24. Chapter 24
Astretch of asphalt was cold beneath her bare feet. It was a driveway. Her mother’s house. The one she lived in now.
There was a car. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows against the pavement, warping the black sedan parked too close, too imposing.
David stood in front of her, his expression calm—too calm—as if he was trying very, very hard to be reasonable. It was the same scene as Saturday afternoon. Same but different.
But she knew better.
She had always known better.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he said, his voice smooth, perfectly controlled. “I don’t know why you’re making this so hard on yourself.”
Maddie wrapped her arms around herself, forcing herself to stand her ground. “I’m not making anything hard.”
His jaw ticked.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
He exhaled, the kind of slow, measured breath that meant he was recalibrating. Adjusting. Deciding how to handle her.
“I have been so patient with you,” he said. “I’ve given everything to you. Don’t you owe me some gratitude?”
Maddie’s stomach curled. “You don’t get to say that to me.”
“I don’t?” David tilted his head, studying her the way he always did, like she was an equation he needed to balance. “You have no idea how good you had it. You think anyone else is going to tolerate you? Take care of you?”
Her pulse spiked. “I don’t need to be tolerated. I don’t need to be taken care of.”
David’s smile was tight. “Right.”
His hand clamped around her wrist.
Maddie’s breath stilled in her throat.
“I think,” he said, his grip tightening, “that you need a reminder of how things work.”
Her vision blurred.
The sun vanished behind thick, rolling clouds, and suddenly—it wasn’t this driveway anymore.
It was their kitchen.
Their home. The one they shared. Before she left him.
The walls pressing in, the cold marble counter biting into her hip, David’s fingers digging into her skin.
She could hear herself saying stop.
She could hear him snarling at her.
Stop.
He was so much stronger than her.
He had always been stronger than her.
Her wrist twisted, burning beneath his grasp, his body caging her in, his voice lower now, threatening.
“You’re never going to make it on your own. You can’t leave.”
A breath shuddered out of her, but she didn’t feel herself breathe.
Didn’t feel her body move.
She was frozen, trapped in a moment that had never left her, a moment she had rewritten, convinced herself wasn’t what it was.
David had never hit her.
He had never hit her.
But that wasn’t the point, was it?
That wasn’t what this was about.
This was about control.
About the way he had backed her against the fridge, both hands on either side of her head, his mouth twisted in something ugly.
“This isn’t over, Maddie. I won’t let you walk away during some ridiculous mental health crisis.”
Her chest collapsed inward.
She couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t—
She woke gasping, the sheets tangled around her legs, her body drenched in sweat.
The air in Heath’s room was too thick, the morning light filtering in too bright, her pulse pounding, erratic.
She barely made it upright before the sobs tore out of her throat.
A panic attack.
She hadn’t had one in months.
But this—this wasn’t just panic.
This was fear, raw and unchecked, spilling over in waves as she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to shove it all back down.
It wasn’t real.
David wasn’t here.
Heath’s house. Heath’s bed. Safe. Safe. Safe.
Her breath hitched. Not safe.
Not when David knew where she lived.
Not when she had seen that look in his eyes before.
Not when she had felt what it was like to be powerless against him.
She doubled over, pressing her forehead against her knees, her breath stuttering, choking, fighting for control she didn’t have.
She had always told herself that David wasn’t dangerous.
She had believed it.
But the human mind did funny things.
It buried what it didn’t want to hold.
It softened memories.
And sometimes, when you least expected it—
It pulled them back up, sharp as glass, cutting you from the inside out.
Maddie gripped the sheets beneath her, white-knuckled, fighting her own damn mind.
Fighting the truth that she had always known. David would never accept losing her. And that made him a very real problem.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for her phone, swiping it off the nightstand with a shaky grip.
The screen lit up too bright, her vision still blurred from the tears drying against her cheeks.
Too many notifications.
A pit lodged in her stomach as she scrolled through them, her breath uneven, throat raw.
Heath – 3 messages
0500: Still no good news. They’ve got him on everything they can, but he’s still fighting. I’ll update you when I know more.
0630: He coded. They got him back, but it’s bad.
0845: Stabilized for now. I don’t like this.
Maddie closed her eyes, pressing her lips together. Goddammit, Rawlings. Keep fighting.
Sandra – 6 missed calls. 2 texts.
0720: Did they call you in?
0825: Maddie, answer your damn phone.
Dr. Zaire – 1 voicemail.
Balboa switchboard. Five missed calls.
Then—
Her blood ran cold.
