by JA Huss
"Rook," I whisper down in her ear. "Wake up, Gidge."
"Hmmm."
"I'm going down the studio for a second, but the alarm is still set, so if I'm not back, don't ignore it. We gotta get ready to go in about an hour. OK?"
Nothing but snores.
"Rook!"
"Mmm-hmmm. Heard you."
"And do not ignore me if I text."
More snores.
"Fuck it, I'll be right back, OK?"
She's out.
I slip some jeans on and walk out to the hallway and make my way down to the garden terrace, texting Ford as I go. When I get outside he's over on the far side, craning his neck to see something down the street. The edginess is back and my heart beats a little faster. "What's up?" I ask softly as I near him.
"Saw someone. Maybe him, actually." He takes his attention to a ping on his tablet, scans the message, then turns back to the street below.
My heart rate jacks up as I process his words. "You're fucking kidding me? Now?"
"I said I think, Ronin."
"Where's Spence?"
"I sent him down the street, that's who I was watching."
"Did Walsh make a purchase?"
"Not yet, but I've had seventeen nibbles on it in the past several hours."
"Define nibble, Ford. What's that even mean?"
Ford stops his intense concentration on the street and turns to me. "He's tried to hack it repeatedly over night. But my friend is mistaken if he thinks he can crack past my firewall machine before I'm ready to let him in."
"So he wants cam access but doesn't want to pay and leave a record."
"Pretty much," Ford says, turning back to the street. Spencer is in plain sight now, walking back towards us.
"Well, that pretty much defeats the whole fucking purpose of having that site in the first place, doesn't it? If he gets access, we're fucked."
"Relax, Ronin. Let me handle it. It's my ass that will burn if he does that, not yours. You do your job and that's it."
Spencer enters the building downstairs and we go inside and wait for him in the studio, turning on the fans to keep the conversation muddied. Just in case. We are paranoid fuckers and that's why we're not in jail. The keypad on the door beeps out his code and then Spence enters, a little out of breath from running up four flights of stairs.
"Nothing," he says to Ford. "There's a few vagrants down there, that's all."
"I'm not buying it," Ford says. "He's down there, he's just hiding. It's definitely today. He's watching us, waiting for us to fuck up."
"Should we cancel the trip?" I ask Ford.
"Fuck that, we're not canceling the trip," Spencer retorts in a huff. "The sooner we get on the road the better. Keep her confined in the RV. That's better than hanging out here in this huge-ass building. Besides, everyone's ready. The crew are all packed and they'll be here in a few hours."
"Maybe," I say, but internally I'm thinking about all the ways we're sitting ducks inside that RV on that long, almost empty highway leading up to Sturgis. All the way through Wyoming. It's not good.
"You got anything else, Ford?"
"No, it's dead now. Nothing. I got seven proxies to query, though, so I'm gonna go back to Rook's apartment and work on that. Let's just move on like there's nothing out of the ordinary. Pack up the RV, pack up the trucks, when the crew gets here, just keep them busy. We'll decide what to do next on the road."
He walks off towards Rook's apartment and Spencer heads for the door. "I'll be down in the art room packing up the last of my supplies."
I'm like a deer in front of a Mack truck at night. Not sure what to do, paralyzed by the possibilities that are barreling down upon me.
Chapter Thirty-Three - ROOK
Ronin is a manic mess this morning and I'm standing here in the middle of his apartment, trying for the life of me to figure out why. We're packed, we're on time. The RV is gassed up. The crews aren't here yet, but they're not due for another half hour or so. We ate breakfast. The bikes are on the truck. Spence is downstairs getting his supplies together and shutting down the art and production studio.
We're ready. And I'm not even nervous—in fact, I'm looking forward to this trip. I'm gonna get blind-ass drunk up there in Sturgis, I do not even care that I'm underage. I figure if I'm old enough to parade my goods in front of half a million people, a few shots of tequila and some fizzy Coronas aren't gonna make a bit of fucking difference. If I have to sit in the RV and get drunk alone, I will.
