Waiting For A Star To Fall (Autumn Brody Book 2)

by A. C. Dillon

  "I'm sorry, Veronica. You'll understand soon," Barrington whispered in her ear.

  A choking gasp, a squeak, as her knees buckled beneath her, her body crumpling into a twisted ball. Heaviness and blinding streaks of light swallowed Veronica alive.

  TWENTY-TWO

  It was déjà vu of the worst kind.

  Andrew dropped his camera bag in the entryway and immediately called Autumn's cell phone, storming into the bedroom area. The room was vacant, no trace of his fiancée to be found. When ring number four went to her voicemail, he hung up and redialed. Voicemail, again.

  A mental checklist formed. Phone? Gone. Key card? Gone. Purse? Gone. Okay, she'd left the room and had intended to leave. What bothered him, aside from the clear disregard she continued to show for doctor's orders, was the lack of communication.

  You know I worry, Autumn! Where the hell did you go?

  He'd felt it on the train, a strange, nagging sense of the universe being out of order. Something's wrong, the voice whispered. Hurry back. And he had done just that, jogging with his gear in the sweltering heat to make it here.

  Jeremy. Had the intern come to the hotel? Had she confronted him? No, she would have called security, like she did when the courier came. Andrew reached for the phone on the desk, suddenly optimistic. Maybe that's exactly what happened. Maybe she's downstairs, safe in their office. She would have taken her things. No big deal. Pressing the key for the front desk, he relaxed into the chair beside him. And she wouldn't call, because she'd want me to focus on my work.

  "Concierge?"

  "Hi there, this is Andrew Daniels in room 3806. I'm wondering if Autumn Brody is downstairs. Has she been in contact with you?"

  "Not that I know of sir, but I came on shift an hour ago. Hold on, I'll ask..." Elevator music. The worst kind. How a hotel this pricey couldn't afford satellite radio was beyond him. "Sir?"

  "Yes, I'm still here," Andrew replied.

  "I've checked with everyone here, and there have been no calls to us from your room. Jason advises me that a police officer stopped by approximately two hours ago and he called up to the room to confirm the guest, as you've requested on file."

  Andrew frowned. "What officer?"

  "Jason, did you get a name?" the woman called out. "One... Female. Detective Morgan?"

  "Thank you very much."

  Hanging up, Andrew dialed Autumn's cell one more time. Barrington came by... Maybe the police had questions about Jeremy? But if so, why wouldn't she leave a message? And why would she need to leave the room to provide information? Seething, he pondered calling the police and giving them hell for allowing their officers to pull an injured woman from her bed for the sake of their own investigation.

  No answer. Probably has it on silent, he guessed.

  Andrew spent a good ten minutes trying to ignore the prickling on the back of his neck, but it was useless. No, she would have called me. Or sent a text.. Something's happened. Unless she'd left to see Veronica?

  He was going to feel like an idiot if she was upstairs, but at least he would be a relieved idiot. His fingers flew over the hotel phone, dialing the four digits of their friends' room. After two rings, Evan answered, clearly agitated.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey Evan, it's Andrew. Autumn up there with you two?"

  Evan huffed. "No, it's just me and my wounded ego, thanks to Veronica fucking off. Kevin's pissed and frankly, so am I."

  Andrew's grip on the receiver tightened. "What do you mean, she's 'fucked off'?"

  "After forcing me to have a shouting match with my dad, she steps out into the hall and disappears. Kevin had been called downstairs by security, so he traded off with hotel staff. Veronica asks him to tell us both that she's going to the police station with Detective Barrington. Jeremy was apparently arrested."

  It was then that Andrew knew, deep in his core, that both women were in a world of trouble. "Evan... How long ago was this?"

  "Maybe half an hour? Andrew, what's wrong?"

  "It's just... Autumn's not here, and she hasn't called me. And two hours ago, Barrington phoned up from the lobby." His heart began to race as something odd stuck out in his mind. "Have Kevin call the police and confirm the arrest, and whether Barrington is on duty. I'm on my way up there."

  Evan was apparently on the same page now. "Jesus, you don't think...?"

  "Let's hope I am so very fucking wrong."

