Chapter 13: Welfare Check

Bryce pounded on the door again, and the whole bungalow shook.

I was out of the bed before Quinton could sit up.

I pulled on his flannel and nothing else, and it came down to my knees.

"Sabina, wait," Quinton said, hunting for his jeans.

"No. He wants me scared. I'm going to answer it."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"Fine. Bring your pants."

He laughed in spite of himself, and the sound steadied me.

Through the front window I could see Bryce on the porch steps, swaying, with his phone held up to light his way.

Two neighbors stood on the sidewalk in their robes.

A third had come out with a dog.

"Sabina!" Bryce yelled. "Come out and tell me you're fine! I'm worried about you!"

I opened the door and stepped onto the porch.

The cold hit my bare legs.

"I'm fine," I said. "Go home."

His whole face lit up, and I hated that I knew exactly what that look was.

It was the look of a man who had been proved right.

"There she is. See? She's confused. Look at her, she's feverish. I called the police because she's not herself."

"You called the police?" Quinton said behind me.

"A welfare check. A man took advantage of a sick woman and I'm her family."

"You're not my family," I said. "You're not even my emergency contact anymore. I changed it Monday."

A patrol car turned onto the street with its lights going, no siren.

Bryce spread his arms wide.

Two officers got out, a woman and a man, and walked up the path slowly with flashlights down.

"Evening," the woman said. "Somebody report a woman in distress?"

"That was me," Bryce said. "She's disoriented. She's been sick for days."

The officer looked at me.

"Ma'am, are you all right?"

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