Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Three days later, the morning rush at the clinic showed no signs of slowing down.
We'd had a steady stream of walk-ins since we'd opened, everything from routine check-ups to a genuine emergency involving a kitten who’d been caught underneath a rocking chair while the owner was rocking. When they came in, Roxie didn’t know if he would make it and had rushed him into surgery.
I was restocking supplies in exam room two when Ava came in.
“Glenda’s here.”
I poked my head out to see Glenda standing at the reception desk, holding a manila folder and wearing what looked like a brand-new outfit. The pale blue dress was flattering, and she'd done something different with her hair.
Go Glenda!
“Hi, Glenda.” I walked out to greet her. “How's Rosebud doing?”
“Perfect.” Her smile was bright and animated. “I actually came to see all of you. I have an invitation.”
Roxie came out of her office to see what was going on. She’d just come out of surgery a few minutes before, and she was pretty sure the kitten would recover, so she was in a really good mood.
“You have an invitation?” Ava asked.
“Girls' night!” Glenda's eyes sparkled with excitement. “I found this amazing wine bar downtown. They have a live jazz band on Friday nights, and the reviews are incredible.”
Roxie stopped at the reception counter. “This Friday?”
“I know it's short notice, but I've been so lonely since Rob and I broke up. You three have been such good friends, and I thought it would be fun to do something special together.”
“That sounds nice,” Roxie said diplomatically. “But Friday's pretty busy for us usually.”
“Oh, but it's just one night.” Glenda's expression shifted slightly, and I could see her disappointment. “We could meet around seven? I already made reservations for four.”
“You made reservations without asking us first?” Ava's eyebrows rose.
“I was so excited about the idea.” Glenda laughed, but it sounded forced. “I guess I got carried away. But they can always cancel if you can't make it.”
Damn it. I hated seeing her sad.
“It sounds like fun to me,” I chimed in. Glenda gave me a grateful smile.
“I suppose I could rearrange a few things,” Roxie said slowly.
“Me too,” Ava added, though she didn't look thrilled about it.
“Wonderful!” Glenda clapped her hands together. “Here are the flyers about the place. Oh, this is going to be such a special night. I can't wait to spend some quality time together. Just us girls.”
After she went to the bathroom and left, Ava turned to me. “Just remember, you got us into this, so you owe us.”
I laughed. “She’s just lonely. And anyway, from what she’s told me, that Rob guy was an absolute dick. She needs a girl posse.”
“Whatever,” Roxie groused. “I don’t care if he was a colossal dick. We’re the ones stuck, so you owe us.”
I laughed.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of appointments, new patient walk-ins, and routine procedures. By closing time, my feet ached and my head pounded from the constant noise and activity.
“I'll finish cleaning up,” Roxie offered as I gathered my things. “Graham's probably waiting for you.”
“Thanks.” I shouldered my purse, grateful for her thoughtfulness.
I was heading toward the front door when a smell hit me. Something awful, like sulfur mixed with decay.
“Oh my God,” Ava gagged, covering her nose with her hand. “What is that?”
Roxie appeared beside us, her face scrunched in disgust. “It smells like something died.”
We followed the stench to the bathroom.
“I don’t want to go in,” Ava wailed. “We’re going to need Hazmat suits.”
“Wait a minute, it’s not the bathroom; it’s coming from the breakroom.” We turned to the room directly across from the bathroom. There was a trashcan right by the door. Roxie went into one of the exam rooms and grabbed a pair of latex gloves, then she gingerly lifted the trashcan lid.
“Rotten eggs.” She held up what was left of a Ziploc bag filled with a dozen broken eggs, now a putrid, yellowish-green mess. “The gases built up inside until the bag burst. It sprayed everywhere in the trash.”
“Who would do that?” Ava asked.
Roxie continued to peer into the trashcan, then stopped. “Joy, there's an envelope down there with your name on it.”
My blood turned to ice. “Don't touch it.”
Roxie brought up the slime-covered envelope. It was a standard white envelope, my name written across the front in the same script we'd seen before. “Should I open it?”
“Yes.” My voice came out as a whisper.
Roxie tore open the slime-covered envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Her expression darkened as she read.
“What does it say?” I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
“Joy, you know what you need to do. Leave him. This is your last warning.” Roxie looked up at me, her face pale. “That's it. Just those three sentences.”
The room spun around me. I gripped the door jamb to keep from falling.
“He was here,” I managed. “In the clinic. He put those eggs in the trash and left that note.”
“When?” Ava’s voice was sharp, edged with fear. “We’ve been here all day.”
“The smell,” Roxie said slowly. “Rotten eggs don’t stink right away. It takes hours for the odor to build up.”
“So he could’ve planted them this morning before we opened,” I said, “or last night after we closed.”
The image of my stalker moving through the clinic in the dark—quiet, deliberate, leaving his sick little surprise for us to find—made my stomach lurch.
My phone buzzed with a text from Graham. Outside. Ready when you are.
“I have to go,” I said, my voice shaking. “Graham's here.”
