Blackout

by Dani Matthews

  The guilt fades as regret replaces it.

  This evening, I’m going to check out an apartment and meet someone my age looking for a roommate. I’d pushed myself into calling her yesterday, and we’d set a time to meet. If things go well this evening, I’ll likely be moving in a matter of days. I’ll no longer see Gabe except in social settings, which won’t be all that often. This past year, he’s cut back on drinking and socializing. I know it has a lot to do with the fact that he likes to keep a clear head the night before a shift.

  My thoughts take a different turn when I pull into the empty parking lot at the animal clinic. As I park in front of the large building, I look around. The clinic is located on a busy street front, but behind the building are thick trees that divide the busy area from a nearby residential neighborhood.

  I climb out of the car and lock it before walking down the sidewalk and past the fountain. After pausing in front of the glass lobby doors, I pull out my keys which have a copy of the clinic’s attached to it. I quickly unlock the lobby door and then step inside, relocking it.

  The clinic is dark with only a few windows allowing in sunlight. The silence is heavy, and I shake off my unease as I slip the keys in my purse before shifting it crosswise over my chest. Right now, I’m wishing that I’d allowed Quinn to tag along, and I try to brush off my fear. I’ve done this plenty of times and hadn’t felt uncomfortable being in the large building by myself. My fear is just a reminder of how the attacker had changed me, and I’m angered by it. I don’t want fear ruling my life. It’s not healthy, and I don’t want to give the attacker more than he’s already taken. It’s bad enough that I’ll carry his mark the rest of my life.

  With renewed determination, I cross the lobby and pass the front desk before entering a dim hallway. As tempting as it is to turn on every light in the building, I refrain from it. Every light I turn on, I need to remember to turn off. After allowing it to slip my mind once and having it brought up to me by a superior, I don’t mess with the lights unless it’s necessary. Besides, the red exit lights are enough to see by, and I make my way to the very back of the clinic where we kennel the animals with medical issues.

  I turn on the light and begin scanning the kennels along the wall. Most animals are typically cleared by Saturday to go home, but some have emergency surgeries and demand a weekend stay. It looks like there aren’t any medical cases this weekend. Just to verify, I move to the cupboard along the opposite wall and pick up the clipboard designated for recuperating patients.

  After I return the clipboard to the hook, I pick up the other one with a list of boarders. There’s three for the weekend. A poodle, German Shepherd, and a terrier. The German Shepherd will likely be the most rambunctious, so I decide to take care of him first. His name is Hulk, and there are no behavioral issues that have been noted.

  As I begin to ready three bowls of food, the dogs must hear me, because they begin to bark in the other room. Once the meals are prepared, I leave them on the counter and grab one of the leashes along the wall.

  When I enter the boarder room, the barking increases as I turn on the light. There are small windows near the ceiling to give the animals light when the overhead lights are turned off, but they aren’t bright enough to see by.

  There are large cages lining both walls with a wide aisle down the center. The cages look more like cubicles with wooden walls except for the front chain-link doors. Each cubicle is painted a different vibrant color and has a cheerful window painted on the back wall. There's also a soft dog bed, a couple of toys, and a water and food dish in each station.

  I greet the dogs in their separate cubicles and then concentrate on Hulk. “Aren’t you a big boy. No wonder why you have the name that you do,” I tell the large dog as I pet his neck and clip the leash to his collar. He sits patiently, his brown eyes focused intently on me as his tail wags with excitement. “Well-mannered, too,” I murmur to him. “Ready?”

  He barks in reply, causing the other dogs to burst into a fit of barking.

  Hulk walks beside me as I take him to the exit in the back of the room. He waits as I stand on my tiptoes to flip the lock above the door so we can get back inside when we’re finished with our walk.

  The door opens, and I lead Hulk into the sunlight as the door closes behind us. He’s alert but anxious to stretch his legs. I usually lead the animals around the entire building for exercise, and we begin our excursion. We stop a few times so that he can relieve himself or sniff new scents, and I make a mental note where I need to come back to clean his mess. We make our full loop around the building, and Hulk’s understandably reluctant to go back inside. I don’t blame him, but he still follows me across the threshold, and the others begin barking up a storm.

  I sigh inwardly, knowing I’m going to be leaving with a headache. When I try to lead Hulk to his designated cubicle, he doesn’t budge. I look down at him, and he’s standing alert, ears pointed forward as he sniffs the air.

  “Come on, boy,” I coax, gently tugging on his leash. After a moment of reluctance, he follows me down the aisle of cubicles until we reach his open doorway.

  The other dogs are still barking, and I frown as I nudge Hulk into his cubicle. “Noisy bunch, aren’t they?” I mutter to him.

  Hulk goes still, and now he’s looking beyond me into the center aisle of the room. He growls lowly.

  It’s a sound that sends chills down my spine, and I instinctively look over my shoulder. My blood freezes in my veins when I see him.

  He’s dressed in all black with a matching mask. In his gloved hand is a knife that gleams in the room’s overhead light. As I process what I’m seeing, I note that he’s blocking the back exit.