  Slamming down the phone, Andrew hurried for the door, running through a series of tiny moments that now seemed like red flags to him. Like how Barrington had never referred to the stalker as 'he' or 'him'. Or how the Detective had been the one to raise Jeremy as a suspect.

  Come to think of it, Barrington and Dixon had similar haircuts...

  "Shit!" he cursed as he jogged up to the fortieth floor. "Damn it!"

  If anything happens to her or Veronica, I will never forgive myself. With every fibre of his being, he hoped he was wrong, that it was all just a massive coincidence. Kevin's face dashed his hopes on the ground, shattering them into tiny shards as he opened the door of Veronica's room.

  "Barrington isn't on duty and Jeremy Dixon is not in custody."

  "Then Autumn and Veronica are with the stalker," Andrew concluded, feeling sick. "Barrington. She has to be the one."

  "How do we prove that?" Evan called out from within the room. "How do we prove a cop is a killer?"

  "I have an idea," Kevin announced. "We can do this the difficult but upfront way, or the illegal and guaranteed way."

  "Screw the law," Andrew replied. "It's the enemy now."

  Kevin ushered Andrew inside, bolting the door behind him. "I was hoping you'd say that. Evan, hand me my laptop. I have work to do."

  * * *

  A flicker of light. White heat searing her brain, blinding her. The taste of glue on her tongue.

  A muffled voice, terrified. "You can't leave her like that! Please..."

  Nausea. A rolling wave, a spasm. Autumn rolled onto her side, groaning as her lips were torn free of their sticky confines. Gasping for air, Autumn forced her eyes open, squinting against the shock of fluorescent light. Veronica. Oh, shit...

  "Autumn? Talk to me, please!"

  "V... You have to go...Have to..."

  "No one is going anywhere," Morgan snapped, nudging Autumn's rib with the toe of her shoe. "Not until you understand. Not until you know what I've sacrificed for you. For us."

  "Us?" Veronica was furious now, pulling hard at her bound wrists. "There is no us, you crazy bitch!"

  No, no, no. She needed to play along. She needed to buy them time... Time to... Something. Autumn's head slumped as she scooched her body closer to Veronica. There was a way to break a zip tie. She'd read it once, before a protest she'd gone to...It was all just so fuzzy and messy in her mind.

  Think, Autumn! Come on, you have to!

  "I am not crazy!" Morgan screamed, slapping Veronica's face. "How dare you? After all I have done for you? I've encouraged you, supported your art, offered you gifts. I've punished people who've dared to hurt you. No one will forget your name, Veronica. Not after all I've done." She began to pace, tugging viciously at her hair. "None of you appreciate it. None of you ever see how loyal I am, how caring. None of you..."

  "Play along," Autumn hissed quietly.

  Think. There was a way... A release...

  "Maybe I just don't understand it," Veronica said, her voice quivering. "Maybe... Maybe you should explain... Why me?"

  A latch. There's a thing... you press it and the tie slides free... Autumn's hand fumbled with Veronica's tie, feeling for the locking mechanism. Her fingers felt puffy and swollen, difficult to control.

  "Why you?" Morgan sighed, leaning against the wall beside an enormous snowflake. "I grew up in the world of Broadway. This was my home, my escape. Grandma would take me to a show whenever things were too much. In the Garden has been the Holy Grail of musicals for years. Of course, it caught my attention."

  "Theatre has always been my s
afe place," Veronica chimed in, stretching her arms back a little further.

  Almost... There. With her thumb, Autumn began shoving her nail against the tie, searching for the tab that would set her friend free. I can't run... Can't... But she can...

  Morgan rambled on, mercifully oblivious to Autumn’s efforts. "See? I understand that. So many people don't appreciate the healing power of the arts. I immediately looked into the cast of In the Garden and your story was fascinating. Fluke audition, high school senior from another country... I was curious. For a show that major, they would want a stellar set of performers. High expectations. I looked for your older work..."

  Time shifted and stuttered: one moment, she was flicking at the bar; the next, she was shaking herself awake. Was Morgan incoherent, or was she losing time? Autumn drew a deep breath, steeling herself against her body's urge to collapse, to shut down.

