by Jillian Dodd
“That’s the stalker! He’s trying to kidnap me!” I turn around and point at Vincent.
His glasses are still on, and he’s racing toward me.
James hands me off.
Then he and Vincent come face to face.
Vincent holds his hands up in protest and starts to say something, but James punches him in the face, knocking his glasses off.
I watch Vincent and James trade punches.
James falls back for a minute, but then his training kicks in.
In a fury of fists and kicks, Vincent is down and out cold.
James flips him over and wraps his wrists together with zip ties.
I drop to my knees.
And throw up my birthday cake.
Not a party ’til someone pukes.
1:15am
I’m sitting on a couch in the family room wrapped up in a blanket. Brooklyn is in Tommy’s office on the phone with his dad. Damian has his arm wrapped around my shoulder, and my head is buried in his chest. My eyes are closed and I’m shaking, but I’m not cold. After the adrenaline rush I feel like I’m crashing. Kind of like I drank four Red Bulls all at once and got the caffeine, but not the energy.
I’m pretending not to listen, but I’m hanging on every word that’s said.
Everyone is pacing and talking.
Mom is freaking out.
Two police detectives are here, as is Garrett Smith, the head of the personal security firm that was in charge of protecting Mom tonight. No one has asked for my side of the story.
It’s been all about James.
James saw a man pulling me toward the exit. James saw me stomp on his foot and get away. I told James it was the stalker. James tackled and punched him. James had him arrested.
Right now, I should be having fun at my after-party. The party where I hoped both my worlds would come together.
The party that probably would’ve been a fail anyway.
But anything would’ve been better than this.
Only a few people were allowed to come here. Besides Garrett and the detectives, there’s Damian and his dad, Brooklyn, Millie and Deron, James, Kym, Mom, and Tommy.
At Cush’s parties, everyone always says, It’s not a party ’til someone pukes.
Not in this case.
I have never been so scared in my life.
We have tons of food. It was all set out by the caterers, who were asked to leave before we were allowed to enter the house.
Deron tries to lighten the mood. “Well, the good news is there’s plenty of food. The bad news is, we’re gonna have to eat it all.”
Damian runs his hand across my back gently, and I start sobbing again.
He whispers to me. “It’s okay, Keats. You’re safe.”
He doesn’t know why I’m crying. He doesn’t know what he’s saying is a lie. He doesn’t know that I’ll never be safe again.
The room gets quiet.
I look up and see that everyone’s eyes are glued to one of the detectives.
He’s speaking into his phone. “I understand. I’ll let them know.” He addresses us with a pained expression. “They released him.”
Quick whats, hows, and whys?” come from Mom, Tommy, and James.
“Because there is no proof he tried to kidnap her. It's her word against his.”
James protests. “I saw him dragging her toward the exit.”
“He said there was a commotion and he was worried about her safety. He says he was helping a friend.”
“Well, obviously, that’s a lie,” Mom says. “I still don't understand how he got in. We had a list. We had security.”
“He wanted you to know he’s sorry for the confusion. He’s also agreed not to press charges against James for the assault.” He looks at James. “He understands that you misread the situation.”
James looks at the officer incredulously and says, “Just who the hell is this guy?”
Garrett Smith takes over the conversation. “This guy is Thaddeus Samuel Kingston. Mother: Letitia Kingston. Father: unknown. He went to the finest prep school in Beverly Hills. Football team. Prom King. Valedictorian. Very high IQ. Was in and out of trouble for fighting. He also was ticketed for shooting animals that wandered into his yard. His mother was married six times. The last time, she married for money. They were killed in a mugging gone bad. It says here that the case has never been solved. The stepfather had no heirs so, at twenty, Thaddeus inherited a few million dollars. His net worth today is estimated at around twenty-five million.”
“He doesn’t sound like a stalker, does he?” Mom says.
“Based on his profile, he exhibits traits we tend to see in sociopaths. Intelligence, bullying, hurting animals. Sociopaths are often good looking, and people are always shocked to find out that they’ve killed people.”
“Killed people?!” Mom screeches. “Do you think that’s what he would have done?”
“I don’t know what he would have done,” Garrett says quietly.
But I know. He was going to make a movie with me. He was going to lock me up somewhere and make me film his sick version of Mom’s movie. Everything Garrett said about his childhood fits what Vincent told me, but did he lie about his name? Is he not really Viviane’s grandson? Was he pretending? I know she really died. Were the ashes fake? Was his crying on my shoulder only to manipulate me into trusting him?
One of the detective speaks. “It doesn’t help our case that the guy is rich and good looking. The female cop questioning him said that he could stalk her anytime. There’s nothing we can do. We can’t even get a judge to issue a restraining order. There just isn’t any proof.”
There has to be proof. What proof do I have? A business card with a fake name? Big deal.
Then I remember the tattoo. “He has an Abby tattoo,” I say quietly.
The detective says, “They questioned him about that as well. He had a high school girlfriend named Abby. It checked out.”
“What about the van?” I ask.
“What van?”
“He told me he was taking me to a van out back. If he wasn’t going to kidnap me, why the van?”