The rally officially starts tomorrow, but we're not scheduled for the downtown walk of shame and Shrike Raven unveiling until the day after. It's a long day, one that I'm very anxious to be over. But being naked barely bothers me anymore, I'm so used to wearing nothing that when I do put clothes on for dinner every night, it almost feels weird. I might become a nudist.
I laugh. Right out loud.
Fuck that, I can't wait for winter so I can put on layers of clothes.
"Hey?" I call out to Ronin. He's out on the terrace talking fast and low to Ford, I think. Ford has been texting and calling him all morning. It's starting to drive me crazy because each time Ronin gets more and more wound up. Ronin puts one finger up towards me, then turns and continues his conversation.
Whatever. He's not gonna ruin my trip. I've been stuck in this place all summer, thinking about Jon and all the what-ifs. But he never showed. I figure I'm safe. Ronin was right—he probably did find me, saw I was already involved with someone else, I'd started over and all that, and then he left.
And Ford has been working on the divorce stuff slowly. He tells me a little bit about how we might take care of this every now and then, but he says we should wait until things calm down and then we'll talk about the plan. Annulment, he hints. Sounds good to me. I still run with him every day, it's actually one of the few things in my life that is stress-free and predictable. It allows me to think about nothing for thirty minutes every morning, clear my head. Ford was totally right about exercise. It's good for me.
I can't keep up with him when we run, but he slows down for me a little bit before taking off and going ahead on his own now. He's been talking a lot about the Biker Channel season going through with Spencer, so I've been mulling that over. It sounds a lot better than anything I've ever done, so—
"Rook!"
Ronin comes busting in from the terrace and interrupts my thoughts. "I've gotta go downstairs for a second. Stay here, I'll be right back." He leans down and kisses me on the cheek, then rushes out the door.
"OK," I say to no one, since I'm alone now. I go to the fridge and grab some blackberries from the fruit basket I took from Antoine's office yesterday. I can take or leave his apples and pears, but berries… that's another story.
The doorbell rings and I almost pee my pants, it scares me so bad. I didn't even know we had a doorbell, and for that matter, who the fuck would ring it?
I walk slowly around the corner of the kitchen and then just stare at the door.
Who would ring the doorbell?
I swallow hard as my heart rate picks up.
Who would ring the doorbell?
We're on lockdown, have been for months. No one in or out without a code. Everyone's code was changed when we came back from FoCo after the missing person's report was cleared. And no one who's allowed to be in this building needs to ring the doorbell, because everyone has access to Ronin's apartment via a second code, just in case Jon did come back and somehow make his way inside.
My heart thumps so hard with this thought my hand goes up to my chest. I feel like I have to hold it inside or it will burst through.
It's Jon.
Oh, God. I rush over to my cell phone and push the preset for Ronin. The little icon at the top of the phone says no service.
Oh, fuck.
He's messed up our service.
He's inside the building.
Where can I go?
He must not have the code for Ronin's apartment, either that or he's fucking wi
th me, trying to draw me outside. I tiptoe over to the door and peek through the little peep hole.
There's a sign taped to the wall across from the door.
It says, Where's Ronin?
My arms reaches out for the wall before I faint. Do not faint, Rook. Do not faint, I tell myself over and over.
He wants me to go outside. It's a trick. I know this, I know it's a trick. I lived with this man for three years, this is how he plays his game. And now that I think about it, that's what that phone call was with Ronin, something to do with Jon.
I stand up and catch my breath. Still, if that freak thinks he's gonna hurt Ronin… I take another deep breath and push my ear to the door. Nothing.
I tiptoe back to the kitchen and grab the biggest knife we have, then walk calmly back to the door.
I twist the handle on the door and cringe as the locking mechanism automatically releases. I wait for the door to burst open, I'm prepared for him to come at me from the hallway.
