Page 3 of Malice

“Hi, Hudson.” A dark-skinned man steps forward. “I’m Detective Perry and this is Officer Ortega, Salem Police Department.”

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“We do,” Detective Perry says. “You don’t remember anything that happened?”

I exhale slowly, aware of the sharp pain in my side. Closing my eyes, I search my memory. My head is cloudy at first, but then, like a storm blowing out, the memories rush back, slamming into me, and I yelp.

“Chester,” I grunt.

Detective Perry nods. “Yes. Chester Dillon. We believe he attacked you.”

I shudder, recalling his hands around my neck and his cold eyes staring down at me as he tried to end my life. “Fuck.”

Detective Perry frowns, moving slightly closer. “Your neighbor called the police when she heard you yelling for help.”

“Melody?”

Officer Ortega nods. “Yes, that’s her.”

I try to lift my arm to rub the pain radiating in my chest, but it’s too difficult with all the shit hooked up to me.

“Where’s Chester?”

“Deceased,” Detective Perry says. “From what we saw at the scene, it was a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Based on the note we found, it looks like he was planning a murder-suicide.”

“Was I shot?”

“No,” the detective says. “We believe he beat you up and strangled you.”

Images of Chester’s fist flying at my cheek rush back, and my eyelids flutter. It all comes back, leaving me breathless and nauseated for several seconds.

Him kicking me as I huddled on the floor, begging for my life.

His fists pummeling my face and chest.

His laughter as he stole my breath with his hands.

“Why didn’t he shoot me?”

Officer Ortega frowns. “It was personal. We often see this with domestic abuse. Stabbings, stranglings, beatings—a more hands-on method.”

The glint of a silver blade bounces at the fringe of my memory. Then the sirens. Chester at the window as I tried to crawl to the door. I don’t remember anything after that.

“He’s really dead?”

Detective Perry nods. “He’s really dead. Your neighbor wasn’t sure what your relationship was with Mr. Dillon. She said you’ve only lived there a couple of months.”

“Yeah. I dated Chester for six months almost two years ago.” I laugh darkly until I cough in pain. “Fuck.”

“Take your time,” Officer Ortega says.

After taking a few seconds to compose myself, I continue. “We met on an app. The first few dates were fun, but I started to see this edge of something. Almost like rage he just lived with. He got really controlling and jealous, and one night after a date, he punched me because he thought I’d flirted with the bartender. Obviously, I broke it off.”

“He didn’t take the hint, I’m guessing,” the detective says.

“Not even kind of. He lost his shit. Started stalking me. Showed up three times while I was out with friends or on a date. I ended up moving, but he found out where I lived.” I clear myraspy throat. “He’s been making my life hell for sixteen long months.”

Officer Ortega is writing down everything I say in a notebook. “Do you remember what happened when he showed up today?”

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