  For a heartbeat, we stare each other down until it sinks in that this is real, and he’s here to hurt me or worse. He must have slipped inside the building while I was walking Hulk and had hidden in one of the cubicles until I was further into the room—separated from the exit.

  Just as he moves, I let go of Hulk’s leash and throw myself in the opposite direction, racing for the door that leads to the aftercare kennel room. I waste precious seconds yanking the door open when a hand grabs a fistful of my hair. I scream when strands pull from my scalp as I desperately throw my body forward, trying to dislodge his grip. As I fall to the pavement, I realize he’d released me, and Hulk is growling. There’s shuffling sounds behind me and a masculine curse.

  I scramble to my feet, heart pounding frantically as I sprint across the room, not daring to look back. After racing into the hall, I hear Hulk’s high-pitched whine signaling that he’s been hurt.

  I have a split-second to make a decision, and I pray that it’s the right one. Instead of running down the hall that will lead back to the lobby, I run down the opposite one and fling myself around the corner so I’m out of sight. This side of the clinic doesn’t have windows, and neither do the exam rooms. I tiptoe silently as I approach the last room at the end of the dark hall and slip inside. There’s a small cubby beneath the exam table where we hide the trash bins so they’re out of sight. Since the exam table is solid in the front from its top to the bottom, it hides the cubby completely like a desk would.

  In the darkness, I drop to my hands and knees and crawl to the cubby, removing the trash bin and taking its place. There’s just barely enough room to fit, and I draw my knees to my chest, my arms wrapping tightly around them. If he looks into the exam room, he won’t see me unless he walks around the table.

  I try to calm my breathing and strain my ears. Hulk is quiet now, and I can hear the man slowly walking down the opposite hall, likely peeking into the exam rooms.

  He’s searching for me.

  I’d made the right decision, I’m certain of it. Had I gone for the lobby, I would have wasted precious seconds trying to pull my keys from my purse and inserting them into the lock. The attacker had dispatched Hulk too fast for me to have made an escape, and he would have caught up to me before I could run out the door.

  My
only option is to hide and wait until he’s on the opposite side of the building before making my next move. He’ll eventually search the lobby—if he doesn’t find me before then. While he’s hopefully located across the building, I’ll have a chance to sneak into one of the exam rooms with a window. Messing with anything that has a lock is asking to be caught, and I don’t dare try to get back to the boarder room. It’s too far, and he’ll hear me running. Plus, that would put me behind the building where he could still attack me since he’d likely be right on my heels.

  I draw in a silent breath and force myself to remain calm—it’s the only way I’m going to survive this. My heart thunders in my ears, and I try to focus on listening for where he is instead of acknowledging my fear.

  The pounding of my heart fades.

  He’s still going through the exam rooms down the other hall.

  I sit in the dark, praying that he’s not doing a thorough check. If he finds me, I’m likely not going to survive this ordeal. Beck had shown me a few self-defense moves, but they won’t do much good against a knife.

  He’s beginning to make his way down my hallway, and my body tenses. I catch my bottom lip between my teeth as I slow my breathing so that I don’t give away my hiding place.

  His footsteps are slow but confident, and I listen as he turns on an exam room’s light. A second later, it switches off, and his footsteps continue down the hall, coming nearer. He continues his search, and I’m terrified as those footsteps bring him closer and closer to me.

  I can’t tell if he’s entering the rooms, and I wish I had a weapon of some kind. That’s when I recall that I have the mace on my key chain. My heart stutters in my chest, and a shot of adrenaline spikes until it dawns on me that it could give away my location. I can’t guarantee the keys won’t clink loudly the second I open my purse.

  Damn it.

  He’s turning on the light next door, and I know it’s too late anyway. His footsteps resume, and I hold my breath as they pause in the doorway.

  The light turns on.

  I stare with wide eyes from the cubby, fearing that his face might appear around the exam table. A soft footfall comes further into the room, and then there’s silence. After what feels like minutes, but was likely seconds, his footsteps linger in the doorway as the light turns off.

  I don’t dare move or blink as I wait for whatever’s going to happen next. He releases an irritated sigh, and then his footsteps make their way back down the hall and become faint. He must be headed for the lobby.

  This is my chance.

  Part of me wants to stay put in hopes that he’ll give up and leave, but odds are, he’ll continue searching—especially if the front entrance remains locked and my car’s still out front.

  As gingerly as I can, I crawl out of the little cubby and rise to my feet in the darkness. I’m going to have to trust my ears and gut instinct. It’s gotten me this far. As I cautiously walk to the doorway of the room, I quietly unzip my purse and peer out into the darkened hall. I’m taking too long, and my window of opportunity is diminishing. It won’t take him long to check the lobby.

  The hallway looks clear, and my keys make a faint noise as I pull them from my purse, my hand gripping the mace in case he finds me before I can escape. He’s too far away to hear the keys, but I still clutch them tightly to stop them from clinking, and I hurry down the hall. Thank God I’m not wearing rubbery soles that squeak on linoleum.

  A noise comes from the lobby, confirming that he’s still across the building. I’m still in the clear, and I dart into the other hall. To buy myself extra time, I creep to the very last exam room and slip inside.

