by Elle Casey
Her ankle is suddenly in my grasp, and I hang on for dear life. As the flow of air re-establishes itself inside my lungs and the stars fade away my strength comes back and I yank on her with everything I’ve got. She stumbles and then goes down next to me on the floor.
Spinning partway around on my back while still holding onto her ankle, I use my feet to defend myself. My ribs are aching too much to throw a punch, so I kick the ever-loving shit out of her thighs and crotch and don’t stop, even when a voice finally comes over my cell phone.
“Nine-one-one … what is your emergency?”
I don’t know exactly where my phone is, but it’s near my head somewhere, so I just start yelling.
“Intruder in the house! Tarin Kilgour’s residence! The musician from the band By Degrees! Beverly Hills!” I can’t for the life of me remember his address. I hope I’ve given her enough information to find me.
“I need your name and a description of the intruder, ma’am.”
“Fuck you!” yells Posey. “Give me that goddamn phone, dammit!” She struggles to sit up and reach for my cell, but I give her a running shoe to the face, making her fall back again.
I keep kicking, but her foot slips out of my sweaty grip. She’s crawled out of my way, but I can tell by the way she’s eyeing my pinwheeling legs, she doesn’t want to eat any more of my sneakers than she already has. All those hours on the stationary bike are paying off.
I yell again, hoping the operator can hear me. “My name is Scarlett Barnes and I work with Tarin Kilgour! The intruder’s name is …” I’m cut off by her struggle for my phone. When I kick her away, I continue. “She’s an unwelcome fan of Tarin’s! She broke into the house while he was out and she’s in the process of taking some of his things!”
“I was not taking anything!” she screeches as she stands somewhat unsteadily on her feet. She sways there, out of her mind with anger. “And I’m not an intruder! Tarin loves me and I love him!”
“Get over it, freak!” I yell at her. I’ve officially lost my cool and I don’t care about her delicate psyche anymore or the fact that all of this will be on the operator’s recording. “You’re just another bimbot deluded fan! He doesn’t give a shit about you!”
She freezes in place, hunched over, her make-up starting to smear a little and her hair a crazy mess. Backing up, she points a shaking finger at me. “You don’t know anything about Tarin and me.” Her voice is quavering.
The operator speaks again and I can barely hear her. I look over and see my phone turned upside down, the speakers facing the carpet. I pick it up in time to hear her say, “We’re sending someone to the house now. My advice is to not engage with this intruder and just leave the premises until she can be apprehended.”
“Yeah, sounds like a good idea,” I say, attempting to stand. My ribs are aching, and as get more upright, I shift to the side a little. A sharp, stabbing pain sears into my guts and makes my breath catch in my throat. “Fuck,” I grunt out, bending towards the pain, trying to make it stop. “You fucking broke my ribs, you freak.” I look up in time to see her nostrils flare.
“You broke your own ribs, coming after me like that.”
“Coming after you? After you? Are you fucking kidding me? How deluded can a person possibly be?”
“Ms. Barnes, I suggest you leave the premises,” says the voice over the phone.
“Yeah, well it’s not that easy, actually.”
“I’m not deluded,” says the freak, lifting her chin, “I’m in love. Love can make you do crazy things, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
“Yes, actually, it does. What you’re doing is wrong. You need therapy and medication.” I resort to begging. The pain is bad. I can’t move enough to escape. “Please just get out of here.”
She starts crying. “Tarin loves me.”
I shake my head, backing up until I’m leaning against the wall. “No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t love anyone but himself.”
“No!”
I nod. “Yes.”
She moves around the side of his bed, never taking her eyes off me. “You don’t know about love. You’re empty inside. I can see it.”
“Wrong.” I slide down the wall a little, my legs apparently deciding that injured ribs are too heavy.
She stops when she’s in front of Tarin’s nightstand. “You want Tarin for yourself, don’t you?”
