by A. C. Dillon
"But you do play the part, don't you?" Veronica prodded. "You give them what they're expecting."
"I can be a bitch," Zoe agreed slyly. "If they choose to underestimate me, that's their problem. I play their game and I get ahead because I'm tough. I've worked with a higher calibre of productions than most as a result."
Autumn understood Zoe's stance. Hadn't she told Andrew precisely what the media expected her to be? How she would play along, just to make it all easier?
"Have you heard anything about other women with obsessive fans? And by obsessive,” Autumn clarified, “I mean 'whole other level' obsessive."
"Hmm... It definitely happens. Usually, we see more of that shit when a Hollywood name decides to dabble in the stage. Denzel Washington had a few special ones. Daniel Radcliffe had a handful of weirdos—my friend worked on Equus and was horrified by some of the letters she'd screen. There was this forty year-old die-hard who came from London to see him on Broadway. But recent shit? Nothing on this scale. Which isn't to say it doesn't happen," Zoe added. "There's just a level of this crap that all stars put up with like it's part of the job."
Veronica slumped in her chair. "That's what I figured. No one talks about it."
"Hey... I'll put out some feelers tonight, alright?" Zoe offered warmly. "I'm sorry this shitbag is harassing you. If there's anyone out there who knows anything about this guy, I'll find out."
"Thanks, Zoe. I'd really appreciate it." Autumn squeezed her friend's shoulder lightly. "We both would. We don't want anyone else to get hurt."
With a faraway look in her eyes, Zoe sighed. "Neither do I."
* * *
With Veronica safely under watch during her evening performance, Evan and Autumn found themselves debating the rest of the night's activities. Veronica was scheduled to perform at Joe's Pub as part of a charity fundraiser for AIDS research, alongside several other Broadway performers. Her evening security, Mirza, had already looked into the venue and the attendees as best as he could, ultimately deciding Veronica could go if she didn't linger. Evan, on the other end, was strictly against it.
"It's a public event!" he snapped. "The less she's on display and accessible to this guy, the better."
"She can't stop living her life, Evan. In fact, that's exactly what this jerk wants. He wants her to feel isolated and afraid, that his communication with her is all she has. And besides, the protective services group is reviewing the list of people with access to my book, narrowing down possible suspects. If we continue to go out in controlled settings, we might just catch a glimpse of someone who's on that list."
Autumn had been spinning in circles for the last half hour, Evan refusing to budge on the issue at all. She'd tried every possible rationale: Veronica's autonomy; flushing out the stalker; the need for normalcy to balance out what was a horrible experience. Not even Mirza had been able to persuade him.
"She's not live bait, Autumn." Reaching for her left arm, he turned it over, pointing out her lengthy scar. "You practically ran around campus, waiting for a killer to come at you. We almost lost you."
Autumn winced, recalling how devastated Evan had been when he'd come to visit her in the hospital. He'd felt like a failure for not being approachable about her missing teenage doppelgängers. Consumed with the what ifs and how close she'd come to a similar fate, she'd been forced to promise to never hide anything from him again.
"Evan, it's not the same. Mirza will be there. The entire venue will be on high alert. We'll be there."
Without warning, he pulled her into a tight embrace. Knowingly, she hugged him back, understanding that it was as much about his fear of loss as it was about the danger both she and Veronica had faced. Like any brother, he was her protector, her counsel in rough times. It was her turn to reciprocate.
"I can't lose her." Hoarse with emotion, she could feel tears seeping through the shoulder of her shirt. "I won't. Not when I almost blew it forever."
"We won't let that happen. I promise, Evan."
Rubbing at his eyes, he loomed over her yet seemed so small. "Mirza really thinks it's okay?"
Autumn nodded. "He wants her to arrive just before her performance and leave after it ends. Ray will be there as well. Gabriel's coming too, I think. This means a lot to her."
Evan relented at last. "Okay. But if anything goes wrong, or seems off... we leave."
