Alison Hewitt - Stalked: A Dangerous Predator. A Life Lived in Fear. A Terrifying True Story

For victims of stalkers, their families

and all those involved in helping

them through their traumas.

May you find peace again.

Prologue

BANG... BANG... BANG.

The noise exploded in my head like a series of gunshots, ripping through my ears and sending a hot, angry wave of adrenaline bubbling through my veins. My eyes shot open and I jumped out of my skin, scrambling from under the table where I was lying and onto my feet, poised, ready to fight, scream or run.

What the hell was that noise? Had Al broken in? Was he coming for me?

A split second later all was suddenly quiet, and the deafening banging retreated to a soft ticking and gentle whooshing. I realized that the noise was just the sound of the radiator, as the central heating fired up and the water percolated through the pipes right next to where I had been lying on the floor, with my face nestled into the dusty carpet.

I was still alive. I was still safe. It was another day.

It must be early morning. I looked up and could see the pale yellow sun peeking through the heavy, draped curtains into my ground-floor converted studio flat, sending a stream of iridescent light across the floor.

I reached for my iPhone. I had been clutching it in my right hand as I had fallen asleep, like some sort of comfort blanket. The bright white of the screen glowed back at me it was just after 6 a.m. I picked it up with my clammy hands and started to type, my fingers working slowly.

The police had red-tagged my phone so I had to check in with them the previous night and first thing in the morning to tell them I was OK and nothing had happened in the night. If I called them, they would be there in a few minutes.

I sent the same message I had just a few hours before, writing: Im fine, no news.

I did this punctually that morning and evening, since my ex-boyfriend, Al Amin Dhalla, had been arrested while carrying out target practice using a crossbow in a field in Wiltshire. The police found that the weapons Al was using were just within the legal range, so they could only arrest him for driving without a valid licence. All the same, he had been harassing me for months and this new development suggested his behaviour was escalating, and that he was planning something awful.

There was still no news of him. He was still at large. They didnt know where he was but I could sense he was nearby. I dont know how I knew he was, but nowhere felt safe anymore. I watched my back constantly, kept to the main roads when I walked to and from work, and double or triple-checked the different rooms of the flat when I entered. As I made my way to the hospital where I was working as a registrar, I imagined he was following me and would spin round, ready to fight, only to see no one there, except the odd jogger bounding along listening to music or a fellow commuter clutching a handbag or briefcase, pacing their way to their office in the distance. I would quicken my pace until I was practically running, while beads of sweat ran down my back and pooled at the bottom of my spine.

The police were seriously concerned for my safety, which although bringing home to me just how much danger I was in also gave me some comfort. They reassured me that they would do everything they could to help if I needed them and would respond very quickly to my call. They knew as well as I did that Al was a serious threat to me. His behaviour had spiralled seriously out of control.

When Id lain down on the floor the previous evening, I had kept my clothes and trainers on. The laces were wound and pulled into double knots so tightly that they pinched my feet. I wanted to be ready to sprint if I needed to. I had clutched my phone in my right hand, my index finger hovering above the speed dial button. As I tried to rest, my face staring at the underside of the table and thoughts racing through my mind like a black-and-white film montage on fast forward, I had fully expected to spend a sleepless night tossing and turning, waiting for the morning to arrive. I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my body, heightening every sense, and my heart banged so loudly it echoed in my head. My body tingled uncomfortably, as though an army of insects was prickling my skin from within. The sounds of the wind whistling through the trees outside, the shriek of the seagulls overhead, the neighbours padding around their flat upstairs, the clock ticking mechanically in the kitchen, the beating of my own heart every small noise was amplified to the point it almost hurt my ears. But somehow in the early hours, I had drifted into a dream-filled sleep, numb and exhausted to my bones.

As I started to wake properly, I blinked hard. With the effects of the adrenaline beginning to wear off, my eyelids felt heavy and cumbersome, like they were too big for my face. I was desperately tired. It was just a few hours earlier that I had arranged my duvet and pillow under a wooden table in my living room the place I considered safest. My flat was compact and there was only one escape route through the front door. The bedroom had large, high Victorian windows and I knew if Al tried to fire a weapon through them, he would hit the bullseye immediately. I decided that if he came hammering through the front door, he would dash past me without looking to his side, thinking I would be curled up asleep in the bed we once shared.

My flat was once my safe haven and when I used to step through the front door it was like it hugged me. Now, it felt cold and lonely and like I had never lived there at all.

I tried not to be too frightened, but whenever I succeeded the same thoughts would pop back into my head and I would become a bag of nerves once more. If Al had bought a crossbow once, he could get one again. It would be easy enough. Whatever he had intended to do to me, he would try again, I was sure of it.

I had briefly considered staying with one of my friends, bundling up a few belongings into a bag and making a phone call, but I couldnt put anyone I knew at risk. I knew I was vulnerable, although looking back I question whether it had really sunk in just how much I was gambling with my safety by staying there. I had shut down and rather than feel terrified, I felt absent, as though all that was left of me was an empty shell. I couldnt cope with the inevitable hysteria from my friends about what was happening. I didnt want to talk about it over endless cups of lukewarm coffee and answer the same questions: did I not see the warning signs? Why hadnt I finished the relationship sooner? What might happen next? Could I not tell he was a maniac? So instead I kept my feelings and fears bottled up inside, choosing not to tell anyone outside my family the full details of the situation.

I didnt want to talk about it, think about it or live it. I just wanted to get on with my life and work was the one thing that was keeping me going. Work meant I had to get up in the morning, have a shower, put on some clothes and somehow put one foot in front of the other, step outside the front door and make my way to the hospital. However tempted I was to hide under the table, curl up and never come out, I knew I had to keep some semblance of my former life. And anyway, I knew there was no point: Al would find me wherever I was. He would track me down if I moved in with a friend, if I went on holiday for a few weeks, retreated back to my childhood home or even if I went into hiding for weeks or months. He was so fixated with me, obsessed to the point of insanity.

He was like a completely different person from the one I had first met. The man I had once loved had turned into a monster I barely recognized. I found it hard to reconcile these two men in my mind: Mr Dhalla, who was making my life a living hell, and Al, the fun and easy-going guy who had wooed me with exciting trips and dinners at smart restaurants. At one time, before I discovered who he truly was, I had loved him.