I shake my head. “God, somebody shoot me.” Her words combined with the pain make me nauseated. I’m afraid I’m going to barf right here on Tarin’s silk carpeting. With my luck I’ll probably fall in it too, making the thought of it doubly awful.
Her eyes flash anger, and her color goes up again. “Oh my god! That’s it! You want Tarin for yourself. That’s what this is all about! This isn’t about him not loving me or me having problems … this is about you and your sick little infatuation with Tarin!”
My butt hits the ground, and I drop my face into my hand, using my other to prop myself up. I half whisper, half moan, “Jesus Christ save me from delusional nutbags.” I swallow over and over to keep my stomach contents where they belong.
I hear a drawer open and lift my eyes in time to see her pulling a handgun from the nightstand.
My heart stops beating for what seems like forever. My salivary glands go into overdrive. The vomiting is near.
The gun comes up and she stares at it, almost mystified. And then a big grin comes over her face as she looks at me. “Tarin keeps a gun in our bedroom to protect us from people like you.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I lift the phone to my ear with monumental effort. It jitters against my head, I’m shaking so bad. My heart starts beating again, only now it’s going a mile a minute. “She’s got a gun,” I say to the operator. My voice is all over the place. “I’m pretty sure she’s going to shoot me.”
Chapter Thirty-One
GOD, IF YOU’RE OUT THERE listening, I seriously did not mean it when I said I wanted someone to shoot me. If you get me out of this, I swear I’ll never be sarcastic again. I hate the Fates for allowing my sarcasm to raise its ugly head at exactly the wrong moment, just when the universe was willing to grant me one wish. I hope God doesn’t take my request itself as sarcastic and allow a bullet to enter my brain as a lesson in humility.
Everything takes on a surreal quality. The details of the room fade except for two things: Posey and the gun she’s pointing at me. Their focus is so sharp for me, I can see the nubbed texture on the grip of the weapon and the way her finger is hovering just in front of the trigger. It’s like I’m in a movie, and I’m so into my role, it feels real. But not real. I’m so confused.
This can’t be real. I’m just here so I can call someone on the phone. I can’t remember who it is or why I was calling him. I’m wearing jogging clothes. Am I going jogging? There’s a high-pitched ringing in my ears and it’s getting louder and louder. Beeeeeeeeeeeeee…
The gun looks heavier than Posey expected it to be. She goes from one-handing the weapon to using both hands. She walks around the bed and stops at the far corner of it. There’s still a lot of bedroom between us, but I’m a big enough target that I don’t think she’ll miss.
I hate the idea that I’m going to be killed by someone so stupid; it’s like an insult to my own intelligence or something. Outrage over the unfairness of it clears my mind just a bit. Why can’t it be a smart person about to murder me right now, dammit!
The ringing in my ears stops just in time for her words to come across loud and clear.
“I think I am going to shoot you,” she says, smiling like I just gave her the best idea she’s heard all year. She reminds me of that guy in The Shining with her maniacal grin. “Tarin will thank me. He’ll be glad I stopped you from messing up his life. What are you doing in here anyway? Are you stalking him? He’s not going to appreciate that. He’ll totally thank me for shooting you and stopping you in your tracks. This is totally self-defense.” She points the gun higher, aiming it at my face.
> “Tarin will not thank you. Tarin will hate you until his dying day if you kill me, since I’m his … sister.” I have no idea where that BS came from, but I feel inspired, like there’s a guardian angel watching over me and whispering in my ear. And then I actually hear Austin’s voice in my head. Easy, now, babe. You can do this.
Tears leap to my eyes and my heart spasms painfully. “Oh, God, Austin … are you here?”
Posey backs her head up, genuinely thrown off. “Austin? His sister? What are you talking about? Tarin doesn’t have a sister, he’s an only child.”
I shake my head, my hair turning into knots against the wall as it rubs. “No, he has a sister. Half-sister. It’s me. He’s my brother. We’re totally close. If you kill me it’ll break his heart.” Please let her buy my bullshit!
