Chapter 2

Emma clocked out,the beep at the hospital exit slicing through the lobby"s silence, signaling freedom, yet reminding her of chains unseen. She paused, her gaze fixed through the revolving doors on the parking lot—a quilt of dim light and encroaching shadows. The light posts offered false havens, punctuating the darkness with pools of yellow that seemed to shrink against the night.

The hospital"s parking lot stretched out under the weight of darkness, broken only by the occasional island of light from overhead lamps. Emma stood, her breath visible in the frigid air, waiting for her escort. She was a freaking forty-seven-year-old with a medical degree who needed an escort.

When a large figure emerged from the shadows, her heart seized, a fist of panic clenching her insides. The dark silhouette stood out, a dark silhouette against the faint glow of the hospital behind it. It stirred Emma"s fear into a murky swirl. Her neck prickled as if she could feel a phantom hand shove her from behind, just like her attacker had done that night. The fear and helplessness overtook her rational brain for a moment.

The figure stopped at the edge of the light, their features obscured, intentions unreadable. Emma"s breath hitched. Her eyes fixed on the shape that brought back the monster from her memory.

As it stepped into the full light, Rick"s familiar face came into view, framed by his security cap and the badge that gleamed like a beacon of order. Emma"s relief was tangible, a silent wave that washed over her, loosening the tightness in her chest. But still, the shadow of wariness lingered, like the last ripples after a storm passed.

I wish I could forget that night and enter this parking lot without fear of another attack.

Her skin prickled as she measured her exhales, careful to compose the tremble in her voice when she finally spoke. "Evening, Rick."

"Doctor," he greeted simply. His stance, firm and alert, was an unsaid vow of guardianship. However, her gaze darted involuntarily to the dark recesses of the lot, to the places where safety disappeared into shadow.

The murmur of the city beyond the hospital"s reach was a distant rumble. Recollections of her own muted cries from that fateful night overshadowed the present. It was a soundtrack that, no matter the company, she couldn"t silence once the sun dipped below the skyline.

She almost jumped out of her skin when a hand gripped her above her elbow. Rick"s voice broke into her thoughts. "Let me walk you to your car. It"s late and you must be tired."

She swallowed. "Thanks." Her throat was dry, and the word came out scratchy.

Emma"s footsteps matched the guard"s as they crossed the parking lot. The reassuring bulk of his presence was a temporary balm to the dread that crept in with the dusk. But even as Rick"s silhouette provided a barrier between her and the fears lurking in the dark, the lot"s sparse lights reminded her of vulnerability. Her heel scraped the concrete and she almost tripped.

"Careful, Dr. Sullivan," Rick cautioned.

She managed a nod, grateful for his concern. Internally she braced against the flood of recollections that the darkness always stirred these days. Her eyes darted between the pools of light, each a fleeting haven that faltered at the encroaching shadows. Her assailant"s face lay in wait within her mind"s eye.

As Rick"s radio cracked, a brief distraction, she felt the shiver of that night return, wrapping around her spine. It was a ghostly sensation she suppressed.

"Almost there," Rick said, his words slicing through her reverie as they approached her car. The ordinariness of his statement clashed with her heartbeat—a discordant rhythm of normalcy and fear.

She smiled, a gesture worn like armor, and found her voice steady as it cut through the chill. "Thank you for walking me to my car. I think I"m going to take that self-defense class."

"Good for you," he replied, the approval in his tone adding another layer to her makeshift shield.

Emma slid into the driver"s seat, the familiar leather embracing her in a silent welcome. She paused for a moment, allowing the scents of Starbucks coffee from her morning commute and the subtle fragrance of new car to anchor her to the present. The rich aroma hinted at routine and normalcy, to all things unmoved by the chaos that had recently colored her life.

Her hands curled around the steering wheel, her fingers tracing the seams, steadying the pulse that still danced too quickly in her veins. With a deep inhale that filled her lungs with the blend of aromas, she found a moment of peace, a reminder that some things remained untouched by fears or dark memories.

She turned the key, the engine"s purr breaking the silence of the parking lot. The rearview mirror reflected a parting image of Rick, diminishing in size but not in significance, as she rolled down the window to wave goodbye—a silent thank you for his guardianship.

The drive through Missoula was a quiet one, the streets familiar and the traffic sparse, a contrast to the adrenaline that had once made her heart thrum in her chest on similar drives home. She navigated her way toward the Mansion District, where stately homes whispered of history and prosperity with their well-kept lawns and grand facades.

Her own place was a tasteful home that wore its elegance without ostentation, nestled among the lawyers" renovated Victorians and doctors" modern statements of glass and steel.

The car's hum faded as Emma killed the engine, the silence of the Mansion District wrapping around her like a shroud. She sat in the cocoon of her car, delaying the short walk to the front door.

With a determined breath, she stepped out, her heels clicking on the pavement—a metronome marking her brisk pace. The night air caressed her face, an eerie mimic of that unwanted touch she could still feel on her skin. She clutched the car key tightly in her hand, treating it like a talisman. The jagged edge reminded her that it could also serve as a weapon if needed.

Every rustle of wind through the autumn leaves had her heart hitching, each whispering breeze a ghostly echo of footsteps behind her. Her walk was a tightrope between the safety of her car and the sanctuary of her home, each step quick and precise, leaving no room for hesitation.

The porch light seemed miles away, beckoning her to safety. The walk to her front porch was a march through shadows, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. Emma"s key trembled in the lock, a metallic whisper against the night"s silence. Inside, the door thudded shut with urgency, the deadbolt"s slide a chorus of safety that resonated through the quiet of her home.

Her back met the cool wall, the solidity of her house a contrast to the quiver of her limbs. She slid down to the floor, the world outside receding with each labored breath she drew. The fear that clung to her like the day"s sweat began to dissolve, her exhale a whisper of the anxiety that had shadowed her steps.

In the dim light of her entryway, Emma found a flicker of the fighter she yearned to become. The dread that had dogged her became fuel, a burning need to convert panic to poise, terror to tenacity. And as she steadied her breathing, she plotted her transformation, a vow etched in the steel of her resolve. Tomorrow, she would take the first step toward ensuring that never again would her walk home be a gauntlet run in fear. Tomorrow, she would call Hawthorne Kickboxing Gym.