by D P Lyle
“I am,” Pancake said. “Famous and infamous.”
“This is Megan,” Nicole said.
Pancake gave her a hug. “You’re even prettier in person.”
She laughed. “And I just took my makeup off.”
“Don’t need it.”
“This is Abby,” Nicole said.
Pancake nodded to her. “Another pretty lady.”
Abby smiled. “You are the charmer, aren’t you?”
Pancake gave a slight head bow. “That’s me. Charming and all that.”
We rolled chairs away from the empty desks and sat.
“So you’re the cavalry?” Megan said to Pancake.
Pancake grinned. “You might say.”
“Anything new?” Nicole asked Megan.
“Looks like he sent another email while I was on the air.” She opened it. It read:
“Your show was excellent. Made me hungry. And not just for fresh fruits and vegetables. You are so incredibly beautiful. Big news. I have something very important for you. Check your email frequently. It’ll be coming soon.”
Pancake had rolled his chair closer to the screen and nudged up next to Megan. He studied the note. “What do you think?” He glanced toward Megan.
“What do you think?” Megan asked.
“I do have some thoughts on this, on everything, but you first. I want to know how you feel about this.”
Okay, so Pancake opted for plan B. Talk about the options.
Megan hesitated, her brow furrowed, then she said, “Okay. I find this one a little more bothersome than many of the others. The ‘something important’ carries a lot of possibilities. The ones rattling in my head aren’t all pleasant. Of course, the whole ‘hungry’ thing is disturbing.” Her gaze fell to the floor. “How does it make me feel?” She looked up. “Scared. Vulnerable.”
“Oh, sorry.”
The voice came from behind us. I turned to see a young man, maybe late twenties, khakis, green and brown plaid shirt, untucked, a stack of pages in one hand. Short and what you might call pudgy, he wore round, black-rimmed glasses that made him look smart. Like an owl. I expected to see a pocket protector and a slide rule in his shirt pocket.
“I didn’t know you were in a meeting,” he said.
“No problem,” Megan said. “We were just talking.” She looked at us. “This is Darren. He’s our researcher extraordinaire. I, for sure, couldn’t do a single show without his help.”
“She says that all the time,” Darren said. He glanced down, rolled one shoe on its side. He looked like a schoolboy before the principal. “But the truth is that she’d do just fine without me.” He gave a head bob, another glance at the floor. Then extended the pages toward her. “Here’s what I have so far on the summer beach events.”
“I’ll take those,” Abby said, extending her arm. “I’m putting that story together right now.”
Darren passed the pages to her. He gave another half nod, said, “Back at it,” and left the room.
“I’d say you have another fan,” Nicole said.
“What?” Megan asked. “Oh no. Darren’s just a friend.”
“Not sure he sees it that way.”
“Based on?”
“Body language. The way he looks at you.” Nicole smiled. “It’s sweet.”
“Told you,” Abby said.
Megan rolled her eyes. “Don’t start that again. Abby has been harping on that since she got here.”
“Because it’s obvious,” Abby said. “Apparently to everyone but you.” She laughed. “He has a crush on you.”
“Get real.”
“I’m afraid I agree with Abby and Nicole,” I said. “He does look smitten.”
“It just dawned on me,” Abby said. “Do you think Darren could be the one sending the messages and presents?”
“No,” Megan said. “No way.”
“How do you know?” Pancake asked.
“Because it’s not possible. He’s so … nice. Shy and polite.” She motioned toward her computer. “Darren would never send this kind of stuff.”
Pancake spun toward her. He clasped her hands in his. Hers disappeared. “Earlier, we were talking about you feeling scared and vulnerable. Why? Other than the words, why do you feel scared?”
Another hesitation. “Because I don’t know who he is. Where he is. What he has in mind. Does he want to screw me? Marry me? Harm me? What?”
Pancake gave a slow nod. “Exactly. We have no idea who it is. Could be anyone.”
Megan nodded but said nothing.
Pancake continued. “We have no clear picture of his intentions. Unrequited puppy love that will fade, or something stronger, more demanding.”
“Now that’s scary.”
“Unfortunately, it’s the truth,” Pancake said. “We simply don’t know. It could be someone who has never met you. Only seen you on TV. Or someone closer. Like Darren.”
“It’s not Darren,” Megan said.
“He does know a lot about you,” I said. “All your contact info, where you live.”
Megan glanced toward the door. She seemed to be searching for a response. Her email program dinged.
It was from him, the stalker. She opened it. We all gathered around and read.
“A glorious day. A milestone. A threshold even. My heart is filled with love for you and I want to make you my wife. To that end, I now formally ask you to marry me. For better, or worse, til death do us part. I’ve already planned the honeymoon. In Mexico. Followed by a lifetime of love. Don’t forget to pack your gift.”
Megan’s breath caught.
“Open the attachment,” I said.
“What? Oh, I didn’t even see it.”
She opened it. A single page. A marriage contract. Her name filled in, his blank.
“This is getting crazier,” Megan said. “I need to do something to put an end to this.”
“Answer him,” Pancake said.
“What?”
