Haze - By Andrea Wolfe Page 0,125

just randomly wound up in my part of town? I wondered just how extensive his surveillance had been.

It filled me with further disgust.

Thankfully, Jack's stab wound hadn't been deep, because it had been very close to his organs and could have easily wound up being fatal. My arm required stitches from the second cut and I had a black eye and serious headache from the punching. God, Sam was such a weak little man. At least Jack had returned the favor.

After we were x-rayed and cleaned up, the police got our statements, and I—between bouts of relentless sobbing—told them what had happened. Told them about losing my job and Sam overreacting. Told them about the false cry for help in the alley.

"What a coward," the cop had said after hearing about his shouting.

Jack and I both nodded in agreement, and then Jack told them his side of the story. He was so sullen, so depleted of his usual demeanor, like a car that had simply run out of fuel. I felt the same way. We were just hollow shells, free of any real personality as we retold the events in the numbest way possible, just exchanging information when we felt beyond emotional.

No matter what though, I felt stupid for checking in that alley, felt stupid for putting myself in such a potentially dangerous situation. Thankfully, no one was being critical of me—and it definitely helped me regain emotional stability.

"That guy has a record," the cop had said. "He's going to jail for a long time."

As it turned out, Sam had been stalking and aggressively forcing himself on a number of women over the years, which corresponded with HR's research. This time, he had gotten fixated with me, losing himself deeper and deeper in the world his mind had invented from scratch. He didn't have a wife, family, or anything else. Everything had been a lie with the intent of manipulating me.

Yeah, I met with HR, but I wasn't the first person to make the complaint. It had been everyone else. He had picked me out like a serial killer or something, observing me until he could make a move. And then things got messy and then this happened.

I imagined him, locked away in his room every night, counting down the days until Jack's big event, his hands clenched into fists, his veins bulging. It was clear that he was trying to hurt Jack as much as he was trying to hurt me. I was just lucky as hell that he hadn't succeeded. It made me want to sit down with him and ask him why.

Or, maybe not.

Honestly, with the newfound knowledge regarding Sam's criminal history, I worried that maybe he'd raped others as well, victimized women just like myself who didn't get so lucky. Maybe they could connect him to those crimes now and finally find justice for those poor, abused souls.

What would I have done if he'd actually raped me and then run off? I wouldn't have known who did it unless they could have identified him from the rape test. The thought made me feel sick again.

God, I was probably going to have nightmares from this failed attempt. I couldn't even imagine what the real thing would have been like.

Fuck you, Sam.

After the police left us alone, Jack turned to me, his expression so fragile. "It happened again." Everyone else was waiting outside for us, but he didn't seem to be concerned about them.

"Jack, it's okay. I'm okay. You're okay. He could have killed us, but he didn't."

"But I swore I wouldn't let it happen again. I swore I'd watch you better. I just got caught up in my own stupid world." His features were so tense, so clenched up as he coped with the mistake he believed he had made.

I felt something flare up inside of me, something powerful and borderline angry yet supportive. "Jack, snap out of it. You did save me. You're acting like the girls that blame themselves for getting raped just because they wore a skimpy dress. Sam was a fucked up guy and he was probably planning this for a while. He lied to me, and now he did this." I hugged him, feeling weak, the tears resuming as I cried into his chest.

"Oh God, Effie," he said, his composure returning after witnessing my vulnerability. "I love you so much. That was so fucked up. It's just hard to comprehend."

"I know," I moaned between shirt-muffled sobs. This was the first moment we'd