Texting Dr Stalker

1

Sailor

Hospitals and Ghosts

I SHOULD SEE WHITE LIGHTS AND PEARLY gates, right?

So why can I only see him?

Milton’s face burned a permanent nightmare on my eyesight, thanks to him strangling me to death on the rug I’d bought in honour of my nana’s birthday. She would’ve been ninety-nine. We’d often joked that she’d make it to two hundred—

Until time decided it could stop, just like that.

Just like it almost ended for me.

Or rather, had ended for me.

Yet here I was, being wheeled at dizzying speed beneath row after row of fluorescent lights, strangers looking down at me with worried frowns, hands touching me with professional inspections.

Everything was a blur as doors banged wide, and the rush made my head swim. I closed my eyes again, but Milton was there, looming and sneering. His hands like iron shackles around my throat, his thumbs digging so painfully.

“Think he’s better than me, huh? I’ll show you—”

Blocking the memory of his voice, I tried to swallow, but fire-gushing agony looped around my neck.

Time skipped again.

I was grateful for the blips as I suddenly came to on a different bed with different people staring down at me.

Everything hurt.

Every finger and toe.

Every bone and limb.

Tears stung my bruised eyes.

Fear throttled me just like Milton had.

How was I here?

Had he stopped and called for help?

Was he here too? Playing the role of caring boyfriend all while waiting for yet another excuse to kill me?

A wash of full-body terror drenched me at the thought of him still in my house. The house my nana had left me. Prowling through the rooms where I’d always found happiness, contaminating every nook and cranny with his violence.

God, how could I have been so stupid ?

How could I let him taint my most favourite place in the world?

A nurse poked me with a needle. Another nurse pressed a few buttons on a machine by my head. They looked at each other before glancing at me with a pitying smile. “You’ll be okay. You’re safe now, alright? He can’t get you here.”

I wanted to cry.

I might be safe in this chaotic place with doctors and patients and beeping, annoying monitors, but what about my home? How could I ever go back there? How could I ever be in the same room as him again?

The kind nurse with bright coral lips gave me a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Relax now. We’ve got you.”

A fuzzy cloud crept over my mind.

I tried to fight it.

But sleep pulled me under, and the last thing I saw was the ghost of my nana standing at the foot of my bed. Her thick white hair curled perfectly around her chin, the usual pink peony in the top button of her housedress, and a wonderful smile on her gorgeous, wizened face. “Rest, Little Lor. Everything will work out in the end…you’ll see.”

I slipped into darkness.

* * * * *

“Did the scans show any internal bleeding?” A masculine voice that sounded familiar wriggled through my gluey thoughts.

“No, Dr North. She was lucky.”

“Lucky? You call attempted murder lucky?”

“Oh no! Of course not. I just meant…she’ll recover. It’ll take time, but she’ll heal.”

“Give me a rundown.”

“Of course, Dr North. She’s suffered contusions to large areas of her arms and legs, has a hematoma on her hip, multiple abrasions, and a few bruised ribs. Dr Yang did a thorough investigation of her neck and spine, and there doesn’t appear to be any skeletal damage. However, he did recommend she doesn’t try to speak for up to a week while her larynx heals.”

“Thank you, Hayley.”

That ruff-gruff, kind voice. It wasn’t just familiar—it was one I’d heard almost every day for the past two years—ever since I’d moved in with my nana after she lost Pops. I’d also heard that voice change from teenage crackle to deep baritone as we grew up on either side of the fence.

I forced my heavy eyelids to open.

Fuzzy sight revealed a pretty nurse and a handsome doctor.

His shoes scuffed as he shifted to move away from my bedside. “Let me know when she wakes.”

“Will do, Dr—”

“ Wait …” I tried to speak. It came out like a smoker’s cough. And wow, it hurt.

Dr North froze. His vibrant green gaze snapped to mine. “Ah, Ms. Rose. Welcome back.”

Ms. Rose?

Since when had he ever called me Ms. Rose?