“Tell him you’re flattered. Tell him you aren’t saying no but that you think you should meet. Spend some time with each other. That you can’t agree to something as special as marriage with someone you don’t know.”
“I thought you said she shouldn’t meet with him,” I said.
“I said she shouldn’t meet him alone. Alone being the operative word. With us there, it’s a different story.” He looked at the computer screen again. Nodded toward it. “The truth is, he just might have given us a pathway.”
“What?” Megan asked.
“Send the reply. Ask for a place and time to meet.”
“You sure?” Megan asked.
“The shortest path between two points is a straight line. This could be that.” He shrugged. “If he takes the bait.”
“Do you think he will?” Megan asked.
“Depends on his true agenda. If he really wants to meet you and show you what a swell guy he is, then he might. If his plan is to continue terrorizing you, probably not.”
“Unless he wants to get me alone where he can do something to me.”
Pancake smiled. “That’s what I’m here for.”
CHAPTER 16
IT WAS ELEVEN p.m. A documentary on Ted Bundy droned from the TV. This one peppered with interviews with the ever-charming Ted. Strange to see him talking so calmly, his classic smirk front and center. Cool dude when all was said and done.
The half-full bottle of Grey Goose sat on the coffee table. He picked it up. “More?” he asked.
“Sure. Why not. We’ve come this far.”
He refilled both glasses, then pointed at the TV. “There’s a dude who understood terror.”
“Got to see it up close and personal. Last breath sort of stuff.”
“Like you haven’t?”
“True.” A sip of vodka. “You’ve got to hand it to Bundy. He did it right. Kidnapping, terrorizing his victims for hours if not days, before killing them. Heady stuff. Not like that coward Berkowitz. What a slug. Shooting someone from ten
feet isn’t the same as actually feeling them struggle in your hands while you watch their life slip away. I mean, Ted had a front-row seat to the raw terror and saw in their eyes the final resignation that fate had come calling.”
“Aren’t we waxing poetic tonight?”
“It’s the vodka talking.”
“What does the vodka say about our next step?”
“Her reply is a trap, of course. No way a meet with her will happen. For sure, not on her terms and at her chosen location. Besides, it’s too early for that. I want to play some more. This’s merely a ploy to expose us.”
“It is. How do you want to respond to her request?”
“Let me work on it. I’ll come up with something by morning.”
“Surely you have some ideas?”
“I do. Just need to think about the right words and tone. All I know for sure is that it will show indignation and anger. It’s time to up the ante and make the threats more real.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“It will be.”
“Of that, I’m sure.” He drained his glass. “More?”
“Sure.”
CHAPTER 17
THE NEXT MORNING, Megan, Abby, and Darren huddled before Megan’s computer. A video of fierce waves crashing at The Wedge played on the screen. When it finished, Megan rolled her chair back.
“I like that one best,” Megan said.
“Me, too,” Abby added.
They had watched a dozen beach scene films. Huntington Beach surfers, Laguna Beach sunbathers, Newport Beach strollers, and more surfers at Trestles near the San Onofre nuclear plant, one of The OC’s most famous wave-riding spots.
“Maybe frame the story with this one,” Darren said. “The images of The Wedge are powerful and will be a good intro and outro.” He glanced at Megan. “That’s my thought anyway.”
Megan nodded. “I agree. You found all of these in our archives?”
“I did. We actually have a pretty large collection of similar videos. I selected these, but if you want to see others, I can have them in no time.”
“No. I think we have plenty to work with here. Now, Abby and I need to get the script put together and we’ll be ready to get into production.”
“We have time,” Abby said. “This isn’t going to run until next month. I do have much of the script written already. At least the preliminary version. It’ll still need your magic touch.”
“Magic?” Megan raised an eyebrow. “Does that make me the good witch or the bad witch?”
“Definitely the good one,” Darren said. He blushed.
Megan buried her smile. Mostly. “Good job with this. Management will be thrilled we have all the footage we need. Saves the money of a film crew.”
“Well,” Darren said, standing. “I better get back to it.”
“Thanks,” Megan said. “Excellent work.
He nodded, turned to leave.
Megan’s email program dinged. She spun toward her screen and opened it.
Abby scooted up next to her. “It’s from him.”
“Who?” Darren asked.
“Her boyfriend,” Abby said. “Or should I say fiancé?”
Darren looked confused. “What? Fiancé?”
“Abby’s simply poking fun at me.”
“This is the guy who’s been sending the flowers and candy?” Darren asked.
“The same.”
“I thought he was just some fan.”
“More than that,” Abby said. “He’s a creep.”
“Well, tell him to send more candy.” Darren laughed, patted his stomach, and left the room.
Megan felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t kept Darren in the loop on any of this. He, of course, knew about the flowers and the candy that came to the station but she had mostly concealed the emails and texts. Only Abby knew about them. So, why had she kept Darren in the dark? He was a friend, and a coworker, and they were together every day.
