Knox (A Merrick Brothers Novel)

by Prescott Lane

  “Yeah,” Gracie says, hopping back into her pillow fort.

  “Gracie is really good with voices,” Everly says quietly. “She knew Knox was the voice of the bear from her movie immediately.”

  I get to my feet, grabbing my keys. Gigi takes hold of my elbow. “Mae?”

  Looking down at Everly and Gracie, I whisper to Gigi, “Call the police. Call Timothy. Now.”

  “Where are you going?” Everly asks.

  “The station,” I say.

  *

  It’s a good forty-five minutes from Haven’s Point to the radio station in Denver. By the time I pull into the parking lot, the show only has a few minutes left.

  On the drive, I confirmed with Everly that Timothy called the police. I’ve also listened here and there to the show. If I’m being honest, I’d say Amy did a pretty good job tonight for her first time—if I hadn’t also been debating whether she is a fucking deranged kidnapper.

  I keep going over what Gracie said. I still can’t believe it. Surely Gracie is mistaken. I mean, I’ve worked with Amy for a while now. She was always hardworking, eager. I was helping her apartment hunt.

  Crazy lunatics don’t dress cute and show up at work every day with a smile on their face!

  Amy was at Gigi’s party. I know Gracie had to see her there. Wouldn’t Gracie recognize her and tell the police? Gracie said the woman who took her had black hair. I guess Amy could’ve worn a wig and sunglasses. That would explain why Gracie couldn’t identify her. And Gracie is only five.

  But Amy? Knox’s stalker?

  That doesn’t make sense. I hired her a few weeks before Knox called my show that first time. Unless she did some major sleuthing and discovered I was his old high school girlfriend and that’s why she applied for the job. Still, that seems farfetched. I guess it could be a coincidence that she worked for me and was obsessed with Knox, but I don’t believe in coincidences.

  Maybe the obsession started after she knew about us, but that seems quick. Don’t these crazy stalker things develop over time?

  I’ve thought about calling Knox almost a dozen times, but he’s probably still watching his movie, or celebrating at a party afterwards. If he even picked up, I’m not sure what I would tell him. I don’t have any real answers. All I have is the word of a five-year-old.

  I look up at the radio station. I don’t know why I’m here. It’s not like I’m going to storm the building myself. And it’s certainly not smart to confront someone in a parking lot in the middle of the night. But if Amy actually did this, I want to be here if and when the police show up. I want to see the look on her face. Most of all, I want some damn answers.

  But maybe I’m getting way ahead of things. I’m assuming that the police will show up, take her in tonight for questioning. I’m also assuming that things would move quickly, and then I’m not going to get any answers directly from Amy. I don’t know if any of this is true, but right or wrong, these are the assumptions I’m working under.

  I sense my window of opportunity is closing. This is my chance.

  My mind is racing. All the weird and terrible things that have happened lately. I mean, was it Amy that initially told that Denver reporter that Knox was at my house? Was it her that gave my flight information to the press in L.A.? Then there’s those compromising photos that were leaked. She wouldn’t? I mean, could one woman really do that to another woman?

  But she does have the background for that. Her technical knowhow was a huge part of why I hired her. She’s a computer whiz and handled all the social media platforms, website updates, and technical programming for the show.

  Picking up my phone, I glare up at the window, the one closest to the booth I know she’s sitting in. Screw it!

  Luckily, the call screener who answers knows who I am, and patches me right through to Amy. My call is next to go on-air with Reverend Mother, A.K.A. Amy. A.K.A. kidnapper.

  My heart pounds against my chest. I can’t remember being this nervous on-air since my first night. Then it felt like I was being fed to the wolves. Now, I’m the wolf, and I’m about to slaughter the wolf masquerading as a lamb.

  “Welcome, caller,” I hear Amy say. “What’s your name?”

  She’s not using my standard line of, “How can we break you?” She might be a kidnapper, but at least she’s not a thief.

  “Hello, Reverend Mother,” I say, almost vomiting in my mouth. “This is Mother Superior.”

  She laughs. “I think the cat’s out of the bag. Alright if I call you Mae?”

  “Sure,” I say. “I wanted to call in and wish you luck. So happy I got through before the show ended.”

  “That’s so sweet,” Amy says. “You’ve been listening.”

  “Of course,” I say, the bile rising again. “Great show. I can’t thank you enough for taking over for me. I also wanted to let the listeners know that I plan on being back very soon.”

  “I’m sure they’re happy to hear that,” Amy says. “Thanks again for . . .”

  “That’s not the only reason I called,” I say, staring up at the window, wondering if she’s smiling or squirming in my chair. “I actually have a problem. I’m so used to talking about stuff on-air, I thought you could help.”

  “I’d be honored,” Amy says. “Of course, we all know about your latest breakup. How can we help?”

  My heart squeezes a little. Knox? If his stalker is Amy, and she gets locked up, then maybe he and I can . . . Ugh, I miss him so much, but I push that aside for the moment. “Actually, this isn’t really about a boyfriend. It’s about a friend.”

  “Okay,” Amy says. “I’m intrigued.”

