I grabbed my keys and opened the door, locking it behind me and tucking my keys in my pocket. I was halfway down the stairs when a shadow stepped away from the side of the building.
“It’s about time, bitch,” she said, her words slurring slightly.
I froze, surprised to see Darla climbing the steps below me. “What do you want, Darla?” I asked nervously. “I need to start baking.”
“What do I want?” she asked, spittle flying toward me. If her words were poison, I’d be dead. “I want to know why you were secretly recording me! And then to go to the festival committee to nark on me. Bad move, bitch.”
“I wasn’t secretly recording you,” I assured her, tired of her vendetta against me. “I always record the competition. I didn’t know my phone was still recording when you came over to us. Lucky for me, but not so lucky for you. Now they know you’re a bitch. Then again, that’s not big news,” I said, giving her a shrug.
Before I could brace for it, her arm darted out, and she slapped me across the face. “Watch your tone, fatso,” she spat, having to right herself from the momentum of the slap. She was drunk. I could smell it on her breath every time she opened her mouth. My cheek stung, but it wasn’t enough to give her the satisfaction of rubbing it. I did need to deescalate the situation and get away from her before she did something worse than slap me.
“Listen, Darla, I need to get to work. If you’ll excuse me,” I said, trying to slide down to the next step to break away from her.
“There is no excuse for you,” she hissed, her face right up in mine in a way that could only be construed as threatening. The smell of vodka on her fetid breath made me want to gag, but I resisted, afraid that would set her off. “They took my crown from me as I was getting on the float. Do you know how humiliating that was?” she asked, her voice going up several octaves as she encroached on my space more.
“I’m sorry, Darla. That wasn’t my intention,” I said calmly.
She laughed, but the sound was nothing but evil. “Oh, sure. The poor pitiful bitch who had her feelings hurt didn’t mean to start trouble. You’ve always acted the victim to get what you want. The game is old now, and you really should get new material.”
“I’ve always acted the victim? Seriously?” I asked in astonishment. “You’re the one who has spent twenty-five years bullying me, Darla. I don’t know what I ever did to you to deserve it. Regardless, I’m done now. You can be you, and I can be me. As long as you don’t step foot on my property again, we’ll get along just fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bakery to run.”
Her growl froze me in my tracks. “There you go again, rubbing in how successful you are because you run a bakery. I can make you unsuccessful in less than two seconds,” she said, her eyes wild and crazy. They were the last thing I saw before I was lying on my back, staring up at the sky filled with bright, twinkling stars.
“How do you like me now, bitch?” she asked, spitting in my face.
I tried to get up, but I couldn’t make my limbs move when I gave them the order. I couldn’t get words to come out of my mouth, either. Darla was starting to swim above me like a freaky monster from a horror film. It struck me that I was going to die here without telling Brady I was sorry.
“Are you out of words?” she asked, giving me a kick with the toe of her sandal. It dug into my hip, and I grunted, the pain flaring to life in every part of me. The only satisfaction I got was the motion made her tip to the side where she fell to her hands and knees on the ground.
When she stood back up, she took two steps to the left before she steadied herself. “Here comes the fun part,” she said, her hand reaching for something in her pocket as the stars dimmed, and the roaring in my ears gave way to silence.
Twenty-Three
I parked my car on the street, surprised that there were still no lights on in the bakery. Amber had texted me that Haylee was going to start baking at midnight, so I texted back that I was going to get here early to talk to her. It took some convincing, but she finally relented and agreed to let me try talking to her first before she stepped in. I knew Haylee was upset about Darla, but something told me there was more to it. She was scared of what was happening between us. The only person who could reassure her about that was me.
I checked the clock, and it was only a little after twelve. Maybe Haylee overslept, so I decided to head up to the apartment and pound on the door until she opened it. Anxiety filled my stomach with dread at the darkness around the building at this time of night. I always hated the lack of lighting at the back, but Haylee refused to put in motion sensor lights. She said it was unnecessary in a town like Lake Pendle. Maybe she was right, but the small light over the bakery door barely offered any light for her to walk up and down from her apartment.
I tripped on something lying on the ground by the steps and fell to my knee. “What the hell?” I asked until my eyes landed on the prone form by my leg. My breath caught, and my heart pounded in my chest as I gazed at the woman I love. She was out cold.
“Haylee,” I yelled frantically, slapping her cheek gently in hopes she’d come around. “Haylee, sweetheart, come on,” I said, my hand going to her neck to check for a pulse. She was breathing, and her pulse was steady, but she wasn’t responding.
I grabbed my phone and dialed 911, waiting impatiently for the call to be answered.
“911. What’s your emergency?” the operator asked.
“My girlfriend, she’s hurt. I think she fell down the stairs.”
“Where are you, sir?” she asked, her tone bored as she typed away on the computer keyboard.
“Behind The Fluffy Cupcake,” I said. “Uhh...the address is...dammit! What’s the address?”
“Is this Brady?” the woman asked.
“Yes!” I exclaimed, “yes, it’s me, Brady Pearson.”
“This is Lynn Fleming. I’ve got a rig dispatched. Who is the victim, and what are her injuries?”
“It’s Haylee!” I exclaimed, my throat closing in on the words. My hand was wet when I pulled it away from her neck, and the red stain made my heart pound in my chest. “Oh God, she’s bleeding and unconscious,” I said, my tone of voice telling her more than my words. I was scared that I was watching the woman I love die. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Hang on, Brady,” she said as she typed. “I need to let the EMTs know the specifics.”
“Should I check her for injuries?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “Don’t move her if you don’t have to. She could have hurt her neck if she fell.”
I held the phone under my chin and rubbed Haylee’s face tenderly with my thumbs, whispering to her without moving her head. She moaned, and her lids fluttered.
“She’s coming around,” I said to the operator.
“Do you hear the sirens?”
“Yes,” I said, letting out the breath I’d been holding.
“Good. Don’t move her. Keep her still until they arrive.”
“I will. Thank you!” I exclaimed, hitting the off button and sticking it in my pocket.