She flashed on what Nicole and Jake—Abby too—had said about Darren having a crush on her. Was that even true? Did she subconsciously sense his infatuation and that made her keep him at arm’s length? She still couldn’t see it, but were all three of them right about this and she was wandering around clueless? It wouldn’t be the first time. She remembered back in high school when a popular boy had a thing for her. He was too shy to say anything and she had no inkling he was interested. She definitely felt the same about him, but in the end, nothing ever happened and like the proverbial ships in the night they each went their separate ways. She hadn’t learned about it until years later when she reconnected with a classmate and she told her of his infatuation.
But the major part of her reluctance was that she felt embarrassed. Not the right word but it was at least something akin to that. Maybe awkward or self-conscious would fit better. Regardless, she didn’t want Darren, or anyone at the studio for that matter, to look at her—what? Differently? Another part was that she didn’t want to air her laundry in the workplace. Angst among the staff, or worse the management and the owners, could create difficulties for her. No one wanted problem employees even if the troubles weren’t of their own making.
She’d seen it before. Many years ago, when she was at another station, one of her coworkers had had boyfriend problems. She brought them to work on her back every day. Her constant mood swings and crying jags made things uncomfortable and it definitely affected her performance. She ultimately “found other employment.” A euphemism for being fired.
The truth was that only Abby knew what was really going on and Megan preferred to keep it that way.
Megan scrolled down to the body of the email. They read:
“Why do you mock me, demean me, and treat me like a gutter dog? I love you. Deeply, completely, forever. I know that deep down you feel the same way, yet you refuse my proposal. You’ve crushed my heart, my very soul. Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you are the gutter dweller. I beg you to reconsider. But know this—YOU ARE MINE. If I can’t have you, no one will. Not now. Not ever.”
The words blurred as tears collected in her eyes. She sniffed.
“This is not good,” Abby said.
“Not good? It’s downright frightening.”
“Terrifying might be a better word.”
Megan knuckled a tear from the corner of one eye. “I need to call Nicole.”
“What’s happening?” Nicole asked when she answered.
“I got his reply,” Megan said.
“Oh?”
“It’s bad. Very bad.”
“Tell me.”
“Better that you see it. Can you come?”
“We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
After she ended the call, Abby hugged her. “I’m so sorry.”
Megan was near breaking down but she caught herself. No, she thought, don’t let him win. Don’t make a scene.
“Thanks,” Megan said as she broke the embrace. “I will not, will not, will not let him do this to me.”
Abby clasped both of Megan’s hands. “What can I do?”
“You’re doing it. You’re here and right now I need that.”
She saw tears collect in Abby’s eyes.
“God, I hate this,” Abby said. “Brings back too many memories.”
“I’m sorry,” Megan said. “I don’t want any of this to fall on you.”
“Too late.” Abby wiped her eyes. “But you’re strong, and I’m here. We’ll get through this.”
Megan sighed. “Will we?”
“We will.”
A warm wave of relief enveloped Megan when Nicole, Jake, and Pancake appeared. She stood, hugged Nicole, and let it all out. Tears flowed and her shoulders lurched.
“It’s okay,” Nicole said. “We’re here now.”
“I’m so scared.”
“Show us,” Pancake said.
Megan motioned toward her computer. Pancake sat, read the note.
“He’s declared himself,” Pancake said. “Now we know what we’
re dealing with.”
“Which is?” Megan asked.
“He’s deranged, obsessed, and based on this note a little more unhinged.”
“Dangerous?” Megan asked.
Pancake nodded. “Could be.”
Megan swiped tears from her eyes. “What now?”
Pancake stood, paced the room, head down, deep in thought. As if no one else existed. He stopped. “Not sure. Except we have to find him.”
“How?” I asked.
“That’s the trick. I’ll call my guy. See what he can do on his end.”
“The NSA guy?” Nicole asked.
“NSA?” Abby asked. “Are you talking about THE NSA?”
“Yeah,” Pancake said.
“How do you do that?”
“Ray,” Jake said. “My father. Pancake, too. They have connections no one knows about.”
“Can he help?” Megan asked.
“Hopefully.”
“Shouldn’t we go to the police?” Megan asked.
“Doubt they can help,” Pancake said.
“Why would you think that?”
“They have rules and laws to abide. Things that put handcuffs on them instead of the bad guys. We don’t. We—me, Ray, my guy—have access to things they don’t. Places they can’t go.”
“That’s true,” Jake said. “But I agree with Megan. I think it would be smart to at least have an official report on file if nothing else.”
“It’s the nothing else that’s the problem,” Pancake said. “If he finds out we’ve involved the police, he might melt down.”
“What does that mean?” Megan asked.
“Look, I don’t want to scare you,” Pancake began.
“Too late for that. I’m beyond scared. So tell me and don’t sugarcoat it.”
“Okay.” Pancake glanced toward the window. “He could become aggressive. Do something crazy like show up with a gun. Here, at your home, on the street. Anywhere. Go out in a blaze of glory, so to speak.”
“Are you serious?” Megan asked.
“As serious as a heart attack. These guys are often hanging by a thread. This email suggests he just might be getting there. Pressure mounts as his obsessions are thwarted. He goes to condition red, and anything is possible.”