She slowly lowers the gun. Her self-satisfied smile wavers. “I don’t remember reading about you online. Wikipedia doesn’t say anything about him having a sister. Neither does his website.”
I try to smile reassuringly at her. She’s almost falling for my stupid story, and even though I have no idea where to go from here, I have to keep it up. Fighting the tears that want to wash me away, I open my mouth, hoping the ghost of Austin will put words in there for me.
He doesn’t.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, finally lowering her hand to her side. Then her face brightens. “Ooooohhh, I get it….” She smiles at me like I’m a little infant or something. “He keeps you hidden because you’re special.”
She looks pointedly at my clothing and my open-mouthed silent scream.
Do it! Do the crazy eyes! Austin’s whispering in my head again.
I nod my head slowly at Posey, crossing my eyes for effect. It makes Scott crazy when I do this; only one eye goes in and the other goes off to the side a little. He says it makes him queasy. Austin always thought it was hilarious.
“Oh my god … are you like, retarded or something?”
I try to drool for extra effect, but my mouth’s gone dry.
She giggles. “Holy shit … I can’t believe I almost shot Tarin’s retarded sister.”
I straighten my eyes back out and watch her walk over to the nightstand and put the gun away. She comes back towards me, and I try to get my legs going again, but my ribs hurt too much.
“Come on, let me help you up, sweetie,” she says, bending down to grab my hand. She sounds deliriously happy.
I hear the front door open and slam closed. Voices make their way up the stairs.
Screams come bubbling up from my throat as she yanks on me.
“Get up, silly,” she says, completely ignoring my distress. “I don’t want Tarin to find you on the floor. He’ll think the wrong thing probably and get upset.”
“My ribs,” I moan, trying to hold them with one hand, praying there are no jagged edges in there to puncture a lung. My other hand is still trapped in her psycho grip, so I spin sideways, falling at her feet on my side. I scream with the waves pain that flow through me. I’m huffing and puffing as I try to speak. “Fuck … off … you crazy bitch! … Let me go!”
Feet pound up the stairs.
She kicks me once, catching me in the head with the toe of her shoe. “Get up, dummy! Get up!”
I’m crying now. I can’t hold it in any longer. “Posey,” I manage between tears, “you better get the fuck away from me and run very, very far, … because when I catch you … I’m going to strangle you with my bare hands.”
She kicks me once more, this time in the ear. “I thought retards were nice.” She jerks on my wrist. “You’re not very nice at all, are you?”
My vision goes a little gray, but when it comes back, all I can see is a horrible bright orange color.
Sneakers. Thank God, it’s sneakers.
“Scarlett?” Scott sounds confused. Unsure. Like maybe he thinks his eyes are deceiving him.
“Get that crazy bitch!” I gasp out.
Scott’s shoved to the side by someone wearing cowboy boots. My hand is jerked sharply backwards as the mystery cowboy takes Posey down in a flying tackle onto the bed.
She screams.
I scream.
Orange shoes are in my face again. I smell cat pee. It makes the nausea worse.
“What the fuck is going on in here!” yells Tarin.
Scott’s breath washes over my nose.
Oh fuck me, it’s stale beer.
Scott’s concerned expression and his chocolate brown eyes appear about three inches away from my face. “Are you okay?”
My face crumbles as I start to sob. “No, I’m most definitely not okay.”
And then I throw up on Tarin’s silk carpet.
Chapter Thirty-Two
EVERYTHING GOES HAZY FOR A while. Someone’s screaming. Guys are yelling. There’s pounding on the stairs and hallway floor again.
Police.
A man with a white shirt looming over me.
“Who are you?” I finally think to ask. I’m so out of it. The pain is awful.
“My name is Louis. I’m an EMT. I’m just going to put you on a board so we can get you into the ambulance.” Something goes around my neck and doesn’t quite choke me, but it’s not the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn.
I cry out when I’m rocked sideways and back again. Suddenly the ceiling is closer and I’m moving. Louis is somewhere; I can hear him barking out orders for people to get out of the way. Going down the stairs is not fun. Straps hold me to the stiff thing they’re carrying me on, keeping me from falling off.