But nothing happens.
I open the door a crack and wait. Again, nothing.
I throw it all the way open and rush forward into the hallway.
Silence and emptiness.
Where the hell is everyone? We're leaving in like half an hour, where's Elise and Antoine?
Oh, God, please, please, I beg. Please do not let them be hurt or worse, dead, by this monster's hand.
I have to stifle down a cry before I remember that my own life is in danger if he catches me. I walk down the hallway, and for once, my old Converse sneakers are the perfect footwear for the job. I stop just before I get to the stairs and push myself up against the wall the way you see people do in the movies, just before they flash their eyeballs around a corner where Charlie's waiting to pump their guts full of lead.
I peek around the corner.
There's a girl down there smoking a cigarette.
"Hey!" I call. "Who the fuck are you?"
She slides her shades down her nose and blows out a ring of smoke. "None of your fucking business. Where's Spencer?"
And then it hits me, this is the other model Spencer used. His ex-girlfriend. "Veronica?"
"Who's askin'?"
I run down the stairs and she spots the knife and starts backing up. "Hey, look—"
"Shhhh," I say. "How the hell did you get in here?"
"Door was open."
"No, the door was not open, we're on lockdown."
"It was open," she snorts at me. "And if you try anything with that knife, I've got a gun in my purse and my shooting instructor says I'm the best natural shot he's ever seen."
"You do! Oh, thank God. Get it out, Please. There's a crazy guy in the building, Veronica. He's gonna kill me, please get out your gun!"
"What's going on—"
"Rookie!"
I spin around, the bile in my stomach already exiting my mouth. Green shit splashes across the floor and I cough, my whole body shaking just from the sound of his voice.
"I've been looking for you, baby."
Veronica's backing away from my vomit, screaming obscenities at me.
"Run!" I scream back. And then, because she's got a gun and I don't, I grab her hand and head for the door. She resists for a moment but my panic is contagious. I throw the door open praying that someone, anyone, one of those fucking camera stalkers that have been around all damn summer, is within hearing distance. I scream, "Help!"
I'm still tugging her behind me, but her shock is wearing off as I get to the first landing between the fourth and third floors and she plants he feet firmly on the floor. And I just know, if I save this girl, I'll die. So I yank at her purse as Jon comes into view above us. She resists. "Let go of my purse!" she screams at me. So I let go and run down the stairs, then dash into the art studio. I figure that's where Spencer is, packing up his shit, but when I get in there it's pitch black.
And now I'm trapped.
I stumble across the floor, tripping over some light cords, fall on my face, scramble to my feet, and fall again, then settle for crawling towards the back of Spencer's space.
I scramble around the partition that served as my changing room all summer, then lean back against the back wall, desperately trying to silence my gasping breaths. I can hear Veronica and Jon fighting out in the hallway, she's bitching him out, and then a gun goes off and I have to cup my own hand around my mouth to shut myself up.
Chapter Thirty-Four - ROOK
The gunshot is still echoing through my ears and the smell of powder invading my nose when I catch the creak of the door opening. I almost shit myself this time. I clamp my mouth shut and pinch one side of my nose together just like that cop did when I had my panic attack.
If I panic now, I die.
I die.
I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing, listening for footsteps at the same time. I can hear them, but they are not coming towards me, they are walking over towards Director Larry's station.
The lights come on and laughter is blaring through the speakers on the other side of the room.
"Funny, Rook," Ford's voice says.
"You know what's funnier?" my voice says. "The fact that all you dumbasses got the joke. I know what you're reading at night."
He's been watching me since I started this job. He's been here since the very beginning. He probably tapped into the camera system. He saw everything, he saw me standing naked in this room, five days a week for the last three months.
A slow clap sounds off from the crew station. "Very nice, Rookie. You look very nice in that bikini. Oh, no wait. That's not clothing, that's paint. You're posing nude for these sick freaks. I always knew you were a whore."
