogeyman is gone now.”

“Yeah. He’s gone.”

Jocelyn leaves an hour later, after I promise to check in daily until I’m fully recovered. I’ve got more than a few bruises and cuts, and the cracked ribs will take a while to heal, but it could’ve been so much worse.

Standing in the middle of my living room, I take the biggest breath my lungs will allow and shake my shoulders out, gritting my teeth through the pain. I love this house and I refuse to taint it with bad memories.

I was so lucky it went on sale in the midst of Chester’s stalking campaign. Two towns over from where I had been living, I thought there was no way he could find me. I took all the steps I could to keep my address private, but I couldn’t shake him.

My skin feels tight, and I know why. Everyone who knew me ten years ago thinks I overcame my tendency to fixate on a perceived problem, and for the most part I did, but enduring a stalker shifted it to a new obsession—safety. I can’t count the hours I’ve lost checking the windows and doors. Ironic since the one time I felt relaxed, I was dangerously wrong.

My doorbell rings, startling me and making my skin crawl before I remember it can’t be him. When I open it, my neighbor Melody is standing there with a wicker basket in her hands.

“Hi, Hudson.”

“Melody. Please come in.”

She crosses the threshold, holding out the basket for me with a kind smile. “Just some baked goodies and soup. All the vegetables came from my garden.” Her smile fades. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Thank you for calling the police.”

Melody nods. “I was outside trimming my roses. I think your window was partially open. I heard you.” Her brow furrows and she visibly shivers. “I’ve never heard anything like that.”

“A lot of the details are hazy for me.”

“Were you… shot? I heard the gun.”

“No. He, um, he shot himself after he thought…” I blow out a breath. “He thought I was dead.”

“God. I’m so sorry you went through that. The police told me you knew him. It wasn’t a random attack.”

“Right. I knew him.” I don’t like talking about this, but she deserves to know for saving my life. “The neighborhood is still safe. He was stalking me for almost two years.”

She nods. “My ex did that to me for a while. He tried to kidnap our daughter too. He was sent to prison for assaulting an officer and stealing a police car. He ended his life there. Hung himself.”

“I’m sorry that we have that in common.”

She smiles. “Me too, but I can tell you it only gets better. It takes some time, but you start to feel safe and trust people. You can even find love again.”

“Good to hear. Thanks for the food. I really appreciate it.”

“Call if you need anything. I’m right next door.”

---