We’re outside. The sun hits me in the face and it makes me feel alive. I smile, despite the pain. My carriers put me on a bed with wheels at the back of the ambulance. The bumping makes me cry.
And then Tarin’s face is in mine. “What the fuck happened in there?” He looks angry, but I don’t think it’s at me.
“Your number two fan tried to kick me to death.”
A storm crosses his features and then he shouts at the sky. “Fuuuuuck!” Placing his hand on my forehead, he leans in close. “I’m so, so sorry, Scar. I should have listened to you. I shouldn’t have led her on like I did. I had no idea …”
I close my eyes, a tear slipping out. The sense that he’s turned a corner in his selfish thought process is making me sad and proud at the same time. “People aren’t toys, Tarin. You shouldn’t play with them, you know.”
“I fucking know, okay. I know that now. I was a dick, and I’m so sorry. I really am. It’s so unfair that you’re paying for my mistake.”
A stranger’s voice interrupts our love fest. “Sorry, buddy, but I need you to get out of the way.”
Tarin’s hand leaves my forehead, but he grips my hand. “I’ll see you at the hospital.”
“No. Stay here. It’s not safe right now. You don’t have adequate security …” My voice fades out with the effort of bossing him around.
Scott appears on the other side of my gurney. “I’ll take care of it, sis. I promise, I’ll take care of everything.” Guilt mars his features.
I reach a hand up with effort. “Good. I know you will. See ya, bro.”
“Wait a minute.” Tarin’s face is hovering above me again. “You said number two fan.”
“Yes, I did,” I whisper. I don’t know what made me say that out loud. This is so not the time to have this conversation.
“Who’s number one?”
I don’t say anything, and then Tarin’s gone again. His protests are ignored as he’s pushed out of the ambulance and the doors are shut closed behind him.
“Are you allergic to anything?” Louis asks me.
“No. Just pain.”
“Pain meds? Which ones?”
“No, not the meds. Just the pain.”
He laughs. “Oh, okay. I’m going to give you something to take the edge off, if you want.”
“Please,” I say. And that’s the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I’M W
ITH NURSES AND A doctor within minutes of arriving at the emergency room. Apparently it hasn’t gone unnoticed that I’m with Tarin Kilgour of By Degrees. He has fans here and they give me the star treatment.
Twenty minutes go by, during which I’m examined, cleaned up, and wrapped in bandages. Scott is the first one by my side. We’re in my private room, the lights dimmed and the shades drawn.
“They said you can go home in a couple hours. No overnight if you don’t want it.”
“Hell no. Just get me home.”
“Home as in the apartment…?”
I sigh. “You know what I meant. Tarin’s place. I may have gotten my ass kicked by a psycho cheerleader, but that doesn’t mean the job is over.”
“Okay, good. Because I really think this one’s on the right track. He’s really responding to your methods and the crew seems really on board with everything.”
“Plus he has all those video games and the studio,” I add.
Scott smiles, knowing he’s totally busted. “Yeah, that too.”
“Is he out there?” I say, knowing I sound totally pitiful, but unable to stop myself from asking.
Scott takes my hand and stares at me, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Yeah. He’s just working his way through the fannage. Those nurses are almost as bad as Posey.”
“Ugh.”
“Listen … are you sure you want to do this?” Scott asks, his voice going lower.
“Do what? Lie here in this hospital? Do I have a choice?”
“Stop playing. You know what I’m talking about. Tarin.”
“I’m not doing Tarin, so you’ll have to be more clear.” At least, I’m not doing him ever again.
“I mean staying at his house, doing this job with him, getting so involved in his life. Are you sure you want to keep doing that? We can just call it a draw and walk away. I have plenty of money and I know you do too. We don’t need to do this.”
“We’ve never walked away from a job or a person who needs us, Scott.” Not since Austin, that is. “Why would we do it now?”