Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Amanda blinked her eyes open. It was too bright.

She squinted and stretched and winced at the stabbing pain in her back.

The events of the night before rushed in. She sat up, careful not to move too quickly.

The pain was manageable.

She was on the couch.

Mark was asleep on her old club chair, his head tilted at a terrible angle. The remote control rested on his right knee.

For a few hours, people had packed her apartment. Neighbors and cops, paramedics and firemen.

The police took their statements. While one team of paramedics carried that horrible man away on a gurney, others checked her over thoroughly. They wanted to take her in for X-rays, but the pain in her back had already begun to subside. She had a terrible bruise, but nothing worse.

While she'd been arguing with the EMTs, Mark had located the building manager and asked him to fix the broken door. The man promised to have it fixed the next day, but Mark wasn't willing to wait. Apparently, he was persuasive, because the manager—usually notoriously slow—pulled a door jamb off an empty apartment and repaired her door right away.

Meanwhile, a couple of her neighbors donned gloves, mopped up the intruder's blood, and swept away the remains of her lamp.

At some point, Mark had searched her kitchen cabinets until he found a small bottle of brandy. She'd bought it to make chocolate mousse for a party, but she'd only used an ounce. After everyone left, Mark poured the rest into two short glasses and handed her one.

"Drink that, please."

"I don't drink."

He traced the bump she could already feel lifting on her cheek. "It's just a tiny bit. It'll help you sleep."

Sleep sounded very good. So she'd sipped the brandy, then swallowed four ibuprofens with a tall glass of water.

She'd showered, scrubbing until her skin was bright red, trying to scour all the remains of that disgusting man off. Then she'd slipped into her pajamas and returned to the couch, where she laid her head on Mark's lap. She couldn't bear to be alone. He stroked her hair with his left hand, sipped what was left of his brandy with his right, and watched sports news.

And like he promised, the brandy went to work, and she drifted off.

It hadn't been a sound sleep. But whenever she woke, Mark was there, whispering in her ear and promising her she was safe.

Because of him, she felt safe and always went right back to sleep.

Mark had still been awake at four, watching the same ESPN broadcast that had been on earlier. One glance at his face told her he wasn't paying any attention to the TV. His mind was elsewhere.

Apparently, he'd finally succumbed to sleep.

Now, it was almost nine o'clock. She tiptoed into the bathroom, then dressed carefully in a roomy sweater that didn't hurt too much when she slipped it over her head. With her cell phone in her back pocket, some cash in her front, and her keys, she steeled her courage and left the apartment silently.

She'd never been afraid to leave her house before, and she wasn't going to start now.

Outside, she squinted in the sun's reflection off the windows across the street. Hugging herself, she turned toward Weybosset. It was Sunday, and the city was quiet. A few cars drove by, trailing white exhaust in the frosty morning air. A jogger approached her, steam rising off his bare shoulders. She stiffened, fearful, but forced herself to continue past him. He barely acknowledged her.

She made it the half-block to the little store on the corner. Inside, she paused to breathe. You're okay. Knock it off. You're okay.

She had eggs and bread at home, so she purchased bacon, an onion, a can of mushrooms, and a couple of potatoes. With those in hand, she headed for the Dunkin' Donuts a couple of blocks down and bought two large coffees before heading back to her apartment.

She felt strong and brave.

But when she peeked into her living room, Mark was gone.

She stared at the empty space.

Had he been waiting for the perfect opportunity to make his getaway?

Had he spent the entire night counting the hours until he could leave her?

After last night, she'd thought maybe he'd make time for breakfast, if nothing else. After all they'd been through, he could've at least said goodbye.

Calling herself all kinds of idiot, she set her purchases on the counter, wincing at the stabbing pain in her back. She filled a glass with tap water and swallowed four more ibuprofens.

At the squeaky sound of the shower faucet and water pouring into the tub, she nearly giggled.

Of course he hadn't left.

She sliced the potatoes into small chunks while vegetable oil heated on the stovetop. She'd almost finished when her phone rang.

"Good morning, sweetheart," her mother said. "Dad and I thought we'd try to catch you before church. How was your week?"

She collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and told her parents everything.