by Chase Connor
Oma pulled her arms out of the closet, her shotgun in hand.
“Whoa, Mrs. Wanger!” Lucas put his hands up.
I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation. “What are you gonna do, Oma? Shoot ‘em all like they’re looking for potatoes in your garden?”
Then I had a thought.
“Maybe I should call my publicist? Or manager?”
“While you’re doing that, I’m gonna see how many of these shitheads I can put in the hospital.” Oma waggled her head. “Or the morgue. Depends on how well they get low.”
“Oma.” I stepped in front of her, putting my hand on the shotgun. “You can’t shoot paparazzi. Well, you can’t shoot anyone without good cause.”
“I’m gonna tell ‘em to get off my private property.” She snapped, glancing at the door. “Then I’m gonna count to ten. If they ain’t gone, that ain’t my damn problem.”
“That’s not good enough.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Mrs. Wagner,” Lucas added, “you could get into real trouble.”
“From who?” She hooted. “Wesley Fatass Dennard? I know I won’t miss him. Wish to hell he’d come try to do something about me defending my property.”
“Get real, Oma.” I rolled my eyes. “You aren’t shooting the people on the porch, and you’re certainly not shooting the sheriff.”
“I got a golf club in the closet.” She suggested. “I can always go out there swinging with that if you think it’ll cause less trouble. Be fun to watch ‘em all scatter either way.”
“That is absolutely rid—”
Then I had another thought.
I looked over at Lucas, and he frowned at the expression on my face.
“Oma,” I said, “do you think you going out there with a shotgun will make them all run for it?”
“Unless they’re complete morons.” She snorted. “I mean, who don’t run when someone shoves a shotgun in their face?”
“Fair point.”
“You can’t let her go out there with a shotgun, Rob.” Lucas laughed nervously.
“Oma,” I continued quickly, “Lucas and I need to leave for a little bit. But we can’t go anywhere with all of them out there waiting to follow us. If you get them running for it, Lucas and I can jump in Opa’s truck and take off before they know it’s us. Well, me. They don’t care about Lucas. No offense.”
Lucas chewed at his lip while he thought this over.
“I mean,” Lucas spoke slowly, “as long as no one actually gets shot, that is okay with me. And it’ll probably work.”
“Of course it will!” Oma announced. “This ain’t the first time I’ve sent folks runnin’. By the time they know what happened you two can be long gone.”
Nothing like a common enemy to make Oma and I get along. If only for a brief period.
“Good.” I nodded as I pulled Lucas towards the kitchen. “After we’re gone and all of them have collected themselves and taken off, get all the bullets and give ‘em to Lena or Ernst and tell them to hide them. Just in case Sheriff Dennard does show up. Then you can claim you don’t even have bullets for the gun and he can’t get too mad.”
“Shells, ya’ asshole.” She frowned at me. “It’s a shotgun. My Glock forty-five takes bullets.”
“Whatever.” I waved her off and pulled Lucas into the kitchen before yelling back to Oma. “Count to ten and make ‘em scatter, Oma!”
“Like this is my first rodeo.” I heard Oma mutter under her breath.
Lucas stood by the kitchen table as I pulled the “catch-all” drawer out and quickly grabbed the key to Opa’s truck. Hopefully, the thing wasn’t frozen up due to the winter. Of course, Oma had used the truck to make trips into town during nasty weather or to go to Barkley’s, so I was pretty sure it would start up fairly quickly. Lucas and I headed to the backdoor and waited. When we heard the front door open, and Oma scream something unintelligible, then heard the sounds of people screaming, I pushed the backdoor open and pulled Lucas outside with me.
As we were running to the side of the house where Opa’s old truck was, I heard the first shotgun blast. I cringed internally, hoping Oma hadn’t aimed too well at anyone. Hopefully, she had fired the gun into the air off of the porch or just in the general direction of one of the photographers. Worrying about whether or not Oma had shot a trespassing paparazzo was not my business, however. Lucas pulled open the passenger door and jumped inside, slamming the door quickly behind himself. I rounded the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat, mimicking his actions.