  “I’m afraid this person betrayed me,” I say. “I suspect she went after my man.”

  “Juicy,” Amy says. “What did she do, exactly?”

  “First, she was sending him letters. They were anonymous, so it took me a while to figure out who was sending them.”

  “Hmm,” Amy says. “He showed you the letters?”

  “Not all of them, but yes,” I say. “The first one was more of a thank you note.”

  “That doesn’t sound inappropriate,” Amy says, without hesitating one bit.

  “No, it wasn’t,” I say, “But then I suspect she was the one who leaked our relationship to the press.”

  “Why would she do that?” Amy asks.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe she wants him all to herself.”

  Amy laughs a little, and suddenly I feel like I’m way off base. “Maybe you’re being jealous. I mean, you were dating a famous actor.”

  “Believe me, there’s nothing this woman has for me to be jealous about.”

  “That’s harsh to say about someone you said is your friend.”

  “A friend doesn’t come to my house in the middle of the night, scare me half to death, leave shit on my porch then steal my boyfriend’s shoes!”

  This time Amy hesitates. I hear her breathing on the other end of the line. My blood runs cold. It’s the first time that I’m truly confident she did this, that she is capable of doing this. And I don’t think she had a clue how much of the puzzle I put together.

  “That sounds . . .” she pauses. “What proof do you have that your friend did those things?”

  “I’d rather not reveal that,” I say. “She’s listening.”

  “Why would your friend do all this?” Amy asks.

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” I say. “Knox never did anything to this woman. Any theories?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have a criminal mind,” she says, and I swear I can hear the smile in her voice, taunting me. “Perhaps it’s time for me to take another caller. Best of luck to you, Mae.”

  “One more thing,” I say. “Are chocolate cupcakes your favorite?”

  The line goes dead.

  But I don’t leave. I can’t. I need to see her. I want to look her in the eye. From a distance, I hear sirens approaching.

  My heart thunders in my chest. Any remaining disbelief I had melts awa
y. This is happening. But I still need to know why. Why would Amy do this?

  Watching the officers enter the building, I get out of my car. The chill of the night air rattles my bones, and I wrap my arms around myself. The door to the radio station opens, and I watch as two uniformed police officers escort Amy to their squad car, apparently taking her in for questioning. Amy’s eyes find mine through the darkness—cold and hard. She looks so different. It’s like I’m not even looking at the same person.

  Voices have changed my life.

  I fell in love with Knox listening to his voice over old cassette tapes.

  I made my living using my voice.

  And Gracie solved a crime that way.

  *

  The sun rises on a new day. I haven’t slept. I just hung up with the police and walk out to the field of wildflowers around my cottage.

  It was always so hard for me to believe Amy was Knox’s stalker.

  That’s because she wasn’t.

  She was mine.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Knox

  Five years ago, I knocked on her door after a red carpet, and I quickly had my ass handed to me. This time, this morning, I’m hoping she hands me back her heart. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to get her back. I don’t care how long it takes, who is stalking me, or how many times she shuts me down.

  I’m not giving up on her, on us.

  In movies, there are always these epic lines about love. I’ve had some good ones in my films, though I’m not sure they compare to those in Jerry Maguire (“You had me at hello”) or As Good as it Gets (“You make me want to be a better man”) or The Fault in our Stars (“It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you.”)

  The thing that makes those lines great is truth.

  I feel that way about Mae. I don’t have a line to use on her, but I have the truth.

  I love her. I’ve always loved her. I always will.

  The sun still coming up, the plane touches down in Denver, and I don’t wait for us to stop before I pull out my phone, considering calling her again. But I don’t call this time. She never answers, anyway. And I need to do this in person.

  My phone rings. I wish it was Mae, but am even more surprised at who’s on the other end. My heart rate spikes. All I can think is that something else has happened. That something has happened to Mae. Why else would she be calling?

  “Everly, is Mae alright? Gracie?”

  “Have you seen the news?” she asks.

  “No, I just landed in Denver.”

  “The police just arrested Amy for stalking and kidnapping,” she says.

  “Amy?” I ask. “Amy is the one who’s been stalking me?”

  “No,” Everly whispers. “She was stalking Mae.”

  *

  Turns out, it was never about me. It was always about Mae.

  Amy hates her. Everyone just assumed it was about me, and that’s what Amy was counting on. That everyone would assume the Hollywood actor was the intended victim, not the anonymous radio personality from Small Town, U.S.A.

  So Amy sent me the letters, took my shoes, and hacked my phone, but it was all designed to slowly destroy Mae’s life.

  Mae was always the target, and Amy was intent on fucking up her life. It was Mae that got scared at her house that night. It was Mae that had compromising photos spread across cyberspace. It was Mae that got suspended from her job, with Amy taking her place. It was Mae who saw Everly suffer when Gracie was kidnapped. It was Mae that broke up with me.

  At the police station, Gracie wasn’t able to identify Amy out of a lineup, even when she wore sunglasses and a black wig. But as soon as the cops made her speak, Gracie knew exactly who “the cupcake lady” was.

  We were all left with the same question – why? When all roads led back to Mae, the police started considering the possibility that maybe this wasn’t about me at all. After all, Amy came to work for Mae before she and I were back together.

