Chapter 3 The Past Is In The Past

Calista stared at the man, her heart racing, her eyes still wide. She was supposed to be panicking, screaming, demanding what the hell he was doing at her house, but her mind was taking time to get there, to realize it was in danger, sluggish with shock.

It would catch up. It always did. It just needed a push.

"Miss Calloway," the stranger called again, and this time he took a step towards her.

And that was the push her mind needed. The fear slammed into her all at once.

She took a step back, her hands trembling. "Don't... don't... Who are you? What are you doing in my house? Get out!"

She kept taking a step back, walking towards the door without alerting him. She just needed to leave here, then she would run as fast as her legs could carry her, and she would call the police. But a little voice at the back of her head told her this man wouldn't be threatened by the police, that the police were probably in his pocket.

She told that voice to shut the hell up.

The man raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender, his expression calm, much to Calista distaste. "I apologize for intruding into your home like this," he said, his voice deep, and oddly... soothing. No, Calista, nothing was soothing about this intruder's voice. "I just wanted to talk."

She narrowed her eyes, her back hitting the door, her fingers scrambling for the handle. Locked. Damn it, the door was locked!

Oh God. No. No, no, no–

"Why couldn't you book an appointment or call as a normal person would?" she snapped, her voice cracking.

The corner of his lips lifted in a smile, his hands still up. "I'm not a normal person."

Her heart beat harder against her chest. She told herself it was from fear, not because of his damn smile. "Damn right you're not."

She knew what kind of person he was, what he did. The men in black? A bullet wound? It was so obvious. This time Calista's heart was racing fast from fear. She knew what he did, she knew he was from the mafia. Maybe a leader. From the way he spoke, stood, that air of power around him. It was all so damn obvious.

She wanted nothing to do with these people. They were part of a life she had buried so deep, she barely remembered it-except in her nightmares. But now, those nightmares were slipping into reality.

Oh, now she was finally panicking.

She threw her bag on the floor, turned to the door, and unlocked it, her hands trembling badly, it was a struggle before she finally got the door open.

She was weak in the knees, fear making her dizzy, but she forced her body to run, she forced her voice to scream for help. "Help!" Louder, Calista. Scream louder.

She ran through her apartment building, screaming, tears streaming down her face.

Her past was in the past. It should stay there.

Her bare feet pounded against the hallway floor. Doors creaked open. Faces peered out, confused and startled. A tall, big man she had seen once or twice came out and she ran straight to him.

"Pl-please, help me," she cried, holding the man's hand in her trembling one.

The man looked at her with worried eyes, letting her hold his hand. "What's wrong?"

"There-" She inhaled to get herself together. "There is a man in my apartment. A stranger. Please help me."

The man's expression darkened. He carefully peeled Calista's hand from his and went inside his apartment. Calista swayed, dizzy with panic. Oh God, he left. He wasn't going to–

Then he came back. Holding a knife. A big one. He jerked his head towards her apartment. "Come on."

Calista sniffed as she led him towards her apartment, staying glued to his side. They got to her apartment. Her door was still wide open, the contents of her bag still sprawled on the floor. And the man? Gone. No one was in her apartment.

"There's no one here," the man informed her after he searched everywhere.

She inhaled a shaky breath, her shoulders shaking with it as she leaned against the wall, rubbing her hand aggressively on her face.

"Do you need me to call the police?" the neighbor asked gently, standing a small distance away from her.

She should. But it was useless.

The police wouldn't help. Because men like him didn't fear the law.

She raised her head and managed a strained smile. "No... no, thank you. I'll call them. Maybe."

That was a lie, of course.

She thanked the man and he left, but she didn't just stay there and wait for the stranger to come back. She picked up her phone, her purse, and her car keys. There was no way in hell she was staying here.

***

Calista stayed in a hotel for two nights. She didn't even go back to her apartment for a change of clothes. She bought the clothes she was wearing.

She was scared beyond relief. God, she was so scared. What did the stranger want from her? Did he want to punish her for speaking to that man in the operating room rudely? Did he want to threaten her?

Or... God, or did he know who she was?

A violent shiver passed through her as she stepped inside her office, closing the door behind her.

Had she... had she slipped and given herself away? She... she couldn't. She was careful. So damn careful.

She sat down behind her desk, dropping her bag. She picked up her coffee and drank it down in one go. She still felt like shit.

Thank goodness she didn't have any operations for this week. Goodness knows what she might do during the operation.

A gentle knock came at her door and Cynthia opened the door and stepped inside, a small smile on her face.

"Dr. Calloway, your patient is here to see you," Cynthia informed her.

"My patient?" Calista asked, a confused look on her face.

Cynthia nodded. "Mr. Jaxon Castillo booked an apartment with you yesterday. You approved of it, ma'am."

She had? And who was Jaxon Castillo? Calista didn't always remember the names of her patients. What? There were a lot. Her brain might melt if she starts trying to remember their names.

And she didn't want to ask Cynthia who that was. Cynthia was already giving her that 'look.' That look that says she knew something was going on with Calista and she was beginning to worry. Calista hated that look.

Cynthia might be her assistant but Calista still liked to keep her life private, tight lid, that not even air could enter. She might have been working in this hospital for five years, but no one knew anything about her. That was how Calista liked to live.

So she gave Cynthia a tight smile as she said, "I'll see him now."

Cynthia nodded and left.

Calista sighed, slumping back on her chair and pressing her index finger against her temple. She was tired, physically and mentally. She needed a break.

Maybe she could take a week off. Since the five years she started working she could count the number of times she had taken leave on one hand.

Yes, you could call her a work freak.

Work was the glue keeping her together. And it felt like some kind of link to her father. He had wanted to be a doctor, but the life he was born into didn't allow that. But she could. So she was doing this for her father.

A knock came at her door and Calista was immediately on her feet, slapping her fake smile on to greet her patient.

But that smile turned sour when she saw who it was.