As if the Gods of Luck were pissed at us, the truck didn’t do anything when I turned the key. I growled under my breath as I tried turning the key again. Another shotgun blast sounded in the distance.
“It’s a manual, Rob,” Lucas announced desperately, looking around. “You have to get it in neutral, push the clutch down and put your foot on the brake and—”
Lucas looked over to find me just staring at him.
“City boy.” He took a second to tease, though the worry didn’t leave his face.
Two seconds later, I was sliding over Lucas’ lap as he scooted across the truck into the driver’s seat. I plopped down into the passenger side of the bench seat, and another second later, the truck was roaring to life. Lucas gave me a nervous wink as he put the truck into gear and quickly got the truck turned around, aiming down the driveway. Then he gunned it. We sped down the driveway towards the front of the house as we bounced in our seats.
“Don’t hit anyone,” I begged him with clenched teeth.
“I’ll do my best.” He chuckled through a grimace.
As we passed the front of the house, I glanced over to see Oma standing at the base of the porch steps, the shotgun raised to the heavens as she fired one more time. The blast from the shotgun looked almost like an exploding firework in the dark as Lucas drove us away. Paparazzi were scattering everywhere, trying to figure out how to get to the plethora of cars parked in the driveway—which Lucas had to steer around to get us away from the scene of mayhem. Turning in my seat, I watched the paps running around crazily, trying to get into their cars as quickly as possible as Oma fired another shot off. I could practically see her cackling as she scared the paps. Lucas had us at the end of the driveway and turning onto the main road before I saw a single paparazzo make it into their car.
When we were clear of the driveway and free from the type of mayhem that only Oma could create, I turned around to face the windshield and sighed with relief. Lucas was shifting into another gear, the truck roaring and speeding up as we drove down the road away from Oma’s property. Silently, I said a prayer, thanking…whatever…for Oma’s skill at causing a scene worthy of any movie I’d ever been in before.
“Mrs. Wagner sure knows how to cause a ruckus.” Lucas laughed, sounding a lot less tense now that we were driving away.
“Oma lives to make a ruckus.” I laughed with him.
Lucas looked over at me and smiled. The compulsion to kiss him was too strong to ignore, so I leaned across the cab and kissed him on the lips quickly. He was smiling even wider when I pulled back and sat back in my seat again, just like a good little passenger.
Chapter 9
Ohio in April is always chilly, but the wind was whipping down through the football stadium and whistling up through the bleachers as we sat on the bottom row of the stands at the fifty-yard line. So, it felt chillier than usual. Lucas had his arms wrapped around me, his head on my shoulder as I stared down at the field.
We had successfully gotten away from Oma’s house without getting hurt and made our way to the stadium. Oma had texted minutes later to say that all of the paparazzi had taken off and: ”I didn’t hit a damn one. Ya’ happy?” That did make me happy because at least she wouldn’t be doing jail time if she got into trouble. I shot off a quick reply to her instructing her to let me know if Sheriff Dennard or anyone else came out and gave her trouble, but otherwise, I’d be home in the morning at the latest. “Yeah. Yeah.” was the rep
ly.
Lucas and I had parked in the field behind the stadium so no one would see Opa’s truck in the parking lot and investigate. Then we had snuck over to one of the chain link fences that surrounded the property and hopped over. Easiest breaking-and-entering job ever. As soon as we walked onto the field, I expected to feel something. To remember something. Anything. But nothing came to me. No sudden realization or memory or thought. We were just walking along the grassy field, hand-in-hand, as though it were any other place for us to take a moonlit stroll as a couple.
After walking the field, Lucas and I walked up into the stands, up and down rows waiting for anything to strike me. Lucas had no idea what I was waiting for, but I honestly didn’t either. I was simply hoping that some memory would be jogged or I’d have a sudden revelation about why I couldn’t remember things like a normal human being who had lived nearly twenty-seven years could. But the football stadium felt as empty as my head—as far as memories go. Lucas stuck with me as we walked the rows of bleachers, holding my hand when it was possible. When I finally walked down to the front row and fell onto the bleacher at the fifty-yard line, Lucas sat down next to me and laid his head on my shoulder. It was comforting, but it didn’t fix my problem.