Then again, the man standing over me wasn’t the boy who’d teased me when I’d stayed for a week or so every few years to visit my grandparents. There was no sign of the neighbourhood kid who stole my nana’s freshly baked cookies and pulled my pigtails.

He was a stranger in a white coat.

He’s the reason Milton tried to kill me…

A full-body adrenaline dump had me scrambling out of bed.

I couldn’t be around him.

I had to leave.

Now.

Milton can’t see me talking to him. He’ll—

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay.” Dr North grabbed my shoulder and elbow and eased me back down. His touch was gentle, but every place he connected, my body ached with a million bruises.

Panting, wincing, gasping with agony and fear and memories, I struggled.

“You’re safe. He’s not here.” Dr North kept me kindly but firmly pressed against my pillow. “Stop moving, please. Otherwise, you’ll hurt yourself even more.”

The nurse went to my other side and gently laid her hand on my arm. “You’re okay. It’s a shock waking up in a new place, I know. But Dr North is right. You’re safe here. Just take a deep breath for us. That’s it.”

I swallowed and immediately wished I hadn’t.

I’d never felt such fire. Such swollen, molten agony.

My fingers flew to my throat, sure I’d find my neck doubled in size.

The nurse, Hayley, went to stop me, but Dr North gave her a soft smile. “I have it from here. You’re free to attend to your other patients.”

Hayley nodded, her eyes lingering on him. “Are you sure? She seems a little disoriented.”

“I’m sure.”

Hayley pursed her lips and stepped back. “I won’t be far if you need me.” She strode away in her crisp uniform and squeaky sneakers. Dr Alexander North didn’t move until she’d gone out of earshot.

His rich red hair straddled the colour spectrums of richest fire and darkest brown, all while his suntanned skin hinted he’d enjoyed the hot summer we’d been having on his days off. His black-framed glasses couldn’t hide the tiredness on his face or the dangerous amount of intelligence in his vibrant green eyes.

I’d never seen him in mint-green scrubs before. Whenever we saw each other—on the days we ran into each other, thanks to being neighbours—it was either a courteous wave as we grabbed our mail in mismatched sleepwear or a passing smile as we got into our respective cars to go about our day.

He’d always been friendly but reserved. Kind but standoffish. I supposed that was what happened when our two grandmothers (who’d been best friends since they were fourteen) had bought houses side by side in the fifties to raise their families, expecting their children and grandchildren to act like family.

It hadn’t gone quite to plan.

Once he was sure we were alone, he let his professionalism slip a little. His eyes narrowed as they scanned me from head to toe.

I resisted the urge to squirm in the overly starched white sheets of my hospital bed. Memories of Milton accusing me of having an affair with him repeated over and over again.

“You’ve been banging him. I know you have. Well, you won’t be able to anymore, will you?”

Flinching, I shut those thoughts down and forced myself to focus.

I wanted to ask where Milton was. How I ended up here. What on earth happened. But with no voice and barely any energy, all I could do was tremble in bed and blink at the man who was the reason—unknowingly—that I’d almost died.

His face went dark. “Melody would’ve stabbed that man with her favourite filleting knife if she knew what he did to you.”

My mouth fell open.

He’d never shown that sort of passion before—never hinted violence stalked beneath his usual standoffish facade.

I cringed deeper against my pillows.

I’d never been a wallflower, but after what Milton had done and why he did it…it shook the very foundations of my world.

Not noticing my wariness of him, he eyed up the bandage on my left arm. The virginal white wrapping did its best to hide the fingernail gouges Milton had left on me as he threw me into the living room.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you right-handed?”

I frowned but nodded.

I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to talk, period. I wanted to pass out and forget that any of this had ever happened.

Slipping a small white notepad from his scrub’s breast pocket, he unclipped one of the pens poking upright and placed both beside my right hand. “Do you know how you ended up here? Do you know who you are? Who I am? Do you have any memory of what happened?”

My heart skipped at the hardness in his voice.

“Go on.” He arched his chin at the notepad. “Don’t try to speak. You need to let the soft tissue in your throat heal. But if you have questions or concerns, write them down, and I’ll do my best to answer.” He sniffed. “But answer mine first, please.”