The detective’s expression turns grim, and I know what he's thinking. He wanted to rape me or kill me.
But I know he had something even worse planned.
The other detective says, “No one said anything about a van? Are you sure he said that?”
“I’m positive. It was the first thing he said to me. I’m taking you to a van out back. We’ve got to get you safe.”
Garrett grabs his phone and says, “I still have people on the scene. I’ll get them to check.” He dials then speaks into his phone. “Check outside the exit door and see if there’s a van. I’ll wait.”
Everyone raptly awaits his answer. We need some sort of clue to connect him to me. Can they connect him through the van?
I know if they don’t figure out something I’ll never be able to leave my house again. I’ll never be able to sleep at night. He knows too much about me. Where I live. Where I go. What I do. Who my friends are. He knows everything.
“They found a van,” he announces. Then he says into the phone, “Sweep it and get back to me.”
Just as he finishes his sentence, a screeching wail pierces the air.
WHOOOOOHHH!!! WHOOOOOHHH!!! WHOOOOOHHH!!! WHOOOOOHHH!!!
Someone’s house alarm is loudly shrilling.
Brooklyn’s phone buzzes.
He looks down at it, like he’s forgotten what it is. He blinks, then answers. “No, I didn’t accidentally set off the alarm. Yes, send the police right away!”
James and the two detectives look at each other, agree on something with their eyes, draw their weapons, and go tearing out the back door.
“Well, this has certainly been an exciting night,” Deron jokes. He’s trying to use his great sense of humor to keep us all calm.
It just doesn’t seem to be working.
Fifteen nerve-racking minutes later, the alarm wailing the
entire time, James calls Brooklyn.
Brooklyn gives him the alarm code, and the night is silent again.
Brooklyn sets down his phone. “The house is clear. From what they can tell, it wasn’t robbed, but they want me to go see if anything is missing.”
Garrett picks up his walkie-talkie and says, “I need a two-man team to the back door.” He leads Brooklyn out the door, where armed security men are waiting to escort Brooklyn safely to his house.
We wait in tense silence.
While we wait, Garrett gets a call.
He listens, ends the call, and reports, “They did find a van outside the exit door he was taking you to. The keys were in it. It was stolen from a rental agency and the plates don’t match the van. Because it’s a rental, there are a million fingerprints in it. There’s nothing that’s going to make this stick.” He turns to Mom, who is standing at the bar in the kitchen picking the crust off a mini sandwich. “I think maybe you better sit down, Abby.”
“Why?” Mom says quietly.
“They found some things in the van that are quite disturbing and although we can’t prove he was trying to kidnap Keatyn, we know for sure that he was.”
“What was in the van, Garrett?” Tommy asks slowly. I get the feeling he doesn’t really want to know the answer.
“Duct tape, zip ties, syringes preloaded with a drug we’ve yet to identify.”
I start crying again, so Damian tightens his arms around me.
“It’ll be okay, Keats. You’re okay. You’re safe,” he mutters softly into my ear. When Damian talks, he practically sings. It’s very soothing.
I lean my head against his, but tears are still rolling down my face.
But I’m not crying because of what was in the van.
I’m crying because I know I have to tell them.
Tell them all how stupid I am.
Tell them that I was the one who invited him to the party.
Brooklyn, the detectives, and James walk through the back door about twenty minutes later.
Brooklyn looks freaked out.
James walks straight to Garrett and speaks to him in hushed tones.
Brooklyn swallows hard and looks at me. “Keatyn, your bikini. You didn’t grab it, did you? Remember, you left it on my floor?”
Mom says, “Why was your bikini on Brook’s floor?”
“Because it was wet,” I say. What I don’t say is that he stripped it off me, had sex with me, and then told me it was chilling.
Mom snaps at me. “How many times have I told you not to leave your wet bikinis on the floor?”
Tommy grabs Mom’s hand. “I don't think that's really the issue here.”
“I didn’t grab it.”
Brooklyn says, “I didn’t think so. I thought I remembered seeing it when I was getting ready for the party.”
James whispers something to Tommy.
“What’s going on? What’s with all the secrets?” I ask. “So he took my bikini. What else did he take?”
“He didn’t take anything else,” Garrett says a little too quickly.
“Fine. What did he leave?”
James sighs. “There was a manila envelope addressed to Abby.”
“Let me see it. Is it another letter?”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Garrett says quietly. “We, uh, need to fingerprint and analyze it first.” Then he turns to Mom and Tommy. “Let’s go in the other room.”
There’s something he doesn’t want to say in front of me.
Something bad.
That’s why Brooklyn looks so freaked out.
I wipe my eyes, sit up straight, and find a little bit of strength. “Whatever you want to tell them in private, you need to tell me about it too. You can’t protect me from him.”
“Keatyn . . . ” Garrett says.
But I stand up and interrupt him. “Don’t patronize me. All this expensive security didn’t do us any good. I could’ve been tied up in the back of a van tonight. And if that had happened, I suspect this little party would’ve been a whole lot different.”
Mom clutches her stomach like she’s going to throw up.
Tommy takes a gulp of the scotch sitting in front of him. “Just tell us all, Garrett. What’s in the envelope?”
