Page 122 of Stalkers Anonymous

I’m gasping, fighting to get one solid breath.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he snarls, pressing his forearm against my throat. “All that attitude when you had security to protect you. Where are they now?”

I can’t breathe with his arm against my windpipe. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision. With what strength I have left, I drive my thumb into his eye as hard as I can.

Lars screams and staggers backward, clutching his face as blood spews out of his eye socket. I slide down the pillar, wheezing, my vision still spotty and dark.

“You fucking bitch!” he roars, but his voice sounds pained now. He’s pissed.

I force myself to move, stumbling toward the stairwell this time. I have to get help. I’ll never make it to my car. But my legs are unsteady, and I can hear him coming after me.

He catches me just before I reach the stairs, grabbing my hair and ripping me backward. I lose my balance and fall hard, my head hitting the concrete once more. This time, the stars don’t fade quickly. The darkness is settling in now, taking over.

Lars kicks me in the ribs while I’m down, and I curl into a ball, trying to protect my vital organs. The pain is too much—sharp, burning, making it hard to think clearly.

“You should have just given me what I needed,” he says, breathing hard. “You should have minded your own business and done your fucking job. This is your fault.”

He kicks me again, this time in the back of the head, and I cry out. I need to get away from him, but my body isn’t responding the way it should. Everything feels sluggish, disconnected.

Lars leans down to grab me again, and I use the last of my strength to drive my elbow back into his nose. I hear it crack, and he stumbles, off-balance. I turn just long enough to see that there’s blood coming out of nearly every hole in his face.

It’s enough. I roll away from him and manage to get to my feet, using the wall for support. My vision is blurry, and the world is spinning around me, but I have to keep going.

He’s going to kill me if I don’t get away.

“Come back here!” Lars shouts, but when I glance back, he’s bent over and stumbling forward, holding his nose as it gushes all over the concrete.

I run for the stairwell door, my balance poor but adrenaline carrying me forward. Behind me, I hear him trying to follow, but he’s moving slower now.

I burst through the stairwell door and immediately start screaming as loud as my voice will go. “Help! Someone help me! Call the police!”

My voice echoes in the stairwell. I hear car doors slamming. I keep descending, not sure if Lars is still behind me but not willing to risk a glance to find out.

I reach the ground-level exit and spot two police officers running toward the building. Someone heard me screaming.

I’m not alone.

Relief shudders through me as the last of the strength in my legs gives out.

“Help,” I gasp, falling to my knees. The edges of my vision darken, a gray haze falling over my eyes. “He attacked me. Lars Winters. There’s a restraining order—”

“Where is he?” someone asks, though I can’t see straight.

Everything goes black before I can get out another word.

…

The night passes in a blur of police, paramedics, and the surreal experience of being wheeled into my own emergency department—a patient this time, rather than a doctor. I see colleagues I work with every week, but from an entirely different perspective.

Dr. Chen is working tonight, and her professional mask slips for just a moment when she sees it’s me on the gurney.

“Hailey? My God, what happened?”

“Lars Winters,” I tell her, my voice hoarse from screaming. “P-parking garage.”

Dr. Chen’s expression hardens as she listens to the EMT’s verbal report. She orders a CT of my head—some distant part of my brain knows she needs to clear my neck before they remove me from the board—then gently palpates my abdomen, checks for feeling in the soles of my feet, and orders a nurse to start rinsing out my abrasions with saline. To no one in particular, yet to everyone in the vicinity, she says, “Tell security that if Lars Winters shows up here tonight, he’s to be detained immediately.”

The examination is thorough. They’re as gentle as they can be. Three broken ribs. Grade two concussion. Deep cuts and scrapes on my hands and knees that require sutures. Bruising around my throat. A black eye already swelling shut.