“Drew, give me his phone,” Leah whispers as the other guard approaches. I palm it to her before he can see what we’re doing.
“Let’s go somewhere more private,” I say to the guard.
“Alright, after you,” he says, extending an arm toward the door but keeping a safe distance between us.
Leah goes first and I follow her. Once in the hall the guard brings us to a nearby office and shuts the door.
“Look,” he says, his face full of pity, “I know you’ve been through a lot. I understand completely why you did what you just did. Just… don’t attack anyone else, okay? The hospital can’t be a part of a lawsuit.”
I bristle at his words and the hairs at the back of my neck stand up. I don’t want his fucking pity and I could give a shit less about a lawsuit. All that matters to me is Sydney.
“Well, keep those fuckers away from me and my family and we won’t have a problem,” I snarl.
Leah speaks before the guard can respond. “Sir, we understand your point, but you have to see this from our side. We don’t want to be filmed. I’m certain your hospital doesn’t want to be caught on tape breaking patient confidentiality. I know that your administrators rely on very big donations from Hollywood’s elite to run this place, and I’m sure that would change in a heartbeat if they knew that paparazzi could get pictures of them or their family members inside the hospital.”
I watch as the guard’s face blanches from Leah’s little speech. Damn. She’s good.
“Here’s his phone. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve erased the videos he took. He had quite a few on there. You may want to let the administrators know what’s going on around here, because if we see any videos like this on the internet or TV? Well, let’s just say it won’t be good for the hospital or its social standing in the community.” She drops the phone onto his desk, grabs my hand, and storms out of the office.
I don’t speak until we get to a quiet spot in a deserted hallway by a pathology lab. I stop walking, her grip on my hand pulling her to a stop.
“Leah,” I begin.
“Yeah?” she looks up at me, anger still evident on her small face.
I can’t help but smile. “Thanks.” This isn’t the first time this tiny blonde powerhouse has helped me out.
“You’re welcome. No more outbursts like that. Deal?” She crosses her arms and glares at me.
“I don’t know if I can agree to that,” I admit.
She smirks, “I didn’t think you would. I’m headed to the hotel. I’ll be back later and then you’re going to go punch shit or workout or whatever it is you do to de-stress, because this has got to stop.” She spins on her heel and stalks away.
Fuck, that hundred-pound girl is ten times stronger than me right now.
CHAPTER 33
I run my hand through my hair in frustration as I listen to the head of the theater chain that held the premiere for A Soldier’s Burden explain the lack of security at the event.
“I don’t give a fuck what you’re going to do! It’s what you didn’t do that pisses me off! If that sick bastard could get inside and attack Sydney, what else could have happened? You know psychos try to get close to actors all the time, especially at these types of events! There’s no fucking excuse for it!”
I end the call before he can respond and resist the urge to throw the phone at the wall, instead clutching it so hard that my fingers hurt. I welcome the pain. It distracts me from my reality, the broken girl in the next room, the hollow place in my chest, the anger vibrating through my body.
Leah’s right, I need to fight. Strike out. Feel physical pain. Feel something besides this nauseating ache that’s pressing down on me.
When she gets back I’ll go to the gym that I used when I filmed Mind of the Enemy last month. It’s only a few minutes from here and I’m sure I can find someone to spar with.
“Syd?” I open the door from the suite’s attached bedroom and step into her fancy hospital room. She’s spacing out again, staring out the window with unfocused eyes. “Syd,” I step closer to the bed.
She slowly turns to face me, her eyes are glassy and her lips are pale and cracked. “Yes?”
God, I wish I could take her pain from her. I’d suffer ten times over just to make her smile again.
“I was going to take a quick shower. Unless you need something.”
She shakes her head. “No, go ahead,” then turns back to the window and resumes staring at nothing.
Frowning, I go back into the bedroom and turn on the shower in the attached bath. Cranking it up as hot as it will go, I quickly strip and get under the spray, letting the water scald my skin. I revel in the harsh sting of the water, allowing myself to feel each blistering drop as it hits my weary body.
I have no idea how long I stand there before I quickly clean up and dry off. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I walk over to the mirror and wipe off the condensation with my hand. Shocked, I take a good look at my reflection, hardly recognizing the man I see there. He’s gaunt, wild-eyed, angry.
I grab my bag and fumble through it, pulling out my razor and a can of shaving cream. Carelessly, I smear it on my face and start scraping at my skin with the blade. If I can look normal, I can feel normal, right? I shave faster, dragging the razor over again and again until I’m done. I splash some water on my face and dry off.
I stare in the mirror again, this time, I see myself reflected back. Only, it doesn’t feel like me. The man I see is still broken, fucked up by a situation that I couldn’t prevent, couldn’t stop. I couldn’t protect what’s mine and now it’s gone.
Two days of frustration and blame have taken their toll, I rear back my fist and slam it into the mirror, watching it splinter from the force. I hit it again and smile at the sharp burn in my hand as shards crumble and land in the sink.
“Drew?”
Sydney’s soft voice snaps me out of my trance. Shit! I can’t let her worry about me.
“Sorry babe, I dropped something. Don’t worry,” I call out.