“Joy, wait.” Roxie caught my arm. “We should call the police.”
“Graham will want to handle it.” I was already moving toward the door. “I'll call you later.”
I practically ran to Graham's truck, climbing into the passenger seat with relief. The familiar scent of leather and motor oil felt like safety.
“You okay?” Graham's eyes searched my face. “You look shaken.”
“Someone left rotten eggs in the clinic trash. And another note.”
Graham's expression turned thunderous. “What did it say?”
“That I should leave you. That it was my last warning.”
“Motherfucker.” Graham pulled out his phone. “I'm calling Simon.”
The drive home passed in a blur of phone calls and tense planning. By the time we reached Graham's house, I felt emotionally drained. All I wanted was to curl up in his arms and pretend the world outside didn't exist.
We went through our evening routine like zombies. Dinner from takeout containers. A shower together where we barely spoke. Graham checked and double-checked the locks on every door and window while I got ready for bed.
By eleven-thirty, we were both exhausted. I fell asleep almost immediately, wrapped in Graham's arms, feeling safer than I had all day.
The sound that woke me wasn't human. It was mechanical.
Urgent.
Wrong.
Sirens.
Multiple sirens, growing closer and louder until they seemed to be right outside our window.
I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. The red and blue lights strobing through the blinds painted the bedroom in hellish colors.
“What the hell?” Graham was already moving, rolling out of bed and reaching for his jeans.
“This is the sheriff!” A voice boomed through a megaphone, so loud it rattled the windows. “The house is surrounded! Come out with your hands visible!”
“Graham?” My voice came out as a squeak.
“It's okay.” But he didn't look okay. He looked furious and dangerous. “Someone called in a false report. Stay calm.”
“Put your weapons down and exit the building immediately!”
The front door splintered.
Heavy boots thundered through the house.
“CLEAR!”
“BEDROOM!”
“TWO OCCUPANTS!”
Graham's hands moved to his phone, fingers flying over the screen even as armed figures in tactical gear burst through our bedroom door.
“Hands where we can see them! Now!”
I threw my hands up, my whole body shaking. Graham moved slowly, deliberately, his phone still clutched in one hand.
“Nash, it's Graham,” he said into the phone, his voice deadly calm despite the assault rifles pointed at us. “Are you out there? We’ve been SWATed. It’s a false alarm.”
The next twenty minutes felt like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. Graham and I sat on his front steps—me in my panties and Graham’s shirt—until Graham demanded they get me a coat.
Graham was shirtless and barefoot in nothing but a pair of jeans.
All while heavily armed deputies searched his house.
Neighbors gathered on the street, watching the drama unfold like it was reality television.
Nash arrived just as the deputy in charge was starting to look sheepish about the whole thing. Whatever Nash said to them worked. The tactical team began packing up their gear, leaving behind only two deputies to take statements.
“The call came from a burner phone,” one of the officers explained. “Anonymous tip claimed there were hostages and weapons involved. Said shots had been fired.”
When one of the deputies came to us to ask for information, Graham practically ripped his head off. “We’re going into the house. Now. Joy needs to get dressed before she gives any kind of statement,” Graham growled.
As soon as we got into the bedroom, I heard my phone ringing. It stopped before I had a chance to answer it. I went over to it and saw I had missed eighteen calls, all from the same number that I didn’t recognize. It rang again.
“Don't answer it,” Graham said immediately.
But my finger was already swiping to accept the call. I needed to know.
“Hello?”
The voice that came through the speaker wasn't human. It was electronically altered, robotic and terrifying.
“This could all stop, Joy. All you have to do is leave him. Walk away from the motorcycle man and I'll disappear. Keep protecting him, and things will get much worse.”
The line went dead.
“Who was it? What did they say?”
I swallowed. I tried to tell him. Then swallowed again. I was having trouble getting the words out. When I finally told him, Graham left the bedroom and shouted for Nash.
Graham started issuing rapid-fire orders to Nash and the remaining deputies. But all I could hear was that mechanical voice promising escalation.
“Put some clothes on, Joy. We're leaving, right the fuck now.” Graham's voice cut through my paralysis as he stomped back into the room. “Did you hear me?”
“Now?”
“Yeah, now,” he growled. “We’re going somewhere safe, that won’t endanger anybody else. I want us out of here in under a minute. Are you good with that?” He looked me dead in the eye, and below his barely controlled rage, I saw the edge of fear, and I knew it was all because of me.
“Okay, we can go,” I nodded.
“Pack a bag, baby. Make it fast. I’ve got something in mind.”
He was scaring me. He touched my cheek.
“Joy, I’ll make this right.”
I trapped his hand against my face. “I know you will.” I looked around at the chaos my stalker had created. County sheriff cars, neighbors, the wreckage of our normal life scattered like debris from an explosion.
This wasn't just harassment anymore. This was psychological warfare.
And I was starting to understand that my stalker wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted.
Me.
Alone.
Isolated from everyone who loved me.
The thought should have terrified me.
Instead, it pissed me the hell off!