Page 2 of Risk Assessment
Always.
She looked away from the knife and checked out the rest of the kitchen. Everything else looked normal. The cupboard doors were closed. Her grandmother’s old, dented kettle sat on the stove. The green dishtowels her friend made her as a housewarming gift hung neatly from the oven door a little off center, but she liked them that way. Things didn’t have to be perfect. Life wasn’t perfect.
Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. So far, only the knife was out of place. And she’d been in a rush this morning as she left, so maybe she’d put it in the wrong spot. It was possible.
Her hand shook as she opened the aging white fridge to check the yogurt.
The yogurt was alphabetized.
Her mouth went as dry as the Sahara. Her chest tightened. She slammed the fridge door shut. Was this what a heart attack felt like? She was only twenty-seven, for God’s sake. Gripping the edge of the countertop, she hauled in a deep breath. Should she check the rest of the house? What if he was still here? Should she run to the neighbor’s where she’d be safe?
She closed her eyes as a tremor ripped through her whole body. She could do this. If he was still here, then, well…she’d figure out something butnotchecking wasn’t an option. She started to reach for the knife but stopped herself. What if he was here and used it against her? People were always getting hurt with their own weapons, at least that’s what news said. Plus she had a stun gun in her nightstand. She just needed to get to it.
Turning, she tiptoed down the hallway and stopped outside her bedroom. The old wood floor creaked slightly under her weight. The door was closed, but she knew she’d left it open. She glanced further down the hallway toward the bathroom. Thatdoor was open. Cocking her head, she stained to hear if anyone was in the living room at the end of the hall, but no sound hit her ears. She stood in front of her closed bedroom door, willing herself to turn the black metal doorknob.
She should run, should call the police. But she’d done that in the past—several times, in fact—and it had gotten her exactly nowhere. They hadn’t believed her. In her rational moments, she could see their point. It all seemed sounlikely. But here and now, it was unfair. She was supposed to be able to trust the police. They were there to protect and serve. Wasn’t that what it said on their patrol cars? No, here in Queens, New York the insignia saidCourtesy, Professionalism, Respect.
Her heart slammed against her rib cage and her breathing was shallow. She could do this. She would not let him win. Her hand shook as she reached for the doorknob, but she took a deep, steadying breath and then, with her heart in her throat, she threw open the door.
Her bedroom was empty. It looked exactly as it should. The beige rug covering the wood floor. The old metal queen sized bed set against the wall. She started when the light green and white checked gingham curtains swayed slightly. A breeze touched her cheeks. At the window, the top pane had dropped down a bit from the frame. Maybe that was what caused the door to close. Well, she couldn’t expect airtight in a house this old, especially not on a windy day.
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction, and her heart began to slow. She stood in the doorway and glanced around the room again just to reassure herself. The scarred wooden dresser that her grandmother left behind. The floral duvet, with its big red and yellow flowers on green stems, looked bright and cheery in the little room. Her pillow… Her head spun, and her vision blurred. She clutched the doorjamb to steady herself.
Her pillow.
It had the faintest impression of a head.
Like someone had lain there.
Her heart rate ratcheted back into the stratosphere as another wave of cold fear crashed over her.
He’d been in her room.
There was no doubt now. He’d come back today to taunt her some more. She closed her eyes and willed the tears back.
The signs were always so subtle, too insubstantial for the cops to believe her, but easy for her to notice. They’d taken her seriously in the beginning. That first time, as with every time since, there’d been no sign of forced entry, nothing missing, so they’d merely advised her to change her locks.
She’d done that, but he’d come back again. And again. And again. Now they didn’t even make a pretense of believing her. She’d stopped calling.
The security system she’d had installed hadn’t stopped him either. Then she’d added cameras. There was no point in checking the footage. She knew the cameras would all be in working order…and they would show nothing. She was alone in this. Totally and utterly, until he chose to be here one day when she came home. And she knew it would happen.
A big hand grabbed her shoulder. Her mouth fell open but terror choked off her air supply and her scream was silenced.
Whirling around, she screamed again and this time it was at the top of her lungs. Lashing out. Hitting the man on the chin. She backed into her dresser. Trapped. The man was so big. He seemed to take up all the space in the small hallway. She turned and lunged for her nightstand. She kept a gun there. If she could only reach it in time—
The man tackled her from behind, and she landed face-down on the bed with him on top of her. Kicking and fighting, she screamed, but the sound was muffled by the comforter.
“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.” The gruff voice pinged in her ears but not her brain. “Calm down. Stop fighting me. I won’t hurt you.”
She wriggled and fought until she’d turned over. She shifted her leg and tried desperately to knee him in the crotch, but he twisted at the last second and her knee glanced off the inside of his thigh. She was still trapped under his weight. Fear bounced around her like skipped rocks on the ocean. She had to escape.
He had his legs on top of hers. She was pinned with no way to get any leverage to kick him. He held her hands tightly above her head, so she couldn’t hit him either.
“Take it easy. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m a cop.”
His words finally penetrated her brain, and she stopped fighting against his grip. She looked up at him, something she’d avoided doing until now. She hadn’t wanted to see the face of her stalker.
He stared down at her with an unreadable expression, but it wasn’t threatening. Neither was his grip on her. He was holding her still with his body weight. His dark blond hair hung off his forehead as his blue eyes studied her. His strong jaw was peppered with a five ‘o’clock shadow that seemed to echo the fatigue of his eyes. The grey t-shirt he wore hung loose off his body as he held her gently in place. She couldn’t get her hands free, but he wasn’t hurting her. He shifted slightly until he wasn’t crushing her with his weight.