"Of course. Mirza and Ray are running things. Veronica knows it." With a warm smile, she gestured down the street. "Let's walk a little. I could use the fresh air before being rammed inside a crowded bar."
The heat wave had abated, but only just: still summer in the city, Autumn's legs bore the sheen of a light sweat as they made their way towards her hotel. At least I had the sense to switch to shorts, she thought happily. She'd change into a dress for the fundraiser, but for now, her denim cut-offs were heavenly.
"So where's your other half?"
"Filming. He's doing a piece on the post-Occupy world, profiling some of the active members of that movement. He's contrasting those who continue to take action with those who fell out of the scene after the hoopla. He's not even sure he'll make the fundraiser."
Evan gently jabbed her in the arm. "Andrew miss an event like this? Doesn't sound like him. You two okay?"
Autumn hesitated. They were... strained. After her meeting with Barrington, her sudden interest in probing Zoe Ferguson for more information had led to a heated argument about how involved she was becoming in the case. Specifically, Andrew was concerned that she was at risk of salting the raw wounds of her past brush with a killer. Her assurances that this was different—no more than a journalist would do—were met with disgruntled silence. While he'd kissed her goodbye before leaving for his interviews, it had been a cool brushing of the lips. Forced, even.
"I hope so," she replied wearily.
"Uh oh, are you following big brother's lead and screwing up your good thing?"
Autumn shrugged. "I don't know... I promised him I wouldn't let this consume me like Nikki's death, but it's kind of hard not to be involved. Someone's using my book to pick ways to murder people."
"We don't know Sophia is dead," Evan interjected.
"Yes, we do. Because the missing student from my chapter five ends up being found dead. Also, Barrington showed me a photo from the crime scene. It was too much blood for anyone to have survived."
They stood at a red light, waiting to cross like the obedient Canadians they were. Some people moved between the crawling cars, refusing to be delayed. Autumn was in no rush to get back, uncertain as to whether it would be better for Andrew to be there or still be gone.
"Some advice?"
Autumn sighed. "I don't have a choice, do I?"
"Nope, but I find people are more responsive with the illusion of control." They walked on at the crossing's behest, dodging between harried locals and meandering tourists. "Andrew has every right to worry. We've seen what you've been through. Maybe you don't remember just how bad it was back then. We had to tell you to eat. You were sitting in class, but your mind was elsewhere entirely. None of us want you to get like that again, Veronica included."
Autumn winced. "She's worried?"
"Yup," Evan replied, popping the 'p'. "She said that there was this thing with a psychic and it freaked her out. That you were out of it, like back then."
"Crap."
They were a block from the hotel now. A block from potential confrontation. Or loneliness. Autumn felt herself shrink, willing her body to be less, be smaller. Draw less attention, less concern.
"You two will be fine," Evan reassured her. "Just talk it out."
No, talking is the last thing we need. Not about the truth. She was hurting everyone around her without even realizing it. I'm so selfish.
"I will. Thank you, Evan." She embraced him, avoiding his prying gaze.
"Anytime. So, should we pick you up?"
"Sure. I'll be ready to go for ten. And Evan? You've gotta talk too."
With his trade
mark goofy grin, he nodded. "Done deal."
As Autumn watched him slip into a cab, she felt her heart sink. It took one to know one: they'd just lied to each other. Two of a kind, she lamented.
Finding the suite empty only worsened her mood. Throwing her purse to the floor, she peeled off her tank top and shorts, allowing them to clutter the plush carpet beneath her bare feet. Blasting a well-worn playlist on iTunes, she turned on the shower and sang her hurt out with the help of a few depressing favourites. She was mid-rinse on the conditioner—and belting the chorus to Noel Johnson's "Calculated Love"—when a glimmer of light reflected off the mirrored doors.
"Andrew?" she called out. "Hey, can you order in dinner?"
