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Lowering her hand, she squeezed her fists tight and nodded.
She could do this.
The police existed to protect people like her in these situations.
Steeling her nerves, she walked toward the front doors with her head held high. She pulled open the doors, passed through a second set of doors, and then stepped inside the air-conditioned building before the apprehension swimming around in her stomach began crawling its way up her throat.
The short-lived strength she felt coming into the building evaporated, replaced with uncertainty. She tasted bile, and it took tremendous effort to not vomit into the nearest trashcan.
Was this a mistake?
What evidence did she have? Some flowers? A phone call? A broken flower pot? She feared and expected to be laughed out of the station.
Sighing, she shook her head.
This wasn’t who she was. Timid. Uncertain. Riddled with guilt. She didn’t deserve this, no matter how much her brain tried to tell her she did. Tried to tell her it was a punishment for abandoning her family. She missed who she was.
“Can I help you?”
She wrung her hands in front of her, picking at her fingernail as she looked up at a woman sitting behind the desk at a computer.
The woman’s sculpted eyebrows pulled together when Charlotte didn’t step forward or speak. She placed a steadying hand on the counter that separated them.
“Is everything alright?” The woman glanced behind her before returning her attention to Charlotte. “Do you need help?”
Drawing in air through her nose, Charlotte stepped forward to the counter and met the woman’s umber eyes. “I need to report someone,” she mumbled.
“You’re gonna have to speak up, sugar.” The woman tapped her finger on the headset Charlotte missed before because the woman’s long box braids matched the color of the headset. “Can’t hear you well.”
Charlotte cleared her throat, speaking louder. “I need to make a report.”
“What kind of report?” The woman slid her chair forward.
Glancing around to make sure no one could overhear, she leaned forward. “I think someone’s stalking me?” She didn’t mean for it to sound like a question. Stalking felt like the only word she had to describe the events happening to her.
The woman’s lips flattened like she questioned the claim.
Charlotte looked back toward the door. He could be watching her right now.
Licking her lips, she put both hands on the counter and looked at the woman, desperate for her to listen—to believe her. “I mean, I’m getting phone calls, and I think someone broke into my apartment.”
The woman’s mouth relaxed as her features shifted to a neutral expression. “What’s your name?”
“Charlotte. Charlotte Walsh.”
The woman looked at her computer, typed something on the keyboard, then turned her attention back to Charlotte. “Can you take a seat over there?” She stood, pointing to a row of chairs along the wall. “I’ll have an officer come speak with you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She moved to the seats along the wall, her stomach still tight and aching. Lowering herself in the seat, she stared down at the sandals on her feet. The chipped lilac polish on her pinky toe reminded her she wasn’t okay. She never neglected her nails.
“Miss Walsh?”
She looked up to find a young female officer in uniform who couldn’t be much older than she was watching her with a strange expression on her face. “Charlotte?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“I’m deputy Madeline Burgess. If you’ll come with me.”
