Page 73 of Stalkers Anonymous

He makes my fucking skin crawl.

“I’ll be charting at the nurses’ station if you need me. Keep the curtain open, and I’ll keep watch,” Marco says, eyeing me like he’s already regretting this whole situation.

But it’s my turn in the rotation to take the next patient, and none of us wants to be given someone as vile and crude as Lars Winters, so I’ll suck it up and get the job done. Dr. Chen and I can have him out of here in no time, and security will be here shortly.

I approach bed four with trembling fists, but I force myself to keep my expression neutral despite the unease churning in my stomach. Winters is propped up on the exam table, that same wicked smile spreading across his face when he sees me.

I instantly regret agreeing to take him as a patient.

“There’s my favorite doctor,” he says, his throaty voice carrying a familiarity that makes me want to fold in on myself. “I was hoping you’d be here tonight.”

“Mr. Winters,” I reply professionally, maintaining a safe distance from the bed, “I understand you’re experiencing pain again. Can you describe what’s going on?”

“You know exactly what I’m feeling,” he says, his tone shifting slightly as his mask slips. “We’ve been through this before. My back is killing me, and I need something stronger than the useless shit Chen prescribed last time.”

I note his vitals on the chart—blood pressure, heart rate, and respiratory rate are all within normal range. “Can you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?”

“Ten. No, fifteen. It’s unbearable.” It’s always the same with him, but I listen as he continues. “You’re the only one who understands how much I’m suffering.”

“I’ll need to examine your back and check your range of motion,” I tell him, reaching for the examination supplies.

“Don’t fucking touch me unless you’re giving me what I need,” he snaps, his false charm sliding further. “I’m not going through your little dog and pony show again just so you can deny me proper pain management.”

I take a step back, maintaining eye contact. “Mr. Winters, I need to conduct an assessment to provide you with appropriate care. If you refuse the examination, I can’t help you. And I will not tolerate this level of disrespect. Security can have you out of here in five minutes if that’s what you’d prefer.”

His expression darkens, and something shifts in his demeanor that sends alarm bells ringing in my head while the hair on the back of my neck sticks straight up. I may have gone too far. “Oh, you can help me, Hailey. You just choose not to. But that’s going to change.”

Hailey. He just used my first name. Only… My first name isn’t on my ID badge. And I’ve never introduced myself to a patient as anything other than Dr. Brigham. The way he says my name, the threat in his tone, makes my pulse quicken. “I’m going to get Dr. Chen to—”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Not until we have a real conversation about your attitude problem.”

I glance toward the nurses’ station, hoping to catch Marco’s attention or spot security approaching without making a major scene. My stomach drops when I see Marco’s attention absorbed by a call on the department phone. Security is nowhere in sight.

“Mr. Winters, you need to lower your voice,” I say firmly, though my heart is racing. “Other patients are trying to rest.”

“I don’t give a fuck about other patients,” he hisses. “I care about getting what I came for. And if you don’t start cooperating, maybe I’ll have to find other ways to get your attention.”

The threat sends ice through my veins.

“What does that mean?” I snap, rage beginning to fuel my courage.

His smile returns, cold and depraved. “It means I know more about you than you think, Hailey Brigham. I know where you work, when you work, what you drive. I know about your little dates and your furry friend at home. Got your car buffed out yet?”

My breath catches.

Oh God.

My knees feel weak.

“You live alone in that converted Victorian on Oak Street,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying clearly in the curtained space. “You often take the back stairs to avoid your nosy neighbor. And I love that you leave your bedroom window cracked open when you sleep.”

Each word hits me harder than the last. I’m left utterly speechless, frozen in place as the seconds tick by.

“You’re scared now, aren’t you?” His sick satisfaction is obvious. “Good. Maybe now you’ll take my pain seriously and give me what I need instead of treating me like some kind of criminal.”

I’m struggling to maintain professional composure when Marco appears at the entrance to the bay.

“Everything okay here?” he asks, his tone carefully neutral but his posture alert. He’s concerned.