The Berkeley Method

by JS Taylor

  I submit myself completely to the pleasure of it, and I feel our bodies join in some other-worldly place.

  Still holding me tight, James brings his face close to mine, so our lips are just touching, and I can only see his eyes.

  He gives me a final, deep kiss with his eyes still looking into mine.

  “It has never been like that for me,” he says, pulling away after a moment. “That was,” he stops, searching for the word. “Incredible,” he decides. “Like nothing I’ve ever done before.”

  He blinks at me.

  “That sure beats drugs,” he says after a moment.

  I laugh. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment, Mr. Berkeley.”

  “Oh, it’s a compliment. Believe me. That was the best rush of my life.” He shakes his head, as if struggling to comprehend the truth of this.

  He looks more carefree than I’ve ever seen him.

  I smile at him shyly.

  “For me too.”

  “Now I know what people mean about falling in love,” says James with a crooked smile.

  We drift off to sleep with our arms wrapped around one another. But in the early hours of the morning, I feel James slide out of bed. And as I fall uncertainly back to sleep, I hear his anxious voice turning over security arrangements.

  Chapter 27

  I awake with a feeling of uncertainty deep in my stomach. And James is nowhere to be seen.

  I get out of bed and pad slowly into the main living area. James is on the phone, listening intently. He turns his head anxiously as I enter.

  “Isabella,” he says, closing up his phone and walking over to me. “There’s been an accident. With Will.”

  My stomach lurches.

  “Nothing to worry about,” says James, putting his arms around me. “He’s been injured this morning, training in the gym. One of the weights wasn’t properly secured, and he’s damaged a muscle.”

  “Is he badly hurt?”

  Something feels very wrong.

  “No. No, he’s fine,” reassures James. “But he’ll be laid up for a day or so. In the meantime, I’ve found you another bodyguard. Just for today and tomorrow.”

  “Will this affect the security operation?” I ask. Will seemed too integral to it all.

  “A little,” admits James. “Maybe by half a day. We were relying on Will to help go through some of the data.”

  This whole situation doesn’t feel right.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  “That will be your new bodyguard,” he says grimly. “Best get dressed. Your clothes are in the bedroom wardrobe. Then you can come meet her.”

  “Her?”

  “With Will out of action, I thought it best we employ a woman,” he explains. “That way, she can scope out the bathrooms before you use them.”

  Scope out the bathrooms? James must be really worried. I wonder if there’s been any other forestalments to apprehending the stalker.

  I head back into the bedroom and pull open the wardrobe. This morning I’m in no mood to pick out a nice outfit. I grab the first things which fall into my hands. Jeans and a sweater top. Pulling them both on, I push my feet into a pair of suede ankle boots and head back out.

  James is standing with a woman who is dressed in the security navy.

  I’ve seen her around the complex. And I recognise her from the rehearsals yesterday. She was one of the security team keeping watch.

  “This is Heather,” says James, gesturing to the stocky woman at his side.

  Heather looks to be in her early forties, heavily built, with long peroxide hair. Her features are distinctly unfeminine, but they’re kindly.

  “Hi,” I say. “You were at the rehearsals yesterday.”

  Heather looks surprised that I remember her. But she nods.

  “That’s right,” she says. “It was very interesting to see you act.”

  She proffers her hand, and I take it. Her handshake is warm and a little too firm.

  “I’m under instructions not to let you go for a minute,” she adds, “not even for a bathroom break.” Her accent is London English, and she sounds as if she knows a thing or two about the wrong side of the tracks.

  I inwardly sigh, and then Heather cracks me a wink.

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “You’re completely safe. This studio is locked down so tight, a mosquito couldn’t give you a nip. I’m here to take good care of you.”

  I smile back at her, relieved that someone still has a sense of humour. Must be something you need for crisis situations, I decide. And Heather’s lined face looks to have had its share of combat situations.

  I feel myself relax a little. Though I’d far rather have Will protecting me.

  “Ready to go?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “I need to go over some more security,” says James. “You’ll be safe with Heather.”

  “Do we have rehearsals today?” I ask. Nothing has been planned yet, I realise.

  “I’m not sure yet,” says James. “Callum will be in the restaurant. Work out something with him, and I’ll call as soon as I know the plans.”

  James seems so distracted. Has something changed?

  We walk out into the studio and head to the restaurant.

  The security presence feels even more oppressive this morning. There are navy uniforms everywhere.

  “Are they any closer to catching the stalker?” I ask Heather as we near the restaurant.

  She hesitates. “They think he’s infiltrated security,” she admits after a moment.

  I realise from Heather’s tone that this is information she probably has been told not to share with me. But I’m grateful that someone, at least, isn’t treating me like a child.

  “The security cameras?” I ask, thinking back to the images of me taken from the security circuit. “He found out how to get into those?”

  “That and other things,” says Heather. “But they’re closing in. There’s a good chance things will be resolved today.”

  I set my mouth, only slightly reassured.

  Everyone thinks he’ll be caught today. Is it just wishful thinking?

