Zorie
When I awoke it was to an instant recognition of the craving. He was here. Close.
My heart was already banging away madly. It knew. Asleep, I’d responded.
If I stayed, he’d get me here.
For a few seconds, I closed my eyes, wanting to let that happen.
Then I flung aside the sheets and leaped out of bed. The clock said 9.10 AM. I’d slept that long?
Dress. Go somewhere public. Somewhere safe. Maybe a police station? Confront him. Here was dangerous.
Wait.
How did he know where I lived?
Had he followed my car without me knowing? Or had Grimm told him?
Why the fuck would Grimm even know him? I wasn’t functioning properly anymore.
He’s coming.
Blackness tore up through me and my heart bled fear. I shuddered and shook myself free. Dressing became chaotic. I dropped things, though I tried to be calm, but every second brought an awareness of too little time, too much closeness to that man.
How was this so? Could it not be purely in my imagination? A looming wall of fear and desire collapsed such thoughts. This was real. He was. That monster was so close I could see him raising his hand to knock at my door, or tinkle the little Buddhist bell on the wall. And the worst of it? I would go to him then. I would.
The gun? I’d take it.
Dressing meant grab the nearest piece of clothing and throw it on. I managed panties and bra, though trying to do up the clip panicked me. I pulled on a light dress and leaped down the stairs, three at a time, heading for the door to the garage.
My Mazda started in one try and I backed out the driveway to see a white BMW cruising up the street, and knew instantly he was inside. That he might have accomplices again made my eyesight blur – so scared I couldn’t focus.
I accelerated, screeching tires, with my hands clamped to the wheel.
If I went to a friend’s house, like George and Anya’s, would that mean they would save me, if they were home, or would I involve them in my mess?
If a shopping center, who was to say he, or they, wouldn’t corner me somewhere?
The police. It had to be that. My previous reluctance to talk to them about the incident made me decide to rehearse.
I imagined in depth – every word, every motion, filling in some police form, identifying him. Shit. How could I?
Reading the registration in the rear-view mirror was difficult since the car stayed a few vehicles back from mine. Maybe I should stop and see who was in that car?
Fuck, fuckitty, hell and no.
Nothing was triggered by me rehearsing in my head. No imperative command.
I’d go up to the police desk and tell them, everything. All of it.
The parking situation was horrendous – no spaces, anywhere. All the while, the white car followed, not closing in, not doing anything except trailing along behind me, street after street. It was as if a beast stalked me, sure of the result, patient.
Fuck them.
I swiveled the wheel and nailed the car into a parking space so small I scraped bumpers on the way in, wrenched open the door, and stopped.
The gun! Fuck.
The cops would have metal detectors at the door.
I snatched it from beneath the jacket on the passenger seat then slipped it under the seat.
That I heard amusement in my mind, not laughter, not sound, just...amusement – that frightened me.
With difficulty, I shut down my panic. At the steps leading up to the double glass entryway, I slowed and walked up as if I had nothing on my mind except shopping or cooking dinner. The main desk for visitors was inside to the left, with several uniformed officers nearby, and all were armed. The terrorist situation was a plus. Normally they’d not have side arms. I strode toward them, waiting in a line behind an elderly man. Gray, balding, thin. By the time he was almost done reporting a misdemeanor, I could’ve drawn a diagram of his scalp and described every officer in sight. It was one way to distract myself.
Then I felt him step into the building. In the back of my mind, I felt something akin to a presence popping into existence.
He waited somewhere back there, not moving. My skin crawled with goose bumps.
The hard rap of his footsteps told me he was a solid man wearing solid shoes. His cologne when he stopped just behind me said he was a particular man with his scent if nothing else.
This was the man who had made me be still and not cry out while his friends fucked me.
My eyes seemed to squeeze into my skull. Sight blanked out entirely for several seconds.
“Good morning, Zorie. Don’t go anywhere, will you.” His voice froze me. Not a question. A statement.
He knows my nickname.
The old man walked away and the sergeant turned to enter some data into his computer. I needed to take that one step forward. Just that. One step.
One. Fucking Step.
But I couldn’t move anything more than my toes, even if they were curled up so tight it hurt – as if by using them alone I could propel myself forward.
His amusement was there in my mind.
His mouth brushed my ear as it had that other time. “Come with me.”
My entire body thrummed into a state of arousal and I sighed, my eyelids lowering, as I tilted my head to allow him better access to my neck.
“Are you okay, miss?” The sergeant was speaking.
I met his gaze, smiled, because that was what my traitorous mind wanted, and said, “I’m fine. Thank you.” Then I turned, gave him one stare. That closed my throat down, then my mind, and maybe my heart stopped beating.
A second later, he slipped his hand around mine and we walked to the doors and out into the sunshine.
Outside was warm and glary. I had to take care not to trip.
What was his hair color? The shape of his face? I couldn’t recall. Looking into the sun would have been less overwhelming, less frightening.
Truly, there were no words to describe how it felt to have his large hand clasping mine. He could eat me whole, in one bite, and I’d not protest.