Fuck! I toss the pieces of glass into the trashcan and rinse off my bloody hand, letting the red water swirl down the drain. Once it’s clean, I’m surprised to see there’s only a few cuts on my knuckles. They’re already in the process of clotting up.
I get dressed and go back into Sydney’s room, the monster inside me under control for now.
“What happened?” she asks.
I notice an untouched tray of food in front of her.
“Nothing happened. Do you want me to order you something else to eat? I can have something delivered.” I point to her tray.
She grimaces, her eyes flicking to my hand and back up to my face. “No, I’m not hungry.”
Sighing, I move her tray aside and kick off my shoes. “Can I lay with you?”
A small twitch, an almost smile, touches the corners of her mouth and just as quickly is gone. “Sure.”
I pull the covers back and Sydney rolls onto her good side, giving me room to lay beside her. I climb onto the bed and tuck her up against my body, careful not to touch her injury.
I bury my face in her hair and inhale, her scent bringing back so many memories. “I’m sorry Sydney,” I rasp, overcome with emotion.
“Me too,” she whispers back. Where do we go from here?
A sharp rap on the door is followed immediately by a deep voice. “Miss Tannen? Is it okay if I come in and ask you about the assault?”
Fuck no! I jump up from the couch and block the man entering the suite. She’s not even physically healed and they want to do this shit?
“Do we have to do this now?” I snap at the detective as he flinches back, holding up his hands to keep me calm.
“Drew, let the man in,” I hear Sydney sigh from behind me.
I don’t bother turning around to face her, this isn’t happening right now. Instead, I keep the detective from being able to get around me and to Syd. I couldn’t protect her the other night, I’ll be damned if I don’t protect her now
.
“Sydney…” I warn.
“Please? I just want to get past this,” she says weakly. I turn my head just enough to see that her eyes are glassy and her lips are trembling. “Please?”
She’s going to break me, I know it. I have to give her what she wants, even though it goes against every instinct I have.
“Fine.” I turn back to the detective, my jaw clenched. “Come in then,” I bark in his face.
He gracefully moves around me and into the large hospital suite. “I’ll leave my partner outside if that will make you more comfortable. I’m Detective Henry Keating, my partner Detective Paul Black is out in the hall.” He nods towards the door. “We’ve been assigned to your case.” Detective Keating grabs a chair and pulls it over to Sydney’s bedside, sitting down so he’s at her eye level.
A hissing sound comes from Sydney and I watch as she struggles to sit up straight, grimacing from the pain.
“Jesus, Sydney. Just stay still. You don’t have to move around to talk.” I help her get settled, so frustrated by this entire situation that I want to scream.
“Thanks,” she says without further comment, then returns her attention to Detective Keating.
He removes a leather bound book from his pocket and flips it open, relaxing back into the stiff chair, one ankle crossed over his knee casually. “So, the man who attacked you is Peter Stubbins. He’s the same man who broke into your bedroom twelve years ago and was arrested, then tried to break in again the following week.”
“What?” I yell, grabbing the bedrail to keep my hands occupied and my body grounded so I don’t fly off the handle. “The same man from twelve years ago?”
The detective’s attention flicks to me briefly and he continues speaking calmly, as if he didn’t just mind fuck me here.
“Yes, the same man.” He returns his focus to Sydney. “Like I said, his name is Peter Stubbins. He’s evidently been obsessed with you for a very long time Miss Tannen. He has a wall in his apartment full of cutouts and photos of you from magazines, some new and some very old. It appears that he personally took a lot of photos of you as a child.”
Sydney’s eyes fill up with tears and her lower lip trembles. She’s about to cry again, motherfucker! Like she hasn’t been through the emotional wringer enough already. This is why I didn’t want to do this yet.
I interrupt before Keating can continue, “He was able to get close enough to her to take photographs of her, broke into her bedroom and assaulted her and was still out on the streets? He nearly killed her!” I roar at the detective who doesn’t show one iota of emotion on his stupid, blank face.
“Mr. Forrester, you need to stay calm. Yelling won’t help, and it seems as though you’re frightening Miss Tannen.”
What the…? Frightened is better than her shedding any more tears over this shit. This was a complete and total failure by law enforcement to keep a violent stalker off the streets and it almost cost me Sydney’s life.
“Calm? You want me to be calm? I’m feeling the exact fuckin’ opposite of calm right now! In fact, why don’t we go outside …”
“Drew,” Sydney’s hoarse word stops me cold. Her small hand grabs mine and clenches it tight. “You have to let the man talk,” she whispers. I drop my gaze from the detective to meet her tired, glistening eyes. “Please, baby. I know this is hard. It wasn’t your fault.”
The fight rushes out of me as if I’d been sucker punched in the gut. I can’t refuse her request, not when she’s sitting injured in a hospital bed begging me to get this part over with. She wants to do this interview now, so I have to give it to her, but I don’t have to like it.
“Alright, Sydney.” I sit on the couch next to her bed and scowl at the detective. “Don’t upset her,” I growl.
Keating continues reading from his notebook, as if he were threatened by angry movie stars every day. “There were no photos of you from after you left Los Angeles. He lost track of you when you disappeared. The only recent pictures he has are from magazines printed in the last week since the interview on Late Night Report aired.”