No response. Perplexed, she sluiced the water from her hair and shut off the tap. She noticed the angle of the sun as she glanced at the nearby window and chided herself. Idiot. It was just the light catching the sliding door. You're still alone.
A sudden scraping against the suite door begged to differ.
Nearly falling to the shower floor, Autumn stumbled out into the bathroom, hurriedly grabbing at a towel. Tucking it around her body, she pressed herself against the sink, searching the area for a weapon. Another scrape against the door reverberated in her skull, punctuated by the thumping of her heart.
A toothbrush. It could be jammed into a throat. It would have to do for the moment.
Tiptoeing around the corner into the lounge area, Autumn saw no one. She did, however, spy a corkscrew and immediately traded up her weapon. Holding the silver coil between her index and middle finger, she stalked through the suite, seeking the cause of the noise.
From the periphery, a shimmer of light.
She stumbled, spinning towards it, only to find a flicker of purple dancing along the looming floor lamp. She knew what it was—who it was.
"This isn't funny, Louise!" she shouted angrily.
Behind her, something slid across the floor, brushing against the carpet. Whirling around, she stared in horror at the large brown envelope beside her cast-off sneakers. Did she dare approach it? What if the bearer of the envelope was waiting outside the door, counting on her to be curious, to come closer?
She was exposed and also clad in only a towel.
I have to look through the peep hole. If he's here... If I can catch a glimpse...
Rushing forward, she stepped over the unwanted parcel and peered through the tiny opening. Retreating down the hall was a young man, perhaps five-ten, slender in build. In his hand, a clipboard. Masquerading as a courier. Of course. It's how he got the shoes into Veronica's room!
Half of her wanted to rush out into the hall, semi-nudity be damned, and confront him. The smarter half of her won. Rushing for the phone, she dialed the concierge.
"Hello? A man dressed in beige shorts and a black t-shirt with a clipboard just delivered a package to my room. Can security detain him? I believe he might be stalking me..."
She waited on the line, tapping the corkscrew against her thigh as she sat on hold. In the background, she heard a page, then a shuffling of items on a desk. On the floor, the envelope remained, taunting her. She closed her eyes, begging for resolve, begging for something to go their way.
After what felt like forever, a male voice returned to the line.
"We have him, Ms. Brody."
Satisfied, she dropped the corkscrew on the ground. "I'll be right down."
FOURTEEN
As it turned out, sometimes a courier was precisely that: a courier.
Having grilled the poor college student for twenty minutes and ultimately confirming his delivery details and route with dispatch, he was sent on his way with an apologetic smile from Autumn. Her hair hung limp and damp, her hastily thrown on shorts and t-shirt clinging to her skin. She felt foolish, despite the reassurances of the responding officer and the hotel that given the circumstances, she had every reason to question the presence of the man.
At least she hadn't been entirely wrong.
Inside the envelope, handled by the officer, was a single typewritten page addressed to Autumn, accompanied by a sealed white envelope of distinct familiarity.
To Ms. Brody,
I trust, as an inquisitive woman with an understanding of the lengths that people will go for love, that you will understand why I am approaching you now. It would seem that people have gone to great lengths to keep me from corresponding with my Veronica.
I know it is hard for others to fathom a love like ours, but please believe that all I want for her is happiness and success. I believe you want the same.
Please ensure my enclosed letter reaches my star.
Her stomach turned at the stalker's delusional belief that Autumn would somehow understand and even support his misguided affections. Had he no understanding of right and wrong? Did he not get that women didn't respond to being harassed and hurt in the name of so-called love?
No, of course not. Because society made it clear that women were a prize to pursue, to win. That being a nice guy meant that you were entitled to the affection of any woman you desired. That rape was merely sex as persuasion, or payment. There was a reason people passed celebrity nudes around with glee, implying that their right to privacy was null and void.
