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Tate stared down at me, eyes wide. “You need me to take you there?”
My legs felt like jelly. I could barely hold myself up. “Yes, please,” I said in a ragged whisper.
“Just hold this for a second.” Tate handed the umbrella to me. Then he unzipped his black jacket and put it over my shoulders. “There,” he said, gently taking the umbrella back. “That’ll keep you warm.”
He grabbed my left arm and helped me walk, sheltering us both with his umbrella. As we headed toward the campus security office, I haltingly explained what had happened to me down in the arena tunnels. I left out the part where I was convinced that the masked man was Paxton, though. No one would ever believe me when it came to that man. Not even my very best friends.
When we reached the campus security office, Tate took control of the situation, loudly demanding to file a report immediately. The officer manning the desk took one look at my drenched, harried appearance and ushered me into a back room. Tate followed closely behind us.
Another security officer took notes as I haltingly described what happened. Then he frowned and leaned forward. “So you were attacked by a man dressed as Freddy Krueger?”
“What? No.” I shook my head. “I said he looked like Jason from the Friday the 13th movies. You know, with the 80s-style hockey mask.”
“Right. Sorry. That’s what I meant.” The officer frowned again. “So he shoved you up against the wall. Put his hands around your neck. Threatened you. Then… let you go?”
“Yes.” I squirmed in my chair and lowered my eyes to the desk. There was no way I was going to tell anyone the part of the story where I almost came on my attacker’s hand. I could still feel the molten shame of it soaking my underwear.
“You didn’t recognize his voice?” the officer asked, tilting his head.
“No. The mask distorted it.”
“And there’s no way it was some sort of prank gone wrong? A friend of yours, perhaps?” he asked, eyes lingering on Tate for a few seconds before returning to my face.
“No. It definitely wasn’t a prank.”
“Okay. And you said it happened in the tunnel that runs from 23rd to 21st Street, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” I paused to dab at my face with my sleeve. “About halfway down.”
“Are you aware that those tunnels are out of bounds to students?”
“Who the hell cares?” Tate interjected. “She was attacked! That’s what really matters here.”
The officer raised his brows. “I’m just trying to understand what your friend was doing down there in the first place,” he said. “Those tunnels are heritage-listed. No one should be in them.”
“The hockey players use them all the time,” Tate shot back, narrowing his eyes.
“Well, you’re not exactly a six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound hockey player, are you?” the officer said, returning his gaze to me.
“Oh, so you’re victim-blaming now?” Tate snapped.
The officer lifted a palm. “As I said, I’m just trying to understand what made Sienna go down there. It doesn’t seem like the wisest decision, does it?”
I swallowed hard. “I know it sounds stupid,” I said. “But I was trying to escape the rain, and I was told that it’s perfectly safe to walk down there. Apparently people do it a lot.”
“Like I said, it’s not even relevant,” Tate added. “Sienna was chased and attacked by some psycho asshole who could very well do it again to another woman on campus. Aren’t you concerned about that?”
“Of course. I’ll let my colleagues know to check the area and keep an eye out for anyone matching the description you’ve given me. I’ll also be filing a report about those tunnels being so easily accessible. They should’ve been blocked off years ago.”
Tate glared. “Is that all?”
“There’s not much else I can do.” The officer looked at me again. “Unless you have a suspicion about your attacker’s identity. If you do, we can follow up on that.”
I looked down at my lap. “Like I said, he was wearing a mask, and it was very dark,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “I have no idea who it was.”
The officer snapped his file shut. “Thanks for coming in and making the report,” he said, rising to his feet. “If we find anything, we’ll let you know. All right?”
I left with a splitting headache, shoulders sagging with defeat.
