Page 16 of Stalkers Anonymous

“We’ll do an exam,” I tell him, “but I need to remind you about the conversation we had last time you were here. Dr. Chen was very clear about the pain management plan.”

His face darkens before I’ve even finished my sentence. “That bitch doesn’t know anything. I need Dilaudid. Now.”

“We’ll be following the plan,” I say firmly, reaching for the blood pressure cuff. “Which starts with a full assessment. I need to take your vitals, and then we’ll go from there.”

“Don’t fucking touch me unless you’re giving me what I need!” He slaps my hand away, the contact leaving a small but sharp pain on my skin.

I take a step back, maintaining eye contact. “Mr. Winters, I understand you’re frustrated, but if you refuse an examination, I can’t help you. And if you become aggressive with staff again, security will be called. Violence of any kind will not be tolerated here.”

The mention of security makes his eyes dart between me and the door. He’s been escorted out twice previously.

“Fine,” he mutters, thrusting his arm out for the blood pressure cuff. “But tell Dr. Chen I’m not leaving until someone takes my pain seriously.”

I proceed cautiously, noting vitals that are textbook normal for someone supposedly in agony.

“How’s Chewy?” he asks during a quiet moment when I’m charting his vitals.

I freeze, my fingers hovering over the computer mouse. I know I’ve never mentioned my pet ferret to this man.

“Who?” I keep my voice steady, careful to mask the uneasiness dripping down my spine like hot wax.

“Your ferret. Chewy? You told me about him a while back, remember?” he asks, but his eyes don’t quite meet mine. A patient coughs in the bed on the other side of the curtain, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.

Lars Winters knows something about me that he shouldn’t.

He knows it. I know it.

What happens next is entirely up to me.

I am sure beyond the shadow of a doubt that I have never discussed my personal life with this patient—or any other. It’s a boundary I maintain vigilantly, but especially with those who set off blazing alarm bells in my head the way Lars Winters does.

“Mr. Winters, I need to consult with my attending about your treatment plan,” I say, taking another step back from the bed. “I’ll be back shortly.”

I walk out of the curtained area with measured steps, fighting the urge to look over my shoulder. Once I’m around the corner, I lean against the wall, clutching my chest and inhaling a deep breath.

“You okay, Hailey?” Marco asks, appearing out of nowhere with his uncanny timing. “Winters giving you trouble again?”

“He knows my ferret’s name,” I whisper, the words sounding strange even as I say them.

Marco’s eyebrows shoot up. “How the hell would he know that?”

“I have no idea.”

“Social media?” Marco suggests. “Is your profile public?”

I shake my head. “No, private. And I post under a different name, anyway.” A precaution I took years ago after watching a patient obsess over a coworker.

Marco’s expression hardens. “I’m calling security to stand by, and I’m telling Dr. Chen. You’re not going back in there alone.”

“I can handle it,” I protest. I’m grateful for how seriously he’s taking this, but being competent at my job means being able to handle shit like this.

“It’s not up for debate,” he says, already reaching for his phone. “New protocol, remember? After the Jensen incident last month.”

The Jensen incident.

A patient followed a surgical resident to her car after being discharged. Thankfully, the situation didn’t escalate beyond that, but it was enough to prompt new security measures. And scare the shit out of the resident.

Dr. Chen arrives minutes later, her small frame radiating professionalism and authority. She listens to me without interrupting, nodding each time I pause for a breath.