“Rick, shit, oh my god, this is awful. I don’t know what to do. She’s been in my house.”
“Dana, Dana, Jesus, slow down. What the fuck is going on?”
“She’s been in my house. I just got home. There’s a photo. Of me. A bullet hole in my head.” The words were tumbling from my mouth as I scanned the street for a crazy woman with a gun aimed my way. “I found it on my bed. The photo of me, she’s been in my house, Rick, shit!”
“Where are you now?” he demanded.
“In my car, I just got in and drove away. I’m about quarter of a mile from home on the corner of Highgrove and East Parade.” I slunk down in my seat, trying to become invisible. “Rick,” I whispered, tears nipping my eyes. “I’m so scared.”
“I know, baby, and I’m on my way. Stay where you are, keep the doors locked, I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes but the police will be with you sooner.”
“No, no, keep talking to me, please, don’t go.”
“I’ve gotta call the cops, Dana. Don’t open the door to anyone until they get there, you hear me?” His voice was calm but I could sense rage vibrating through it.
“Yes, yes, I hear you. But hurry, please hurry.”
“I will be as fast as I can, just sit tight.”
The line went dead.
I shivered ferociously, my stomach an agonizing ball of fear. I thought I’d left this all behind, violence and paranoia, guns. I hated it. It wasn’t how I wanted to live.
As I wrapped my arms around my waist, willing fifteen minutes to pass in fifteen seconds, anger began to knot my spine, anger that she could do this to us, to Rick. What the hell gave her the right to claim him as her property after just one night? He was his own person, a big, strong, successful man who could choose who he wanted to spend time with.
My mouth was dry, my tongue stuck to the roof. No one in their right mind would do what Laurie Sharp was doing, no one with an iota of sanity. I dug my nails into my palms and realized that we were dealing with a real psycho. Rick and I were barely a couple and already she was threatening me with death. A bullet to the head.
A squeal left my lips at a sudden whizzing sound to my right. I spun, wide eyed, as several kids raced past on bikes. My heart thudded against my rib cage, my spine tensed and I sank lower in my seat.
A car drove past, music thumping then another towing a rattling trailer that created a series of loud bangs as it jolted over potholes and drains.
Just when I thought my nerves could take no more, Rick’s Lexus rounded the corner. No sooner had he pulled up in front of me than a police car, no siren, appeared on the street.
Rick’s door swung open and he leaped from the driver’s side onto the road, his face grim, his shoulders set.
I glanced around, terrified for his safety but also wanting him to come get me so badly.
“Open up,” he mouthed, yanking at my door handle.
With fumbling fingers I hit auto-unlock, berating myself for not doing it sooner to save him precious seconds of being vulnerable to a bullet.
He yanked open my door, reached in and scooped me out.
“Rick,” I said, grasping hold of him as my feet lifted from the floor. “What are you doing? She might be out here still, with a gun.”
“I want you in my car, now.” He swept me up against his chest and I fastened my hands around the back of his neck.
“But—?”
“Quit arguing. It’s got bulletproof glass.” His deep voice was like a razor over silk.
He was back at his car, tumbling me in and climbing in himself. He slammed the door with a vibrating thwack.
Heavy silence surrounded us.
He turned to me, his eyes wild, his lips in a tight, straight line.
I began to shake, uncontrollably, from the very core of my body. I had to gasp in air, I was desperate for oxygen, there didn’t seem to be enough.
He scooted across the seat toward me. “It’s okay now,” he said, laying his hands at my temples and threading his fingers through the strands of hair falling over my face. “It’s okay, you’re safe in here.” He stroked gently, as though trying to inject calmness into me.
“But she’s been in my house, it was awful, I was so scared, the picture is so…so horrible.” I put a hand up to my lips. “Oh god, I touched it, it’s evidence and I touched it.” My breaths were coming short, sharp and painful.
“Shh, calm down, slow your breathing, you’re going to hyperventilate.”
I stared into his eyes, willing my diaphragm not to jerk so violently at my lungs.
“It will be okay, they can separate a couple of prints, don’t worry.” His voice was calm and controlled but there was an underlying primitiveness about it, as though he was containing the fury for when he needed it most.