The vomit wants to come up again, but I swallow hard and keep very, very still—and I'd like to say quiet as well. But my breathing betrays me. In my own head my breath sounds like a raging tornado. The talking covers up most of it, but it also covers up Jon's footsteps.
I have no idea where he is.
Please, Ronin. Please, please—find me!
"I know you're still in here, Rookie. I'm going to take you home now. We can work this out. Of course, there's a price to pay. And you know, I'm always sorry about that, but you're mine. And you make me do those things. Those terrible, terrible things."
He is closer now. I can't hear his steps, but his voice is near. By the couch Ronin and Ford sit on when I'm being painted. I sit up on my haunches, ready to spring up if he finds me, fisting the knife handle.
Something goes crashing across the room, Spencer's artist lights smashing to the ground, shattering, more things go flying and something hits the partition in front of me.
It shakes.
And he laughs.
"Clever little Rookie. You always tried to hide, but you were never very good at it, were you."
I whimper.
"That's right, love. I've caught you. But I'll make you a deal. You come out and say you're sorry, and I'll wait until we get home to teach you a lesson."
I'm nodding. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm nodding! I shake my head and grip the knife harder. Then I stand up.
I can see him over the partition.
He's smiling.
I swallow. "I'm sorry."
"Oh," he laughs. "I'm sure you are, Mrs. Walsh. I'm sure you are."
He waits to see if I'll say anything else, but I just stand quietly, trying to stay as still as possible.
"Is that it? That's the extent of your apology?" He unzips his pants and points to his crotch.
I swallow hard again and force my feet to move, just far enough to get to the edge of the partition wall. Then I stop and wait.
"All the way over here, right now!" He growls out the last two words between clenched teeth.
But I don't move. I know what's gonna happen if I go over there and it won't be anything as simple as a blow job apology.
"Now!" he bellows.
I jump a little in fright, but I stay right where I am and shake my head at him. "No, you're going to hu
rt me," I say in a shaky voice.
"I came all this way to find you, why would I hurt you, Rookie? I'm not gonna hurt you. Not as long as you apologize correctly."
I take a deep breath and repeat Ford's words in my head. No one can fix this mistake for me, I need to fix it myself. Jon has no right to be here, let alone make demands of me. No right. He's lucky I let him go, not the other way around. He's the dick who abused me, not the other way around. I'm the one with the power of righteousness on my side, not him.
So I count to three, stand up a little straighter, and smile at him.
He smiles back. "That's more like it."
"That's more like it?" I ask. "That's more like it? Look, Jon," I say in my most brave voice as I think up a kick-ass way to really piss him off. I can't take this tension. I can't, I'd rather get it over with. If this is my end, I'd rather just go out fighting like a ballsy street bitch and not whimper and fade away like some pathetic loser. So I force his hand and dig around in my brain for one of my God-given gifts. "I'm real sorry you came all this way to get me, but… even if I were blind, desperate, starved, and begging for it on a desert island, you'd be the last thing I'd ever fuck."
His face betrays him. He doesn't know what to do with that remark and I almost laugh. I stole that line from Scarface and his dumbass woman-beater brain is struck stupid by it. And then it occurs to me, I've got a million of these movie insults in my head. How many times did I imagine telling this prick off? "And I'll tell you something else, Jon, the day I need a friend like you, I'll just have myself a little squat and shit one out." Thank you very much, Frank Darabont and The Mist.
And now I do laugh, because that was damn funny.
He charges me, I raise the knife just a second too soon and he sees it, knocks me in the head and sends me flying against Spencer's art supplies. I crash into an art cart, lose hold of the knife, and go sliding across the floor. He picks me up by the hair and starts pulling me towards the exit.
"We're leaving now, Rookie, and you won't be back. So take a good look around and—"
"Just who the fuck do you think you are, you crazy ass-faced bastard?"