“Nothing?” Lucas finally asked, his breath hot against my neck.
“Not a single thing.” I sighed. “Fuck.”
“What did you expect?”
“Something besides nothing.”
We sat there for a few moments before Lucas said anything else to me or moved at all.
“Won’t it be good enough to keep going the way we’re going, babe?” He whispered as the wind whistled under our seats, making it hard to hear him. “I mean…I’m happy. Are you happy?”
“May as well get a lobotomy, Lucas.” I sighed. “I mean, if we’re just happy because we can’t remember what led to this moment, is it really happiness?”
“Fair enough.”
“Can you remember anything?” I asked again. “Anything else? Anything you haven’t told me?”
“I remember a lot of things I haven’t told you.” He chuckled against my neck. “But nothing about us. I clearly remember you being the talented, special kid in high school. That you were kind. And, of course, hot. I remember always wanting you.”
I could practically feel him blush against my neck, which made me smile.
“When you delivered Oma’s manure and tiller the other day?” I questioned him. “She said you were starstruck. What did you truly feel?”
Lucas didn’t answer for several moments.
“Completion.” He said. “I felt overwhelmed.”
“Please explain that to me.”
“I had felt like something had been missing for a very long time.” He sat up to look me in the eyes. “Then, I saw you, and I didn’t feel that way anymore. I guess I had been missing you, too.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Lucas.” I pleaded with him. “I know exactly what you’re talking about…now…but it just doesn’t add up.”
“Do you believe in fate or destiny?” He shrugged. “Maybe we were always destined to end up together, and something inside of us knew that, so when you left, we both started to feel that something wasn’t right?”
“That’s a stretch, babe.” I shook my head. “I mean, fuck, that’s a beautiful thought. But we didn’t know each other. At least not really. We knew of each other. Maybe exchanged a few pleasantries—but nothing memorable. How would something inside of us know that we were meant for each other? And, not to piss on your parade, but I’m still myself here. I don’t know what the future holds for us. I love what’s going on here…but I can’t say, without a doubt, that we were meant for each other.”
“Ouch.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “I know what you mean. Who knows what the future holds? Who knows if we’re not just in the honeymoon phase here, ya’ know? Who knows if this isn’t just lust masquerading as something else?”
I looked at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking down at the field. Slowly, his head turned, and he locked eyes with me.
“But…I know, Rob.” He gave me a firm nod. “Even before you came back and I saw you there in Mrs. Wagner’s backyard, I knew. You were coming back, and we were going to…”
I waited, but he just stared at me.
“What, Lucas?”
“We were going to be together again.” He finished, biting off his last word like it was sharp and had pricked his tongue. “That we would no longer be forced to be apart. I knew that. I know things. Remember?”
“What else do you know?”
“Is Ernst one of the little creatures that live in Mrs. Wagner’s house?” He asked lowly. “Lena? You said their names before we left the house.”
My eyes grew wide.
Lucas tapped the side of his head with one finger.
“I know things. Maybe I can’t fill in all of the details, but I know things.” He said before I could ask. “Eggs, bacon, and pancakes was your favorite breakfast when you were young. You never made any friends in Hollywood because you knew you wouldn’t be staying. You never bought a house because you knew you wouldn’t be staying. You never stayed in one place for long because you never felt at home. You didn’t leave Hollywood because you were worn out and lost all the weight. You left because you knew that if you stayed, you’d keep on not caring how much you wasted away.”
I took a deep breath, shocked at how deep Lucas’ words cut.
“When you met me…again…behind Mrs. Wagner’s house the other day, you thought I was a weirdo vegetarian loner who probably had bodies in his basement.”
He chuckled at that.
“Were you reading my mind?”
“I just knew.” He shrugged. “Later.”
“That’s almost exactly what I thought.”
“What do you think now?” He asked gently.
Shaking my head, I stood up.