San Diego Police Department – 4 missed calls. 1 voicemail.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
Her thumb hovered over the voicemail tab, nerves coiling tight, the back of her brain screaming at her before she could press play—
Her phone buzzed violently in her palm.
A new call.
Dr. Zaire’s cell.
Maddie’s stomach dropped.
She swallowed hard, steeling herself, and picked up.
And just like that—the world was about to get worse.
She answered on the second ring, pressing the phone to her ear, her pulse hammering in her throat.
“Dr. Zaire?”
“Maddie,” his voice was urgent, clipped, but controlled in that way only he could manage. “Are you safe? Are you okay? Where are you?”
Her stomach turned to lead.
“I—what? Yes, I’m fine—why?”
There was a brief pause, the faint sound of a turn signal clicking in the background.
“I got a call from the police thirty minutes ago. They’re looking for you.”
The words slammed into her.
“What?”
“The hospital’s been ringing off the hook trying to find you too,” he continued. “They called me personally when they couldn’t reach you. I was about to drive over to your place to check on you myself.”
Her entire body went ice cold.
“What the hell is going on?” she asked, gripping the phone tighter.
“I don’t know.” His voice was calm, but the worry was there, buried beneath the surface. “But the police were…concerned. They need to speak with you immediately.”
Maddie shot up from the bed, pushing the covers away. Her pulse was a roar in her ears.
She forced herself to take a slow, steady breath. “I’m okay. I promise. I’m staying at a friend’s place.”
Zaire was quiet for a beat. “Maddie—”
“I’m safe,” she cut in, trying to reassure him. “I’ll call them now.”
Another pause. Then, reluctantly, “Alright. Let me know what’s going on.”
“I will.”
She ended the call and stared at her phone, her chest rising and falling with shallow, measured breaths.
Police. Looking for her.
Her throat tightened. David.
It had to be David.
She swallowed hard and pulled up her voicemail, pressing play.
A calm, professional voice filled the speaker.
This is Detective Naomi Camrose with the San Diego Police Department. We need to speak with Madeleine McAuley as soon as possible regarding an urgent matter. Please return my call at extension—
Maddie’s fingers hovered over the screen, her breath shaky, her heart hammering too damn loud.
She took one last, slow inhale—
And dialed.
Maddie inhaled deeply, pressing her phone to her ear as the line rang. Once. Twice. Then—
“Detective Sergeant Camrose.” The voice was clipped, professional, and young.
Maddie wet her lips. “This is Dr. McAuley. Madeleine McAuley. You left me a message?”
A brief pause. “Dr. McAuley, thanks for calling me back. First—are you somewhere safe?”
Maddie’s pulse pounded in her ears. “Yes, I’m safe.”
“Good. I’m going to be direct with you,” Camrose—Naomi—continued. “This afternoon, a neighbor of yours reviewed their security footage from last night and contacted us immediately. Their cameras caught the edge of your property. And… a masked individual was seen stalking outside your home.”
Maddie shot to her feet, breath locking in her chest. “What?”
“The footage isn’t crystal clear, but the individual was armed. A handgun.” Naomi’s voice was calm, controlled. “The responding officers checked the property, and your house had been broken into.”
Maddie pressed a hand to her stomach. “Jesus Christ.”
“I need you to confirm if anything was stolen,” Naomi said. “There was evidence of forced entry, but inside, nothing was obviously disturbed. No ransacking. At first glance, it’s unclear if this was a targeted incident or just a crime of opportunity.”
Maddie’s mind raced, scrambling to catch up. “My car was in the driveway,” she said numbly. “And I left a light on inside.”
“Which means whoever did this had to assume someone was home,” Naomi confirmed.
Maddie squeezed her eyes shut. The break-in. The gunman. The fact that someone had been watching her house.
She forced herself to focus. “What… what do I do now?”
“I’d like you to come to the station to give a statement,” Naomi said. “After that, I can escort you back to your house to assess the damages and check if anything is missing.”
Maddie nodded, even though Naomi couldn’t see her. “Okay.” Her voice barely sounded like her own.
Naomi hesitated. “I know this is a lot, but I have to ask—do you have any reason to believe someone might have a personal motivation for this?”
The question hit like a freight train.
Maddie’s fingers tightened around her phone. Her stomach turned, memories flashing—David’s anger. His hands on her in the driveway. His voice, low and venomous, telling her she was making a mistake.
She exhaled shakily.
“My ex,” she whispered. “I filed for divorce and he was served a few days ago. David Walsh.”
Silence.
Then—Naomi’s voice, steady as steel. “Alright, Dr. McAuley. Let’s talk.”