Page 17 of Stalkers Anonymous

“I’ll handle Mr. Winters,” she says when I finish. “And I’m noting this in his file. If he comes back, we’ll need to discuss a care plan that involves minimal contact with female staff.”

“He’s probably just fishing,” I say, not entirely believing it. “Trying to establish a personal connection to manipulate me into giving him what he wants.”

“Possibly,” Dr. Chen agrees. “But we’re not taking chances. And Marco’s right—you don’t go back in there alone. Understood?”

I nod in agreement, thankful for coworkers who look out for one another.

Security arrives. Frank knows most of the regular patients by name. He positions himself near bed three as Dr. Chen disappears behind the curtain. I hear her crisp, confident voice explaining a treatment plan that doesn’t include narcotics.

I use that moment to step into the break room, needing a minute to reset. I was feeling so good about tonight before Winters came in. How can one person mess me up so much, so quickly? I shouldn’t let anyone make me feel like they have any power over me.

But Winters knowing about my personal life has rattled me to my core.

I take another deep breath, ignoring the way it shudders as I exhale.

The clock on the wall reads 2:17 a.m. Less than four hours left in my shift.

“Rough night?” Rachel is at the table, picking at a sad-looking salad while she takes a brief break. She’s been a night shift nurse since before I first started here. During my first year of residency, she took special care to show me the ropes, and now I can’t imagine my life without her.

“Just the usual,” I say, heading for the coffee pot. “Winters is back.”

“Again? That guy needs a hobby that isn’t harassing healthcare workers.” She stabs a piece of wilted lettuce with way too much force. “Or a one-way ticket to another hospital.”

“He knows Chewy’s name,” I tell her, the coffee forgotten as I sigh and sink into a chair opposite her.

Rachel’s fork freezes halfway to her mouth. “That’s…concerning.”

“Yeah.” I rub my eyes, suddenly tired and crashing. “Frank’s involved now.”

“Good.” She puts down her fork. “You need to be careful, Hailey. Remember that surgical resident last month?”

“I know, I know.” I wave off her concern, though it echoes my own unease. “I’m always careful.”

And I am.

My social media accounts are anonymous and private. I don’t wear a name badge outside the hospital. I don’t discuss my personal life with patients. I observe all the precautions healthcare workers—especially women healthcare workers—are drilled to observe.

“You staying at your place tonight?” Rachel asks. “Because you know my couch is always open if you’re spooked.”

I consider it for a moment, then shake my head. “I’ll be fine. He’s probably just trying to score drugs.”

Rachel looks unconvinced, but before she can argue, Marco appears in the doorway.

“Winters is gone,” he says. “Dr. Chen discharged him with a referral to pain management. Frank walked him to his car and waited outside until he left the premises.”

The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. “Thanks, Marco.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got three new arrivals from a bar fight, and bed four is threatening to leave if he doesn’t get seen in the next ten minutes.” He gestures to the door. “Break time’s over, folks.”

Rachel groans but closes her salad container. As we head back to the floor, she gives my arm a quick squeeze. “Seriously, call me if you need anything. Even if you just have a weird feeling.”

“I will,” I promise, though we both know I probably won’t. I’ve spent too long being overly independent to reach out, even to my best friend, unless shit hits the fan.

The rest of my shift passes in the controlled chaos typical of an ER at night. The bar fight patients require stitches and X-rays, an elderly woman comes in with pneumonia, a college student arrives with a severe allergic reaction to something he took at a party. By the time six a.m. rolls around, my encounter with Winters has been pushed to the back of my mind.

My worry starts to feel like paranoia in the bright morning light filtering through the windows. The ER always looks less threatening during the day. Being here for the night shift can leave me with a case of doom and gloom at the end of my shift. I resolve not to let thoughts of Lars Winters take up any more space in my head.

The early morning air is crisp as I exit through the staff doors, the sky beyond the parking garage just beginning to lighten. It’s quiet, with most of the day shift still arriving. I scan the area automatically, a habit formed over years of leaving work at odd hours. Nothing seems out of place. No lurking figures, no idling cars with engines running. Just the usual morning stillness.