The detective motions for us to join him. He puts on a pair of latex gloves while he walks over to the big kitchen island. He pulls a baggie out of his coat pocket, pulls the envelope out of the baggie, and begins to open it.
I get up off the couch. My knees are shaking, but Damian grabs my hand and pulls me into the kitchen.
Everyone’s eyes are on the envelope. You’d think it held the answer to who won the next Academy Award.
He turns the envelope upside down. Out drops a flash drive and a note.
My Dearest Abby-
I told you I’d moved on. Bet you never thought it would be with your beautiful daughter.
Tell her I’m sorry tonight didn’t work out for us, but not to worry.
We’re still going to make a movie together, and it will be perfection.
And in case you need further convincing, whore, check out the flash drive.
I’m everywhere.
I shudder and feel faint.
Damian is holding me up.
Garrett sets up a laptop on the counter, and they slide the flash drive in.
A slide show pops up.
Photos of me pass by.
Me on the beach the first day I met Vincent. I’m in the skimpy French bikini, smiling and tossing sand at Brooklyn.
Me at the Undertow wearing the I-didn’t-try-I-just-look-this-amazing outfit.
A grainy nighttime shot of me, Brooklyn, and Damian in the hot tub on the deck.
Me and Cush at the Santa Monica pier. I’m carrying the big stuffed seal he won for me by shooting baskets.
Me and B walking hand in hand down the beach.
Me standing on a deck in the beautiful white gown I wore to Monte Carlo night. The night he told me we could walk down those steps and no one would even know we were gone.
Me lying on the chaise at the hotel pool when I got back from Europe.
Me doing a cartwheel in the ocean on my birthday. When he recorded me. I can still feel how tightly he gripped my wrist. How strong he was.
Me drinking a beer and eating shrimp today at Buddy’s.
Then there’s a video. It’s the one Vincent took when he told me to do my own version of Mom’s famous poster. I pranced out, threw water at him, and blew him a kiss.
I feel sick again.
“Oh my God,” Mom says. “Keatyn, this video. How did he get this?”
I breakdown and start bawling. Tommy puts his hand on my shoulder. I turn around, throw myself into his chest, and sob. My body heaves, and I feel borderline hysterical.
I don’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened to me if he had gotten me out that door. I grab ahold of my locket and say a thank you prayer.
Tommy whispers to me soothingly as he holds me. “Shh, baby, it’ll be okay. We’re not gonna let this guy win.”
He runs his hand across my hair.
My sobs slow down a bit.
“I . . . know . . . the . . . stalker,” I say in between sobs.
“You what?! What do you mean?” Tommy says.
“I . . . mean . . . I . . . invited . . . him . . . to the party.”
Everyone looks at me with confused, shocked faces.
Garrett is the first to recover. He grabs my shoulder and guides me back over to the couch, gestures for me to sit, and then sits on the coffee table directly in front of me. “I think you need to explain. If you knew who your mother’s stalker was, why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Because I didn’t figure it out until he tried to kidnap me.”
“Tell us the whole thing. Walk me through what happened at the club before James got involved.”
I take a deep breath.
“I was standing on the edge of the dance floor talking to Broo
klyn when there was a commotion. A guy who was dressed like one of your security guys—dark suit, sunglasses —picked me up off the ground and told me he had to get me somewhere safe. I immediately panicked and assumed that meant it wasn’t safe and that something bad must’ve happened. I was afraid the stalker had got to Mom, so I told him no. That I needed to find her. That’s when he said, The whore is fine, and when I realized he was the stalker and not a security guy. I tried screaming, but the music was too loud and no one could hear me. And everyone was gathering near the commotion. Then I saw part of his tattoo and realized that not only was he the stalker, but that I knew him.”
“Ohmigawd, Keatyn,” Mom says.
I look at her. “I tried to plead with him, but he just laughed. He thought it was funny that Mom never suspected that he was moving on to her own daughter. I tried to get away. Tried to make my body limp and heavier. I struggled. He was just so strong.”
I stop and run my hand across my face then back through my hair. “Like, really strong, and I couldn’t get away. I knew I wasn’t going to get away. I knew what he wanted. I knew he was going to kidnap me, and there was nothing I could do about it. The door kept getting closer, and I was freaking out, full-on panicking. Then this voice started talking to me. It calmed me down.”
“A voice?” Mom asks.
My eyes fill with fresh tears. I nod and bite my lip. “A voice that sounded like Daddy. He told me I couldn’t let him get me out the door and reminded me of a stupid self defense move I learned in P.E. So I did it. I smashed my heel into his foot just as he was getting ready to open the door. And it worked. He loosened his grip on me, I broke free, and ran.” I let out at big breath of air. I’m exhausted. “You guys know the rest.”
“What are we going to do?” Tommy says flatly.
Garrett Smith stands up and takes control. He puts his hand out to the detective closest to him and says, “We appreciate everything you’ve done. We’ll take it from here.”
The detectives nod at him, mutter something about if they can do anything else to let them know, and are escorted out the door.
Tommy hands me his glass of scotch.