The letter to Veronica, however, was what truly disturbed her. Almost babbling, bordering on incoherent, he fixated on Veronica as his beacon of hope, his starlight. He'd even praised her performance in his movie. Shuddering, Autumn remembered the final lines; they would be forever branded in her memory.
You may be a star, Veronica, but eventually all stars must fall from the sky. And when you do, you will be right where you belong: with me.
Her one consolation: Veronica would not be told of the letter, nor would Evan. She'd called Kevin, of course, believing her security detail needed to be aware of this latest incident. Kevin had immediately insisted she consider a protective detail of her own, but she'd dismissed it.
"He only delivered the letter to me because Veronica's too secure. Now that the security at my hotel is on alert, he won't risk this method again."
All the same, she had a feeling that either Andrew or her father would be hearing from Kevin soon.
Dashing on lip gloss, Autumn studied her reflection carefully. Her deep blue tea dress gathered beneath her bust, with a lace outer layer to its flared skirt. With her hair in a messy bun and her face framed in loose tendrils, she hoped she was presentable enough. Wincing, she took a quick run at concealing the hints of dark circles beneath her eyes.
I can't worry them anymore. I won't. The police would handle the letter. Security would monitor her floor. Problem solved.
Andrew hadn't called. A part of her wanted to tell him of the afternoon's events, beg him to be at her side. A part of her worried that perhaps she wasn't the only one visited today by the unknown predator. The stubborn woman within won, and she refused to reach out. He'd flat out said he could miss the fundraiser, which meant his still being gone was reasonable.
Eleven. If he hasn't even texted by eleven, I'll text him.
Grabbing her purse and slipping into her low-slung heels, she headed downstairs to meet Evan and Veronica. She wore the smile she'd trotted out for her parents many times during her ordeal with Chris. If her investigator father hadn't called her out for it, it had to be somewhat convincing.
Mirza nodded to her as she approached the car, gesturing to the backseat. Opening the door, she found a beaming Veronica, clad in the slinkiest red dress she'd ever seen. Her already ample cleavage seemed larger in the strapless number, the slit running from mid-calf to high upon her thigh.
"Damn, Veronica!"
"I know, right?" Veronica laughed, gesturing to Evan in the front passenger seat. "He's speechless."
"I am not speechless," he protested. "I simply have no words that are adequate enough to capture your beauty."
"Spoken like a true graduate of the Creative Writing program," Autumn teased. "So... what are you performing tonight?"
"You'll find out when I sing it!"
"Oh come on! I'm your wifey! How am I stuck finding out when the rest of the world does?"
It took several minutes of pleading and playful begging, but Veronica relented at last. "I get two numbers, so I figured I'd do one from a show and one I just enjoy singing."
"And you're not doing anything from In the Garden?"
"Hell no! They can come pay to see me perform those songs." Veronica winked, tousling her hair gently. "I decided against anything from bare and Spring Awakening as well, since I've done those shows and felt like this was a shot to do something I might never get to portray. It was so bloody tempting—pun intended—to do 'All The Men In My Life Keep Getting Killed By Candarian Demons' from Evil Dead. I figured the purists would shit themselves."
"On the other hand, I would have died laughing!" Autumn enthused. "So what did you pick?"
"I kept it in the Spring family and opted for 'Superboy and The Invisible Girl' from next to normal. I love that show and I didn't have to fight over the song, surprisingly. I question the taste of some people."
"I'm guessing people are going for the mega-hit crowd pleasers."
Veronica shrugged. "To each their own. At least I'm not doing anything from Rent. I love that show but I knew it would be a popular choice for an AIDS benefit. Everyone on the bill was fighting over Rent, or so it seems. I got five calls asking me to confirm I didn't want any of the songs from the show."
"Well, to be fair, you did play Maureen before. What's your second choice?"
As they pulled up in front of Joe's, Veronica smiled. "Funny you mention Idina, since I'm doing one of her songs. I got my Rent nod in."
"We're here," Mirza announced. "Ray's just going inside to take a look before we enter."