“Roll on your back and open your legs,” he said.

Terror surged again, chaotic and churning, and my mind emptied. Again, I obeyed. There was a cobweb in the corner where the wall met the ceiling. I’d clean the apartment this weekend, with the stepladder, really get every nook and cranny.

Or not. I might be a murder case by then.

I glanced at him. He still didn’t have an erection, and when he saw that I was looking, he lunged at me, making me flinch, then laughed, a mean, thin sound.

What could I use for a weapon? The red vase from Home Goods? If I smashed that over his head, would it be enough? Could I cut his throat with a shard of broken glass?

Where was my phone? Why had I put it down? I could’ve pressed that last 1. I knew something was wrong, why hadn’t I listened to myself? I could’ve made the call, then thrown it and screamed, and the police could track my number (I thought so, anyway) and they’d come, breaking down the door, and I’d be safe.

His hand was jerking rapidly in his pants.

Think, Nora. Think. Be as smart as Matt Damon. He’d find a way.

“I just have one question,” I said. Maybe I could buy some time. My words were slurred, which concerned me. “How did you get in?”

He actually brightened, proud of himself.

He had been planning this, he said. He saw me at the corner market about a month ago. He’d followed me home, trailing well behind, just trying to see where I lived.

Took to walking his dog on my street to learn my schedule, figure out when my boyfriend came over. Saw me on my balcony one night.

He was the man I’d waved to. From three floors above, I hadn’t been able to see his face clearly.

He’d been waiting to see me again. Tonight, after he’d held the door for me at the market, he’d run around the block, racing to get home before I did. The apartment below mine was empty. He climbed the magnolia tree, jumped onto the balcony, climbed up onto mine and picked the lock. It was amazing what you could learn on YouTube, he said. He had lain down in the tub, so I wouldn’t see him at first glance.

He said he’d just gotten in place when I came in.

If I hadn’t stopped to talk to Tyrese, I might’ve seen him coming in the slider and could’ve run. Instead, I’d wanted to talk to Tyrese because I hadn’t felt safe.

Irony could be such a coldhearted bitch sometimes.

I’d waved. I’d waved to my would-be rapist as he was stalking me. Such a nice person, that Nora Stuart.

I looked at the clock. An hour had passed...maybe a little more.

He still didn’t have an erection.

Lizard Brain popped in with a new word for me.

Worse.

“Do you want a drink of water, Nora?” Voldemort asked, and while this night had been completely surreal, that was the strangest moment of all, maybe.

“Yes, please,” I said.

“Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll get you some water, and then I’ll leave if you promise not to call the police. Okay?”

“Okay.” Sure, mister. No worries.

“Stay here,” he said again, turning away.

Now, said Lizard Brain. Go.

I was off the bed before he even left the room. He didn’t notice.

My ribs screamed in pain, and blood flowed from my nose. My left eye was swollen closed, but I followed him down the hall, just a few feet behind him. I could smell him, his sweat, his disgusting musk.

He stopped. I stopped, too, just three or four feet behind him, and fear seemed to gather in me and lift me off my feet. I didn’t even breathe. Every molecule in my body was focused on him. I could feel my heart beating. Otherwise, not a move.

He started moving again, into the living room, around the pale green couch into the kitchen. I went to the door.

He went straight to the end of the counter, because that’s where the knife block was, right out in the open, one of my joyful purchases—a Wusthof knife set from Williams-Sonoma. Knives for all occasions—paring, peeling, chopping, slicing. Murdering.

He reached out and his hand closed on the biggest knife handle in the block.

I saw this out of the corner of my eye, because I was almost there, almost out, so close.

Then my hand felt the cold metal of the doorknob, and I snapped the dead bolt open.

Get out. Go. Go. Go.

Then I was out, running down the hall to the stairs, and I was screaming, my voice unrecognizable, hoarse, hysterical, but spot-on in message.

“Call 911! Call 911! Call 911!”

Jim Amberson, the dad in 3F, opened the door and saw me.

“Help me!” I screamed, staggering toward him.

“Jesus!” he said. “Get in here!”

He slammed the door behind us, threw the dead bolt, yelled for his wife. The kids came running, then halted at the sight of me, bruised, naked, bleeding, swollen. Chanelle started to cry.

My legs gave out, my bladder, too, and I sat in a puddle of urine, my back to their locked door. “Nine-one-one,” I sobbed. “Call 911. Call 911.”

* * *

I was taken to the hospital, x-rayed, coddled, given the five-star treatment by my peers. The director of medicine of Boston City came down to see himself, and his eyes filled with tears as he took my bruised hand. My face and chest were x-rayed; I had a cracked rib and a bone contusion on my jaw. My left eye was swollen shut, my face...

Well. We’ve all seen pictures of women who’ve been beaten. I also had bruises on my legs, ankles and ribs. No damage to internal organs.

The police told me I was smart and brave and lucky. I told them to check the security video at Avi’s grocery store. They took pictures of my injuries and asked repeatedly if I’d been raped. Sent in a female officer to ask the same thing, then a rape-crisis counselor. When they were assured I hadn’t been, a sketch artist came in. So did a social worker to talk about PTSD and shock. I was given a sedative; my teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, which made my jaw ache horribly.

“I’ll call your mom,” Bobby said. He hadn’t left my side since I was admitted.

“No.”

“She should know, Nora.”

“No. It’s over. Don’t call her.”

“You sure?”

“She’s not that type of mother. She’ll be... Just don’t.”

Besides, I just wanted to sleep. My mother... There was always that hint of blame or...or something. I was too tired to think about it.

I looked at Bobby. I remembered him wondering aloud what it would be like to date a normal person. And we’d been so normal, so happy, so fun...and now look at me. My face was turning all sorts of colors, and I’d just almost been killed. So much for sunshine and bluebirds. “Let’s put things on hold,” I whispered, squeezing his hand, causing pain to flash in my knuckles from the punch I’d managed to land. “This isn’t what you signed up for.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice fierce and shaking a little. “I’m staying right here. I love you, Nora.”

All my friends and colleagues visited the next day, and my room filled with flowers, and Bobby stayed with me. I was in the hospital for two nights, which was more professional courtesy than because I needed to.

It was all over the news—Young Doctor Foils Home Invasion, Survives Rape and Murder Attempt. Suspect At Large. I didn’t let them release my name, because I didn’t want to be known as that poor thing. Bad enough that all my colleagues knew.

The police never did catch him. Apparently, he left the way he came, out my balcony. They canvassed the neighborhood, but he was never found.