SPOILER ALERTS AND CONTENT WARNINGS!

Stalking, Abuse

The scream shakes me from horizontal to vertical as my mind scrambles, going zero to sixty, unconsciousness to full alert. Rachel keeps screaming, not even pausing to take a breath. I try to put my arms around her when she pushes me back, shouting, “Get the fuck away from me!” 

I try to say something calming.

“Baby,” I try, but the word doesn’t feel right.

We’re both breathing heavily. Her thick patchouli fragrance that clings to everything in the apartment. My head throbs. Maybe it isn’t the patchouli giving me a headache, maybe it’s her screaming. 

“Honey, please, what’s wrong?” 

Her eyes dart back and forth, looking for something. Maybe a weapon? 

“Okay. Okay. I don’t know what I did. I’m sorry.” 

I back away to the door and she follows, keeping a slight distance. The door is still unlocked from last night. Maybe that’s why she’s upset. I mumble an apology. She rushes forward, pushing me into the hall to slam the door closed. The thunderous dead bolt strike startles me. 

I’m at the end of the hallway before I realize it’s the middle of the night. My keys, wallet, and phone are still in the nightstand drawer. I’ll let her cool off and go for a walk.  

The apartment complex isn’t large, but I walk around it a couple of times, hoping she’s calmer. Her bedroom light is still on. Maybe she’s waiting for us to chat. But as I round the corner, I see strobing red and blue lights ahead. 

Worry fills me. On top of the stairs, she’s talking to two cops. 

“That’s him!” Rachel points at me. 

One comes up to me holding his hand up. 

“Can I help you?” 

“That’s my girlfriend. That’s her apartment.” 

“I’ve never seen him before in my life!” she shouts. 

Her words hurt. I grimace as I hold my hands up. “How can you say that?” 

“WHO THE F—” she starts again, but the cop steps between us. 

“I can prove it. My keys, wallet, and phone are in her apartment. There are pictures on the bookshelf in the living room. The bottom drawer of her dresser is filled with my clothes. That’s my girlfriend.” 

  The cop stares at me, sizing me up before taking Rachel inside. The other cop walks up to me. He doesn’t say anything. 

Rachel is hysterical. I hear glass break. Maybe one of our pictures together? Perhaps the cop will leave us alone after he sees the pictures? 

“Tom Hill?” The cop says, coming out into the hallway, holding my wallet and handing it to me along with my keys and phone.

“Yes.” I can’t help the sigh of relief as I pocket them.

“You’re not welcome here tonight. May I collect what you need so you can go?” 

“He doesn’t belong here!” Rachel screams. 

“Miss….?” the cop tries. 

“Greer,” I offer. “Honey, please, these officers have more important things to do. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.” 

“That’s not my name!” Then she laughs in one exuberant exhale, “That’s not my name.” 

“It’s Greer, honey, what’s gotten into you?” 

“Check your database.” She’s pointing at the cop so ferociously that she almost has me convinced. “Greer was my maiden name. It’s changed. I haven’t even gotten my new license in.” Rachel, calming, tries again, “He’s not my boyfriend, he’s a stranger who broke into my apartment and got into bed with me. I don’t know him. I want him arrested for—” 

“I can’t believe you’d say that!” 

I can’t help the smile, and when she demands the cop look up her name on his database, I take note of the two more cops who have just arrived and are walking up behind me.  

“What’s my name?” She demands. 

“I know you changed your name. I can’t remember. I woke up to you screaming at me. Really, ba… honey, it’s….” 

“Rooster?” 

I close my eyes. I hadn’t even heard the door open. I don’t turn.

“Ma, go to bed.” 

“Rooster, what’s happening?” 

“Oh my god!” Rachel screams. 

“Ma’am, do you know this young man?” 

“That’s my boy. Is he in trouble?” 

“Is he in a relationship with this woman who lives across from you?” 

“Ha. Hardly, he can’t get past staring at her through the peephole.” 

“Mrs. Hill—” the cop begins. 

“That’s not my name. Why do you think that’s my name? Rooster, what’s going on?”

The curse of Icarus, trying to fly too close to the sun. Rachel is screaming as the cops are taking the woman that I had convinced was my mother back into her apartment. Dementia is a horrible disease. 

“Honey,” I try one more time, a Hail Mary throw for sure, “Please.” 

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Kris Green lives in Florida with his beautiful wife and two savage children. He’s been published over 60 times in the last few years by the wonderful people at Nifty Lit, The Haberdasher: Peddlers of Literary Art, In Parentheses Magazine, Route 7 Review, BarBar Magazine and many more. He won the 2023 Barbe Best Short Story and Reader’s Choice Award for his short story, “Redemption”. Currently, he has regular nonfiction articles being published by Solid Food Press on fatherhood entitled: “On Raising Savages.”