  My hands are shaking as I rush to the window and reach for the latch. The sunlight and promise of freedom beckons me. My brain is screaming for me to go, go go! The latch slides up, and I ease the window to the side as fresh air greets me. All that’s left is the screen, and I should be able to push it out. There’s no time to hesitate, and I use both hands to shove it out of its frame. It scrapes against the window’s siding before falling with a soft thud to the grass below.

  I don’t know if he’d heard it, and I’m not sticking around to find out. I haul myself up and through the window, landing in an ungraceful heap on the screen. I’m instantly on my feet and running along the side of the building.

  When I reach the corner, I come to an abrupt stop and peer around it so I can scan the parking lot. My car is still the only one there. I don’t know where this guy came from, but I feel better knowing that he doesn’t have a vehicle nearby.

  I whip my head around to look behind me, and I don’t see him chasing me.

  Yet.

  After drawing in a deep breath, I launch into a run and race for my car. As soon as I reach the driver’s side, I quickly unlock the door and fling myself inside before relocking it. My eyes fasten on the building as I jam the key into the ignition and start the engine. There’s a shadow of movement by the lobby’s glass doors, signaling that he can see me.

  I shove the car into reverse and put my foot on the gas. The car leaves rubber as I maneuver it around and speed out of the parking lot. Thankfully, traffic isn’t overly busy yet, and I pull into the street and drive away from the clinic.

  “Oh God,” I breathe shakily.

  I need to call the police. At the end of the block, I spy the gas station. Knowing I’ll be safe around people, I nearly cut off another vehicle as I quickly turn into the parking lot. There’s a space available directly in front of the building, and I pull in and leave the car idling.

  With anxious eyes, I look around. There are cars at the pumps, and most of the parking spaces in front of the building are taken.

  I’m safe.

  My hands are trembling as I pull my phone from my purse and call the police. Dispatch informs me that someone’s on their way to the gas station, and another unit is headed to the clinic.

  After the call is finished, I set down the phone and drop my head into my hands. I’m still struggling over the fact that this had even happened. He’d had a knife, so was it the same guy that had attacked Brandie and me? If so, why?

  I don’t understand any of this.

  A police cruiser shows up sooner than I’d thought it would, and I watch as the officer parks the vehicle. I climb out of my car and walk over to him as he exits the vehicle and straightens.

  His eyes lock on mine. “Harper Stanton?”

  I nod.

  His eyes promptly scan me from head to toe. “Are you injured anywhere, Miss Stanton?”

  I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself. It’s warm this afternoon, but I’m chilled.

  “Are you comfortable giving a statement here, or would you prefer to go to the police department?”

  “Here’s fine.” I just want to get this over with so that I can go back to the house where I know I’ll feel completely safe. My eyes skitter around the parking lot. It’s unlikely that he’d followed me or is watching me, but I’m still on edge.

  The officer reaches into the cruiser and pulls out a professional looking thick, black folder. Once he has his pen ready, he looks at me expectantly. “Where did the incident take place?”

  I give him the clinic’s name and explain that I’m a veterinary assistant and scheduled to check on the animals. Knowing someone’s going to need to be contacted, I give him my supervisor’s phone number.

  He patiently writes down the information I supply, and I go on and tell him how I’d taken Hulk outside, and that the attacker must’ve slipped inside while I was around the front of the building.

  “Did you notice anything unusual when you first arrived at the clinic?”

  “No, the parking lot was empty. There are a lot of trees between the property and the residential neighborhood. I’m assuming he was hiding there when I arrived.”

  He nods and continues writing. “What happened when you saw him?”

  I shiver as I recall the moment I’d noticed he was there. “I froze. I think we stared at each
other for a second, and then everything just happened. He came at me, and Hulk, the German Shepherd, went after him.” My heart aches as I wonder if he’s okay. “He saved my life and gave me a chance to hide.”

  “Can you tell me what he looked like?”

  As I continue with my statement, he asks for further details, and I tell him everything that I can recall.

  “Is it common knowledge that you work on Sundays?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like I go out of my way to hide it.”

  “Do you know of any events or reasons that might have prompted this incident?” he asks.

  “I was attacked a couple weeks ago in a mugging gone wrong,” I tell him, biting my lip. The two must be connected in some way.

  The officer’s pen pauses, and his eyes sharpen. “Did you report it and fill out a statement?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Do you think it was the same guy?”

  “I haven’t done anything to cause someone to want to hurt me, so it seems likely. I just don’t understand why.”

  “Do you know any other individuals that might have information that’s relevant to this case?”

  “Not really.”

  “Is there anything else that you want to tell me that I haven’t asked?”

  I shake my head. “Can you possibly find out if Hulk is okay?”

  “I’ll call over there after we go through your statement one more time and you sign it. I may be in contact if I need further information,” he informs me.

  “I understand.”

  After we’re finished with my statement, he calls over to the clinic, and I hear the officer reply over the radio that Hulk didn’t make it. My eyes fill with tears. He’d saved my life—a stranger—by giving up his own.

  The officer looks at me with kind eyes. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”