  Heather has a heavy set of handcuffs, I notice, secured to her belt, alongside a baton. But she doesn’t seem to be carrying a gun.

  “Checking out the handcuffs?” she says, noticing the direction of my gaze. “They’re for you, in case you try and put yourself in danger.”

  She’s joking, and I give a half laugh. It’s good, at least, that Heather has a sense of humour when so much drama is going on.

  I remember Camilla’s face as she was driven away yesterday, and Callum’s desperation to be in this movie. I even feel a little sorry for Natalie. She seemed to be really thriving under James’s direction. Maybe she’s just messed up and misunderstood. Perhaps this movie could be the making of her too.

  I’m mulling over these thoughts as we arrive at the main restaurant. Today, Natalie’s entourage is conspicuously absent. But security is everywhere.

  Callum sits alone, looking thoughtful. He’s dressed in his gym wear, and the empty plate in front of him suggests he’s already eaten breakfast.

  He gives me a faint smile as he sees Heather and I enter. And I see him consciously try to dial his expression into something happier than he feels.

  Something like a plan is forming in my brain when I see Callum.

  James is refusing to make me bait. But what if I take matters into my own hands? What if I slip away from Heather, and tempt the stalker to reveal himself?

  It’s only an idle thought, but I feel it grow. This movie means so much to Callum and Camilla.

  My eyes fall on the selection of breakfast food. As usual, it looks amazing. But I’m not feeling especially hungry. I pick up a pastry, distractedly.

  “Did you eat already?” I ask Heather.

  She nods.

  I look over to where Callum is sitting.

  “Hey Callum!” I call. “Did you need anything from the buffet?”

&n
bsp; He shakes his head morosely, so I take my pastry and walk over to where he’s sitting and seat myself next to him.

  Heather takes a place a few seats away.

  Everything about her stance suggests not a move of mine goes unnoticed.

  It’s not going to be easy, I realise, to render myself without protection. In fact, I’m not sure it’s going to be possible at all.

  “How’s Will?” I ask Callum.

  His face drops even further, reminded of his injured friend.

  “Yeah. Well. He’s good, I guess,” says Callum. “He’s torn that muscle before. So, he knows how to deal with it. I have no idea how the exercise equipment got messed with though.”

  The exercise equipment got messed with? That’s news to me. I feel a crawl of unease in my stomach.

  Heather is listening to every word. I can tell she has also read more into this than a simple accident.

  What else am I not being told?

  “Have you seen Natalie?” I ask, changing the subject.

  Callum smiles.

  “Miss Diva is having a long lie-in this morning. You’ll get used to it. Most mornings she sleeps.”

  I give a half smile.

  “Any more news on who the lead actor might be?”

  Callum shrugs. “Not yet. But then, the movie is hanging in the balance. We might never find out. I thought maybe you might know more than me.”

  He says this last part with a suggestive wriggle of his eyebrows.

  “No,” I shake my head. “I haven’t heard anything. Maybe there’s been a problem with casting.”

  “Oh well,” says Callum with a smile, “you know the enigmatic Mr. Berkeley. He likes to keep us actors on our toes.”

  That certainly sounds like James.

  “Perhaps you and I could rehearse?” I suggest to Callum. “James is going to call when he has a schedule for us. But, in the meantime, we could run through some lines?”

  “Sure.” Callum gives me a warm smile. “It will take our mind off things at least.”

  He looks down to his sweats. “Gimme a sec to change,” he adds. “I need to take a shower. But I’ll meet you in Studio 5 in ten minutes?” He stands to leave.

  “Catch you in a bit,” he says, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. “You take good care of her,” he adds, nodding to Heather.

  “I will,” says Heather. “Don’t you worry.”

  I finish my pastry, and then Heather and I head out towards Studio 5.

  I’m still mulling over my plan of escape, deciding on the best opportunity. Not in the studio buildings, I decide. I’d get lost instantly. In fact, I’m amazed at how well Heather seems to know her way around. She could only have been here a few days at most.

  Heather taps her hand against her ear, suddenly.

  “Wait,” she says, throwing out a hand to bar the way forward.

  “I just got something through the wire.”

  I wait as she listens again. My heart begins to beat a little faster.

  “Studio 5 is a new security risk,” says Heather.

  “A security risk?” I repeat dumbly. Fear hits the pit of my stomach. A new security risk.

  “Yeah.” Heather gives me a grim smile. “Nothing to worry about. I should imagine they’re just being cautious. But for the time being, they’ve advised a different studio for your rehearsal.”

  “Ok.”

  I guess if I’m still allowed to rehearse, the risk can’t be too bad.

  Heather beckons we should head in a different direction.

  She’s even more alert now, and the change in her demeanour rubs off on me. I find myself jumping at every shadow as we head deeper into the studio buildings.

  “I need to tell Callum,” I say. “He might go to the wrong studio.”

  “Not a problem,” says Heather. She tugs out her radio and presses the call button. Static hisses.

  “Could someone get a message to Mr. Reed?” asks Heather. “He needs to meet Ms. Green in studio 66, instead of studio 5.”

  She listens again, with her head slightly tilted.