  "I'm glad you think I have a great voice and can act, but you don't know me," Veronica was saying now. "Aside from my career and a few of my friends, you don't have a clue. That's why this isn't a real relationship. You can't love an image of someone."

  "I see through the image," Morgan insisted. "I see! You're funny and kind, and you're shyer than people would assume from an actress. Oh, I know you, maybe better than you know yourself."

  A giving way. Autumn tugged gently, loosening Veronica's restraints. Another tug, a relieved sigh. Sleep. I just need to sleep...

  "Even if you do, I'm with someone. You have to respect that I am a grown woman in charge of her body and her relationships," Veronica pleaded. "Please, you have to let me go. Let us go—"

  "Why do you have to make this so difficult?"

  With an angry shriek, Morgan stormed away, digging into her bag. Autumn knew what was inside, knew that her friend had just shoved her stalker over the ledge from disturbed into violent and dangerous.

  "Maybe you need to cut ties with the past to embrace our future," Morgan muttered, unsheathing the hunting knife. "You don't need to spend your life obligated to her!"

  Autumn whimpered as Morgan grabbed her by the hair, holding the blade to her throat. A paper cut sting under her chin and then there was warmth, trickling down her skin, an annoying, wet itch she couldn't scratch.

  "NO! NO, STOP IT! LEAVE HER ALONE!" Veronica pleaded.

  "S'okay," Autumn mumbled sleepily.

  Voices surrounded her, muffled as if underwater. She struggled to decipher the din, failing miserably and allowing the cottony blankness of her brain to claim her anew. Eyelids fluttering shut against her will, she wondered if it was possible to forget to breathe.

  I don't want to die, she thought as she slipped into unconsciousness once more...

  * * *

  "You've got to be kidding me!" Kevin snarled, punching his laptop.

  Andrew rushed to his side, staring at the screen. "What's wrong?"

  "The elevator cameras—either they're down or they're fake." Kevin gestured to the security cameras of the hotel, laid out in an expansive grid of tiny thumbnail images. "I can track Barrington into the elevator lobby. I can show she was on the 38th floor. And here..." Kevin pulled up a window, rewinding the footage. "Autumn's with her, for a moment. After this, I have no idea where they go."

  Kevin's illegal solution to their horror was to hack into the hotel security grid, as opposed to asking for access. The likelihood of an upscale property granting the request for anyone aside from police was slim, Kevin had explained. With a few decryption programs and some tech savvy, he'd had the footage on screen in fifteen minutes.

  "Can you see them leaving the hotel?" Andrew asked.

  "That's the weirdest part: there's no exit. Unless she took her through some back exit without a camera, I'm stumped."

  "What about Veronica?" Evan asked. "Is there anything at all?"

  "Similar story: I have footage from this floor, but nothing in the elevators. No exit."

  Andrew mulled this over for a moment, studying the cameras. "Wait: follow Barrington backwards from this floor. Does she enter?"

  "What, enter the hotel? Good question..."

  Kevin hit a few keys and watched the front entry cameras for several minutes in reverse. Andrew and Evan also searched the images flying by, seeking a flash of green blouse and dark, curly hair. Ten minutes elapsed in a flurry.

  "Nothing," Evan whispered.

  "They're still in the hotel," Andrew realized. "They never left. They're nearby."

  "But where?" Evan challenged him. "In another room?"

  Slamming the laptop shut, Kevin rose to his feet. "Let's find out. We don't have much time."

  * * *

  I'm there again. The abandoned operating theatre beneath campus. The place where he brought me to die like the rest of his jarred-heart girls. His Marys, bloodied and battered for rejecting him.

  Strapped into the chair, weak and dizzy, I watch as Louise enters the room. Her dress is dragging in the dirty water and congealing blood on the tiles, but it doesn't seem to bother her. Reaching for the scalpel beside me, she cuts me loose and steps backwards, waiting.

  "Thank you," I tell her, massaging my wrists gently. "I'm so cold..."

  "You know why."

  I'm in denial. A concussion can't kill you, can it? Who am I kidding? Of course it can. Head trauma. Shock. The longer I keep slipping into this darkness, the further I drift from safety.

  "Everyone denies it when they face down death," she whispers. "The soldiers would stare down their wounds and insist they were trivial, even as their skin turned to grey. Even I couldn't believe it when Death came for me..."

