Chapter 3 - The Ice and the Alibi
Tyler knelt beside Harper on the linoleum, his expression a mask of manufactured concern. He set the bag of ice on the floor and reached out to brush a strand of dark hair away from her tear-streaked face.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Tyler whispered, his voice smooth and soothing, the voice he used when he wanted to convince her that the universe was against them both. “You know how you get when you start packing things. You get impulsive. You try to ruin everything we’ve built.”
Harper flinched away from his hand. Her right leg throbbed with every pulse of her blood, sending white-hot waves of agony up her spine.
“My leg is broken, Tyler,” she gasped, her voice trembling with a mixture of pain and rising terror. “You broke it.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Tyler said, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned closer, resting his hands on either side of her hips to box her in. “You tripped over the bag. You fell against the counter. You always make things sound worse than they are so you can play the victim.”
“I was leaving,” Harper whispered, defiance flaring up despite the agony. “I can’t live like this anymore. Every time I breathe wrong, you—"
“Shut up,” Tyler snapped, the mask slipping for a split second before he forced his features back into a calm, gentle mould. He reached down and grabbed her uninjured ankle, dragging her a few inches across the floor so she was out of the kitchen doorway. “We’re going to fix this. I bought ice. I bought your favorite soda. When the swelling goes down, we’ll talk about your little trip. But you’re not going anywhere tonight.”
Harper stared at him, realizing with sickening clarity that he wasn't going to call an ambulance. He was going to keep her here. He was going to lock the door, hide her phone, and tell anyone who asked that she had fallen down the stairs.
“Let me go,” she sobbed, her fingers digging blindly into the linoleum behind her.
“Stop crying,” Tyler said, standing up and brushing off his jeans. He walked over to the kitchen counter, picked up his half-empty beer bottle, and took a long swallow. “I’m going to watch some television. When you’re done being dramatic, come into the living room and apologize.”
He turned his back on her and walked into the small living area, the muffled sound of a late-night sports broadcast filtering through the open doorway.
Harper lay on the cold floor, the minutes stretching into eternity.
Her phone was still hidden beneath the sofa cushions in the other room.
Had the stranger believed her? Had he called anyone? Or had he laughed, blocked the number, and gone back to his life?
Outside, far down the quiet residential street, a deep, low rumble broke the night air.
It wasn't the high-pitched whine of a police cruiser or the wail of an ambulance. It was the synchronized, heavy purr of multiple high-end European engines rolling in tandem.
The sound stopped directly outside their building.
Tyler must have heard it too, because the television audio abruptly cut out.
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“What the hell?” Tyler muttered from the living room.
Harper held her breath.