  “Roger,” she says, clicking off her radio.

  “That’s done,” she says. “No problem. Mr. Reed will be informed.”

  “Ok, great.”

  Heather continues leading me forward, in her careful, professional way. All thoughts of leaving myself open have flown. For the time being, it seems as though all security is on high alert.

  Does this mean the stalker is more likely to be caught?

  Heather is checking each walkway now, before letting me walk through.

  Eventually, she stops outside a small unmarked studio.

  “Wait here,” she says. Then she throws open the door and scans inside.

  “It’s clear,” she says. “I had to check it first. Go on in.”

  I walk inside, and Heather follows me, closing the door behind me.

  “I guess Callum will be along in just a minute,” says Heather. She’s doing something with the door. Checking it for security, I imagine.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Hopefully he hasn’t got lost. These studios are confusing.”

  Heather gives a low chuckle.

  It’s a strange noise. Eeery, almost. And something else.

  Familiar.

  That laugh. Where have I heard it before?

  And then I realise.

  It’s the same creepy laughter I heard in my chalet, when the lights went out.

  Chapter 28

  I feel every cell in my body charge with fear.

  Heather. Heather is the Lipstick Stalker.

  Now that the knowledge has hit home, the masculine cast to Heather’s features becomes suddenly more pronounced.

  But the female voice and the deportment were so convincing. I remember what James told me, that the Lipstick Stalker could be an actor who never made it.

  And I’m trapped alone in a studio with him. I’ve played right into his hands.

  The realisation sends an icy chill right through me.

  I move carefully towards the door, trying to stay casual. I realise, suddenly, that there has been no more important time to use my acting ability. In fact, my life could depend on it.

  I scan my mind for some way to get him away from the door. He must have made a dummy announcement, when he told security to send Callum to a different studio. What if I can make him think, that Callum has somehow found us anyway?

  “Hey,” I say in a flippant kind of tone. “I think I can see Callum, out of the window. Is he lost, do you think?”

  “What?” Heather sounds distracted, uncertain. She steps away from the door.

  Very, very carefully, I edge towards it.

  “Callum,” I say, pointing. “Look. He’s out there wandering around.”

  “Wandering around?” Heather sounds slightly perturbed. Angry almost. “Where?”

  She looks over to the window, and then at my face. Her eyes settle on mine. They have a hard cast to them, I realise now. A cold sort of blue.

  I feel the suspicion in her gaze. She knows something isn’t right.

  Please, I beg silently, stop my face from showing how afraid I am.

  After a moment, Heather seems satisfied with whatever she sees in my face. She moves towards the window where I’m pointing.

  My heart begins to pound. The door is only a few steps away. But Heather is only a few steps from me.

  “I don’t see him,” says Heather.

  “You need to get nearer to the window,” I say in the same airy tone, though my mouth is dry. “He’s a little out of view.”

  I realise instantly, this is a step too far. Remember what James said? The Lipstick Stalker is clever.

  Heather’s face changes. As though she’s just realised something.

  And in that second, I bolt for the door.

  But Heather is on to my subterfuge. She moves like lightning, diving towards me.

  I reach the door to find she has already thrown a chain halfway around the handles. That
must have been what she was occupied with, when we first got inside.

  She meant to seal us both inside here then. The thought fills me with thick panic. But I yank away the chain, and pull open the door.

  Strong fingers grip my wrist.

  I turn, in horror, to see Heather’s lined face level with my own. Only now I see all too clearly what she really is.

  The character acting, which held her features in place, has vanished, and the face I’m looking into is filled with maniacal hatred.

  “So,” hisses a deep voice, “I’ve caught you at last, my little dancer.”

  Heather reaches up, and in one movement, pulls away her peroxide blonde hair. Underneath is an actor’s hairnet, holding dark hair tightly down.

  The use of this genuine costuming makes the reveal seem all the more horrible. He’s part of this world. This movie world. But he’s a terrible, misshapen part, which doesn’t belong.

  The make-up on his face looks distorted in the context of his hair-net. The lashes, thickly clumped with black mascara. The light pink lipstick on his thin lips. His face looks mask-like. Surreal.

  Think, Isabella. You have to get out of this.

  I consciously drive down the horror and force myself to think rationally.

  What’s your advantage here?

  Something tells me that no amount of acting ability is going to work for me here. Whoever the stalker is, he’s clearly a pro. I can’t be sure he won’t see through an act.

  The stalker is breathing heavily now, almost panting.

  “Time to give me some of your celebrity, little dancer,” he murmurs, his eyes flashing.

  The words give me a flash of inspiration.

  You’re a dancer, Issy. Use your flexibility.

  I move before I’ve had time to properly think it through. My leg comes up, in a high arc, level with the stalker’s face, and kicks him squarely in the jaw.

  I’m no kick-boxer, and the blow lacks power. But the unexpected angle of my foot momentarily takes him by surprise.

  The stalker releases my wrist and staggers back.

  In the next second, I’ve yanked open the door and raced out into the maze of studios.

  I hear the Lipstick Stalker issue a growl of rage, and then he’s pounding after me.