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I'm comforted by the fact that he knows who I'm talking about without me having to spell it out for him. I know he's busy and has a lot of cases to handle – which means, a lot of names to take in and facts to deal with. That he remembers my case specifically and is familiar enough with it to know who I'm talking about without actually saying his name, brings a small measure of calm to me – emphasis on small.
“He left a note at my place, Detective,” I tell him. “He had a picture of me and my boss in it. Then he called and threatened me. I don't know how he got into my building, Detective. It's a secure building.”
I hear him let out a breath on the other end of the line, but it sounds like a sigh of frustration to me. “Did anybody see him do it?”
“I – I don't know,” I say.
“Did you physically see him?”
“No, but I know it's him. Who else could it be?”
There's a long pause on the line before he speaks again. “I assume you have a security department at your condo complex?”
“I do.”
“Okay, I'll come down there tomorrow and talk to them. If we're lucky, we'll have him on film,” he explains.
“And if we don't?”
I walk to the door and make sure all of my locks have been thrown and I'm secure inside my unit. I'm on the seventh floor, so I don't have to worry about anybody coming through the windows, but as I talk to the Detective, I double-check the locks on all of the windows anyway.
“If we don't and have no physical proof, there's nothing I can do, Emily.”
“But I know it's him,” I snap. “There's nobody else it could be.”
“I know that. Believe me, I do. And there is nothing I want more than to throw this scumbag in a hole for the rest of his life,” he replies. “But I'm bound by the law. There's only so much I can do. And without physical proof that he's violated the restraining order, I can't touch him.”
My heart sinks into my chest and my fear only ratchets up higher. “So basically, I have to wait for him to hurt or kill me before you can get involved?”
“That's not what I mean – ”
“But that’s what you're telling me.”
“There are a lot of ways he can violate the order without hurting you physically, Emily.”
“Like hand-delivering goddamn threatening letters to my home.”
“It's not that simple or easy.”
I want to throw my phone against the wall. I want to break something. I want to scream. And in that moment, I want nothing more than to kill Robert Anderson. In the end, I do nothing. Well, nothing other than let that sense of dread consume me.
“Thank you, Detective.”
I hear him start to say something, but I disconnect the call, cutting him off. A moment later, the phone rings in my hand – Detective Lundgren again – but I let it go to voicemail. There's no point in talking to him. He's not going to do anything to help me. I'm basically going to have to end up in the hospital or the morgue before the cops will take action against Robert.
Still carrying the knife, I walk into the bedroom and curl up on my bed. The fear is gnawing at me, threatening to overwhelm me completely. I hate myself for letting myself be this afraid. I hate myself for letting him have this much power and control over me.
I sit back against the headboard and pull my knees up to my chest, the knife on the bed beside me. Every light in my room – in my entire condo – is burning bright, but it brings me no comfort. Monsters aren't confined to the shadows. Not anymore.
I've never felt so scared or so alone in my entire life.
Chapter Fifteen
Aaron
“Okay, the car will pick you up at ten-thirty tomorrow,” Emily reads from the page. “They say they'll get you to the airport by eleven. You'll be wheels up half an hour after that.”
“Excellent. Thank you for handling that.”