“That none of this makes sense,” I grumbled. “All of this makes sense, and it doesn’t make sense. It feels right, but it doesn’t add up.”
Stomping up the steps, I ascended six rows and then plopped down on the end of one of the bleachers, feeling defeated. Lucas turned to look up at me as I leaned forward and put my head in my hands, trying to figure out what was wrong with my brain. Lucas knew absolutely true things—stuff I’d never told anyone. He knew everything I felt when I had gone off and lived the Hollywood lifestyle. Truthfully, he could have guessed any of those things—they weren’t uncommon for people who sought out fame and fortune in such a way—but I knew that he hadn’t guessed. I knew that as well as I couldn’t remember the things that I wanted to remember.
“Hey, babe.” Lucas sighed.
I lifted my head to look down at him.
“I’m so tired, Lucas.” I shook my head. “Jacob Michaels is tired. But Robert Wagner won’t come back and switch places with him. At least, not permanently. And that’s frustrating as fuck because I’m not Jacob Michaels. I’ve never been him. I didn’t go to Hollywood to act in movies. I went to Hollywood to act like Jacob Michaels. But I’m not him. It was like I was running away and pretending to be someone else so that I wouldn’t be Robert Wagner for a while. And I don’t know why. I don’t know if I just don’t remember why…or if I never knew why.”
Lucas’ face dropped.
“What could have happened that made me not want to be Robert Wagner so desperately that I just pulled up stakes and snuck away in the dead of night?” I was pleading with him as though he were an oracle. “Because I don’t remember. My brain tells me that I wanted to get away. Live my life. Find fame and fortune. But…I swear to you right now…that’s not true. I know it’s not true even though my brain says it is. I know, without the shadow of a doubt, that that was something I told myself to make the whole thing easier. Easier to do and easier to understand.”
“Rob…”
“Do you know what I did when I first w
ent to L.A.?” I asked. “I found an agent on my first day. She let me stay with her until I was eighteen-years-old. We had to lie about my age. I had auditions the next week. Within two years, I was starring in movies and had a record deal. Two years, Lucas. I was already a multi-millionaire by age twenty. By age twenty-one, I had been around the world at least three times, filming here, filming there, performing concerts everywhere, being a household name.”
Lucas was staring at me.
“That doesn’t make sense either,” I said. “I could charm my way into any job I wanted. And when I did the job—acted or sang or performed in any way, I could make people believe that it was a good job. I wasn’t even trying. It was like something took me over, Lucas. Jacob Fucking Michaels possessed me. I don’t even know who he is—but he’s not me.”
“That’s really…messed up, babe.” Lucas shook his head with a smile. “It’s like you believe that you are literally two separate people.”
I chuckled bitterly.
“No.” I shook my head. “Not like two different people…but he’s this personality that lived inside of me, peeking out when he was needed so that another goal could be achieved. Do you know how I know that?”
“How?”
“I was in London,” I said. “I was about to do my first show there—before things really took off with the music. I was standing in the wings of the stage, totally petrified. Like, literally petrified. I couldn’t move. But then, my cue came and that all just sloughed off. I strutted out there and gave a performance that would have made any season artist envious. Here I am. I’m Jacob Michaels, and I will make you love me. Then the concert was over, and I was riding a high—so damn chuffed. And when I got back to the hotel…and I was alone again…Jacob Michaels disappeared. I cried myself to sleep that night—horrified at how phony I was, how scared I had been the whole time I was on stage. Jacob Michaels was a buffer to all of the people and the cheers and the flashes of lights and the…insanity of being a celebrity. But, when he wasn’t needed, Jacob Michaels dipped. I was Robert Wagner again. And I was terrified. Because I had no idea what I was doing there. Well, not literally. I’m not crazy. I knew that I was there, performing a concert, that I was also an actor…but I had no idea why I would want to be there. That began my day-to-day existence, Lucas. Every day I wasn’t at home, in Point Worth, I used Jacob Michaels as a mask for Robert Wagner. To shield me from how I truly felt, to make myself feel like everything I was doing was exactly what I wanted. But I didn’t want it. None of it.”