  The wound upon her chest begins to swell: first a pinpoint, then a quarter-sized stain. She will bleed out, as she always does.

  "What happened to you?"

  "A robbery. They were frightened. I was distracted by a visitor, seeking my help."

  I press my palm to my chest, struggling to steady my frantic heart. She mirrors me, pressing her hand to the gaping wound in her own.

  "You can get out of this, like last time. You know the way."

  A rush of images flood my mind: Miraj, showing me the way, coaching me through my initial escape; Nikki, beckoning me to safe passage; Kearney hovering above me and striking my face, a scalpel buried in his neck.

  I know what she's telling me, but I can't consider it. I won't. My hand raises to shield my eyes, blocking her from view. As if that can possibly stop her.

  Her own hand strains across the divide, her parched lips sealed, yet her voice is thunderous in my skull. “Let me in.”

  I refuse and back away, the panic swelling within me. Because as desperate as I am to live through this, I also know that there is a very angry and very vicious spirit in the room with my corporeal self. If I open the damn door, who will come strolling in?

  “It's the only way.”

  I'm begging for another solution, pleading with her for some alternative, but I can remember that struggle within these tunnels, and I understand now that I owe my life to this curse some tell me is a gift. I feel the ice in my veins, first claiming my fingertips, then my hand. My wrist surrenders and I rub it furiously with my other palm. Contagion. I can feel the space inside me, feel the door opening.

  Grounding. I focus on Andrew now, on his love for me. The little things that I cherish: the feel of his breath upon my neck when I wake up in his arms; the way his forehead crinkles when he's heatedly debating politics; the way he brings me a brownie when I'm sad. The love he has for me that never wavers, even when I doubt that I deserve it. I will anchor myself to him, to the life we share. To the life I don’t want to end this way.

  Because this time, it's not a dream. I understand it now, as I hear Veronica's frantic voice cutting through the fog. Out of its mists, Louise re-emerges, gesturing behind me.

  With one last thought of Andrew, I squeeze my eyes shut. "Come in," I urge her.

  * * *

  Veronica wrenched her wrist sideways, shimmying the tie down her left hand as she conti
nued to plead with her captor.

  "Morgan, please, put her down," Veronica repeated, shifting up onto her knees. "This isn't about Autumn, or Evan, or anyone else. This is about you and me. How is hurting my best friend going to make me happy?"

  The blade hovered close to Autumn's jugular, her limp body a seeming pantomime of what Veronica knew would be her fate if she couldn't get through to the obsessive officer. Judging from the burgeoning bruise on her left temple, Autumn had taken a terrible hit to the head. If the knife didn't kill her, the head injury might.

  "Isn't that what you told me in your letters?" Veronica prodded. "That you would make me happy?"

  "I suppose... No, it wouldn't help. I was careful with Gabriel. I can be careful with her."

  Gently, Morgan leaned Autumn against the far wall, her hair matted with what Veronica assumed was dried blood and sweat. A twist of her hand behind her back leveraged the zip tie another centimetre closer to the freedom she desperately needed.

  Keep her talking, Veronica told herself. Someone's gotta know we're missing. I just need more time.

  "Thank you, Morgan." Sincere relief. "Now, let's talk this through, because I still don't know what you hope we can have."

  Her voice trailed off as the music was turned up, the same damn 80s pop song on endless repeat. With a little sway and a shuffle, Morgan began to dance around the room. She sang along in places, leaning forward to caress Veronica's cheek. She fought the urge to recoil, staying still. This was going to be her Oscar-worthy performance: everything left on this twisted, dirty stage, every word and nuance in character. She was the reluctant love interest who would eventually be swayed thanks to some bullshit plotting by a typical male writer.

  "I love this song," Morgan gushed. "There's such an innocence to the love he has for his star, don't you think?"

  Across the room, Autumn's eyes fluttered, her limbs twitching. Veronica made a noncommittal noise, urging Morgan to keep talking. Is she having a seizure? As Morgan continued to prattle on about how music was better when she was young, Veronica kept her attention on her friend. When her eyes flew open, Veronica couldn't stop herself from gasping.