Sucking in a breath, I flipped awkwardly to a clean page and clicked the pen.

The sooner I answered him, the sooner he’d leave me alone, and I could breathe again.

My hand shook a little as I scribbled a reply.

I don’t know how I ended up here. I’m Sailor Rose. You’re Alexander North. And yes, I remember him hurting—

Scowling as tears flushed my eyes, I crossed out hurting and wrote:

I remember him killing me.

Doing my best to ignore the gush of icy fear to run and never come back, I added: Where is he? Is he still in my house? How am I not dead?

Alexander crossed his arms as I held up the notepad for him to read. Glancing left and right, studying the other patients in various states of healing in the large ward, he did his best to shed whatever tension crackled through his shoulders.

“He’s been arrested, so no, he’s not in Melody’s—sorry, your house, any longer. You’ll have to file a restraining order if he gets out on bail, but for now, he’s in custody.”

My heart fluttered with fresh terror.

Would he try again?

How long would he be locked up for?

If he knew I was here, speaking to my neighbour…God, he’d do worse than just kill me.

Another tsunami of fear drenched me.

I hated it.

Hated the icy, prickly terror that banded my ribs and suffocated my lungs.

I-I need to leave. Right now.

Straightening his spine, he added, “And you’re not dead because Jim’s dog slipped his leash while out for his usual walk and bolted to your back door. Jim chased him, saw all the furniture tipped over, you on the floor, and your boyfriend with his hands wrapped around your throat.” His voice grew harder. “He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. He strode into the kitchen, grabbed Melody’s favourite cast-iron pan and walloped him around the head. He was the one to call for an ambulance and the police. You’re alive because of him.”

His voice faded as silence fell between us.

I had an overwhelming urge to run home to my neighbourhood and throw my arms around James McNab. The eighty-three-year-old pensioner who’d flirted with my nana, Melody, across the fence most Sundays when they pruned their rose bushes.

Nana had always said he was a sweet young lad, but she didn’t do younger men.

At fourteen years his senior, she was perfectly serious, despite them being as wrinkly as the other. I think Jim, me, and the entire street knew Nana’s excuse was only because she’d been married to her soulmate for seventy-four years and lost him two years ago.

Placing the notepad back on the bed, I scribbled:

Is Jim okay? Milton didn’t hurt him?

Dr North huffed with faint amusement. “He’s fine. His dog is too. I believe Jim arranged for a few of his friends to help straighten up the knocked-over furniture, then locked up your house and tucked the spare key under the lavender pot.”

I shook my head, once again overwhelmed at the close-knit community of our street. When I’d first moved in, it’d taken some getting used to—having complete strangers know absolutely everything about me had felt like an invasion of privacy. But now, with Nana gone, it felt as if she was still around. Still watching over me.

Nervousness prickled down my spine as I struggled with what to write next.

Dr North must’ve sensed my flagging energy as he unwound his crossed arms and raked a hand through his glossy red hair. “Just rest. I’ll be by later to check on you again. You should be free to go home tomorrow.” His professionalism returned, hiding the neighbour I’d spied through lamp-lit windows and fence palings. “If you need anything, just ring that button.” He pointed at a remote on the bedside table. “A domestic abuse councillor will want to speak to you before you’re discharged. Do you have anyone you’d like me to call to let them know you’re alright?”

I managed to hide my flinch.

Funny how the pain could fade but never truly went away whenever I remembered I was the last remaining member of my entire family tree. I wrote: Could you let my friend, Lily, know? Her number is 555-0987.

“Of course.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll do it right now.”

“Eh, Dr North? We need you rather urgently, if you’re free?” A different nurse appeared, a frantic look in her eyes.

His fingers flew over the screen, inputting the number into his contacts before slipping the phone into his scrub’s pocket. “Sure.” Glancing at me, he added, “My apologies. I’ll call Lily when I have a spare moment.”

He didn’t give me a chance to write a reply.

With a lingering look, he vanished with the nurse and left me in a sea of hospital beds.