Page 103 of X Marks the Stalker
“Yeah! Totally fine. Just excited about candy. And road trips. And?—”
Xander cuts in. “She’s fine, Officer.”
The officer’s flashlight sweeps toward the back of the car, and my breath catches.
“Sir, I need you to step out of the vehicle,” the officer says to Xander.
“What?”
“Step out of the vehicle now,” the officer repeats. He shifts the flashlight back to me. “Ma’am, is this man taking you somewhere against your will?”
“What? No!” I exclaim.
“It’s alright, you can tell me,” the officer says in what passes as reassuring in hostage situations. “You’re safe now.”
“She’s not in danger,” Xander says, voice tight. “We’re just driving to?—”
“Sir, I did not ask you to speak,” the officer cuts him off. “Put your hands where I can see them.”
“He’s my boyfriend, not a kidnapper.” I blurt out. “He has a birthmark shaped like Danny DeVito on his left buttcheek. He sleeps with a night light because he saw ‘The Exorcist’ when he was nine, and it traumatized him. He cries at dog food commercials but pretends it’s allergies. He has a collection of novelty socks with math equations on them. He once tried to make me breakfast in bed and set off the smoke detector trying to make toast.”
Xander stares at me, his expression caught between horror and fascination.
“Those are very specific details,” the officer admits, looking less certain.
“I know all about him because he’s my boyfriend. Xander doesn’t let many people into his life, on account of the emotional trauma from his childhood hamster’s death.”
The officer doesn’t seem convinced, his flashlight beam sweeping close to the trunk.
“Nice night for a drive,” the officer remarks, running his hand along the trunk lid. “Mind if I take a peek in here?”
“It’s just baggage and camping gear,” Xander says, voice perfectly level. “You’re welcome to look if you’d like.”
I stare at him in horror. Is he seriously inviting the cop to find a dead body?
The officer’s hand is on the trunk, and any second now, he’ll find a dead man inside. A man I killed. Everything I’ve worked for will disappear in an instant. My vision narrows to a pinprick, my ears filling with static. I’m going to jail. Forever.
“I—” I gasp. “I can’t?—”
The officer steps back, his focus shifting to me. “Ma’am? Are you alright?”
Xander glances at me.
“She has panic attacks,” Xander says, leaning toward theofficer but keeping his tone measured. “The flashing lights—they trigger her. Her father was a cop. Died in the line of duty. It’s...rough on her.”
The officer’s flashlight dips. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, his voice softening.
I cover my face, leaning forward as though I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. “It’s the lights,” I say. “They remind me of...of when it happened.”
“Breathe,” the officer says, crouching beside the window. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Nice and slow.”
I follow his instructions, my breaths stuttering but gradually evening out.
“Take your time,” he says, setting his flashlight on the ground so the beam isn’t in my face. “What department was your dad in?”
“Boston PD,” I manage. “Homicide.”
The officer nods. “I’m from a long line of cops myself. Lost my partner a few years back. I get it. Trauma sticks with you.”