The detective looks back down at his notes, “Stubbins lives near the theater where the attack occurred. It’s our belief that he saw the live reports either on the news or internet that you were there, and immediately drove over to find you. There are no cameras in the theater, we’re still interviewing witnesses to piece together the rest.”
He flips the notebook shut and tucks it back in his jacket pocket. Keating leans forward, elbows on his knees, and clasps his hands together. “So, Miss Tannen, what happened in the theater? In your words.”
The room is silent while Sydney gathers her thoughts. The urge to jump up and shield her is so strong that I have to physically fight myself to stay still. Detective Keating waits patiently, watching Sydney carefully, but managing to look kind and open while studying her.
“I … I went to the bathroom. I wasn’t feeling good.” Her worn out voice strains to make the words loud enough to hear. “W-when I came out … he was in front of me. He … he told me he loves me.”
Tears begin to run freely down her face as she describes the horror she went through. This is my first time hearing it. I didn’t want to upset her by asking her to relive it for me. My body goes rigid. That sick piece of shit told her he loved her?
“He said what?” I whisper. I want to kill him. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. Angry isn’t the word for how I feel. Murderous. That’s more accurate.
The detective must see me losing it. He subtly hints that I need to focus on Sydney, on letting the police catch this guy. “Mr. Forrester, please. Let her speak.”
I clench my hands at the powerlessness I feel. The lack of control over anything, including my own emotions. I stand and turn away from the bed to pace the room, my hands on top of my head so I won’t strike out with my fists as Sydney keeps talking.
“He grabbed me and slid the knife in. It was cold. He … he held me to him as I fell. That’s all I remember.”
I feel the blood rush from my head, leaving me dizzy. Jesus, she went through hell while I sat in a theater fifty feet away.
“Babe.” Sydney calls out as I make another lap of the tiny room. I spin to face her. “Can you get me a Sprite or something?”
Anything to make her feel better. I school my features and put on my Andrew Forrester mask, giving her a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “Sure Sydney. I’ll be right back.”
I stalk down the hall in a cloud of anger to the family break room where I know there’s a fridge full of drinks. I scan my card and bang open the door to find the room empty. Snatching a Sprite from a row of cans, I slam the fridge shut and all of the rage I’ve been holding back comes flooding back at once.
Swinging my leg out, I use my heavy boot to kick the refrigerator over and over. The harder I hit it, the better I feel. All of my failures to keep people I care about safe inundate me; my girlfriend possibly raped at a party in L.A., my mom inundated by crazy women looking to be her daughter-in-law, my dad having random fans show up on his doorstep, my sister not trusting anyone after people lied to her in order to get to me, Sydney attacked by the psycho from her past- all of them are at the forefront of my mind as I strike out at the poor appliance.
I allow the frustration to spill out of me and into each kick, which brings me a satisfaction that I should find disturbing but don’t. When I finally calm down enough to stop, I see that the door to the fridge is mangled and dented and won’t close properly anymore and that makes me smile.
You’re a disturbed bastard, Forrester.
A nurse comes into the family break room just then, probably because of the noise I was making, and sees the damaged refrigerator.
“Ummmm…” she looks from the mangled fridge to me, standing there, sweaty, my chest heaving, with a soda in my hand, and doesn’t know what to say.
“Here,” I pull out my wallet and slap three-grand onto the table. “I had a little difficulty with y
our refrigerator.”
She stands there with her mouth hanging open as I slip out of the room, grinning.
I’m officially a fucked up mess if kicking the shit out of a refrigerator is the only thing that can make me smile.
I go back to the room and hand Sydney her Sprite. When Detective Keating asks me to step into the spare bedroom, he follows me in and softly shuts the door behind us.
“I thought we should do this in private so as not to upset Miss Tannen,” he says.
The relief I felt from the fridge incident melts away in an instant.
“You don’t think I’ve been doing everything I can to keep her from getting upset? You being here is what’s upsetting her!” I yell, pointing my finger in his face.
“I understand your point of view, Mr. Forrester, but we have to get both of your statements in order to prosecute this guy.” He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls out a pencil and that damn notebook again. “So, can you tell me what you saw?”
“Jesus.” I sit down heavily on the bed next to him and run my hand down my face. “I ran out of the theater and saw her lying in a pool of blood. I thought she was dead. The girl holding her head was crying, and the guy… the one who took his shirt off, his shirt was soaked through with blood.”
I can’t sit. I shoot up off the bed and pace the room.
“Anything else?” he asks as he scrawls in his pad.
“Yeah. That fuckin’ psycho was on the other side of the lobby underneath some big guy. His eyes, they looked crazy… I wanted to kill him,” I admit.
“Is that it?”
“What the fuck do you want me to say?” I shout. “That it was the scariest fuckin’ moment of my life? That I found out I would actually kill someone with my bare fuckin’ hands? What do you want from me?”
The detective remains cool and impassive. “I’m just making sure you don’t miss anything. Even small details can be important.” He stands up and hands me something from his pocket. “Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else.”
Already Famous Page 27