  The police ran down a theory that perhaps Amy was a crazed fan who discovered I was Mae’s ex, and was using Mae to try to get closer to me. But that was soon dismissed when the police contacted Amy’s ex-husband.

  Low and behold, he had once called Mae’s show. Phone records confirmed it. The radio station sent the police an archived copy of the show. He called in asking for advice because his wife had cheated. It was a brief call, right before a commercial break, and she quickly gave him her standard cheating advice. Mae couldn’t forgive that betrayal, but more power to you if you want to try.

  He ultimately filed for divorce. The police talked to a few people who knew them before the divorce, and it was widely suspected that he cheated on Amy first. Of course, he never offered that information to Mae, and Mae never asked for any other details on the call. Apparently, he made out fine in the divorce, but Amy was left in bad shape—no house, no job, no money.

  So, that was Amy’s motive for all this – revenge, wanting to get back at Mae for her “bad” advice, offering baseless opinions without all the facts, wanting Mae to lose everything just like she did. She took the job at the station to get close to Mae, to dismantle her life from the inside out.

  And it almost worked.

  She scared the shit out of Mae, threw her to the paparazzi, exposed her private photos, took her job, and then—worst of all—kidnapped a little girl to stoke more fear and panic, to torture and torment Mae with the notion that her loved ones were in danger, which eventually led Mae to break up with me.

  What kind of fucked up person does all of that? Amy appeared perfectly normal. She never gave any indication that she was capable of doing what she did.

  As I pull up to Mae’s house, I see her sitting among the wildflowers by her cottage. Her hair is down, blowing in the breeze, and her head is resting on her knees. Fuck, she’s beautiful.

  I wonder how long she’s been sitting there, alone. Women are softer by design—their skin, their hair, their hearts, so their strength is often missed, overlooked. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Mae is the perfect example. She’s strong enough to withstand those pictures, figure out this whole mess—all on her own.

  I’m just hoping she realizes that we’re stronger together.

  I’m barely out of the car when her head turns to me. Her blue eyes look so sad. Tears are flowing down her cheeks. Shaking her head, she cries a little. “How can you be here already? The police just arrested Amy a few hours ago.”

  “I was coming back to fight for you,” I say, kneeling down beside her. “I didn’t know about Amy until I landed. Everly called me.”

  “She was never after you,” Mae says, looking out to the water. “It was me.”

  “I know.”

  “The police think when you called my show that first time, she saw an opportunity and took it. She could make everyone think it was about you, while destroying me.”

  “I hope she rots in hell,” I say.

  Mae begins to sob. “You know why I left, right? You understand? I thought I was protecting my family, my friends. That’s the only reason why I . . .

  “Mae, baby, I listened to your cassette,” I say, wiping her tears. “I understand.”

  “I made so many mistakes. I trusted Amy.”

  “You had no reason not to,” I say, playing with the hair around her face. “I’m sorry.”

  “I broke up with you,” she sobs, a small smile breaking through. “By cassette! Shouldn’t I be the one apologizing?”

  “I don’t need you to apologize,” I say and hold her face in my hands. “I just need you to take me back.”

  “No,” she says softly, leaning in closer. “I need you to take me back.”

  Right before my lips land on hers, I whisper, “I never let you go.”

  EPILOGUE

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  Knox

  “Did you hear that caller tonight?” Mae calls out to me, walking into her cottage on the lake.

  “Which one?” I yell to her, not coming out of
the bedroom.

  Waiting for her to come to me, I look out the window. The moon is out, the lake is calm, the flowers are in bloom, and everything seems right with the world.

  For starters, Amy is behind bars. She pled guilty. No one ever said she was dumb. No way was she going to win a jury trial if they put Gracie on the stand against her. Since Gracie was missing for only an hour or so and the kidnapping didn’t involve a weapon, she pled down to five years. Not long enough in my opinion, but it wasn’t my call.

  The radio station was practically begging for Mae to return. Mae played some hardball with them, though, making them grovel, getting a new contract and more benefits.

  “Some guy called in talking about how testicles have taste buds!” she says, laughing. “Have you heard anything like that before? Apparently, if you put orange juice or soy sauce on your balls, you can taste it!”

  “I can’t believe some dude actually tried that,” I holler back.

  We’ve been splitting our time between California and Colorado for the past couple months. It’s working out fine. The longest period we’ve spent apart is about one night a week. Not ideal, but not terrible. My team has done its best to purge the internet of those pictures. It happened, and Mae has come to some sort of peace about it, or at least acceptance, and she knows I’ll do my best to shield us from the ugly side of fame.

  You lose some freedom doing what I do. And, in turn, she loses some, too. There is a cost, but we’re not going to lose each other. That’s too big of a price to pay.

  “I’m waiting for you. What are you doing?” I call out to her. “Come to bed.”

  “Always trying to get in my pants,” I hear her laugh, her voice growing near.

  “Is it working?” I say.

  “It’s . . .” She stops mid-sentence when she sees me on the bed, a great big surprise waiting for her. She bursts into a giggle.

  “What did you do?” she cries.