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Sending an apologetic glance toward Thalia’s door and hoping I wasn’t abandoning her, I boosted my courage and then dove forward, my bare toes pounding against the hardwood floor as I raced toward my room.
Once inside, I slammed the door shut and locked it with fumbling fingers.
Breathing hard, I announced into my phone, “Okay, I’m in my room with the door locked.”
“Good,” I was told. “Your officer is on his way, less than five minutes out.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Feeling much more secure in here with my own things surrounding me and the outside world locked out, plus help on its way, I searched the room, checking the closet, bathroom, and under the bed.
No bad guys were anywhere.
Keeping the dispatcher on the phone, I pulled up my messages app and started to text Damien like crazy.
SOS. COME NOW.
My place.
“Ma’am?” the dispatcher asked in the middle of my composition of a third frantic message. “Are you still there? Is everything okay?”
“Yes, ma’am, sorry.” I shook my head, flustered when my phone started to vibrate with an incoming call from Damien. “I was just texting my boyfriend.”
Can’t talk,
I wrote after declining the call.
I’m on the other line with 911.
What the fuck is happening?
he demanded two seconds later.
Are you okay?
I’m okay. But I think Thalia’s hurt. Maybe. I don’t know.
I bit my lip, hoping that didn’t upset him too much. He hadn’t even gotten to talk to her since she’d returned to town.
I was freaking out, though, and so I kept typing, needing him here with menow.
She was screaming and screaming and screaming. Then she stopped and her room’s locked, and I can’t get in. I don’t think she was alone either. She was begging someone to stop. And now I don’t know if anyone else is in the apartment with us or not. I’m really scared.
On my way,
he answered.
Keep texting. Let me know you’re okay.
My lips trembled into a smile, glad he was coming, glad he was worried about me, glad I was no longer dealing with this alone. Tears flooded my eyes at the release of relief.
When I sniffed over them, the dispatcher said, “Ma’am?”
“Yeah, sorry,” I mumbled as I wiped the back of my hand across my nose. “I don’t know why I started crying. I can’t seem to help it.”
“It’s okay,” she assured me while I texted Damien, letting him know that my new dispatcher friend was being super nice and supportive. “Your body will do strange things when the adrenaline kicks in.”
I nodded and kept sending Damien inane little comments, sometimes throwing out a, “I hope she’s okay,” or, “I don’t like this.”
