Starcrossed Hearts

by Star Crossed Hearts (lit)

  "Paramount, first, I have to check in. I was supposed to be on the set yesterday, and Dane will have my head on a platter. I have to do some shopping, then I’m going to the cabin."

  "You’re coming home…back…to my house tonight, aren’t you?"

  "If you want me to." She smiled coyly. "I should be there around seven-thirty or so. Let’s make…dinner…together."

  He kissed her again. The voice of God thundered.

  "MACKENDALL! Jesus, his hair’s wet. Melissa, get a blow dryer out there."

  Paramount Pictures was only three blocks away. Castle had, in fact, once been part of Paramount. The BMW seemed to drive itself and she cruised onto the grounds filled with a sense of glamour. "This could be a wonderful habit," she thought, parking in her usual spot near the door.

  The red light here was also flashing. "Damn!" she cursed, her patience waning. Finally, she pulled the door open anyway and walked in. She could see Dane instantly, his presence commanding as he directed a scene set in an early Bostonian bank.

  "Cut it there!" he shouted, spying Jessica as she approached, again carrying her shoes. "You trying to ruin my picture? Is that what you’re trying to do?" He feigned irritation, and she smiled brightly at him.

  They had not seen each other since she’d walked out on lunch the week before. She liked the easy, comfortable relationship that had developed.

  "Five minutes, everybody." The crew broke and people started moving about. I’m really causing problems today, Jessica thought with amusement.

  Still glowing with "afternoon delight," she wondered if Dane could tell.

  "So where the hell have you been?" he asked, toying with the straps on her dress.

  "In Utah. My sister had her baby."

  "Yeah. Well those things happen. Luckily, I didn’t really need you yet…here, that is…" now his fingers were tracing the neckline and she absently, routinely, slapped them away. "But I will need you on Friday, for certain…Got that? Don’t let me down, sweetcakes."

  "I won’t," she smiled warmly. Too warmly. He leaned closer and looked into her eyes.

  "You did it, didn’t you?" the smiled broadened, the green eyes twinkled.

  She nodded. He straightened the dress and cleared his throat. "Well."

  Jessica reached up and whispered in his ear. His eyes opened wide.

  "In the shower? In the friggin’ shower? Je-sus!" He looked around in comic disarray. "You never did me in the shower." Despite his apparent merriment, he kept his voice discreet.

  Jessica could not help but giggle at his portrayal of disgust.

  "And I thought I had you set for…at least a month. You must be insatiable." His smile was bittersweet. "I guess ol’ Mac’s got something going after all. Lucky bastard."

  "Dane, you are the second most wonderful man in the entire world." She put her arms around his neck and hugged him affectionately.

  "Somehow, second best with you just doesn’t cut it, sweetie."

  "He loves me, Dane. He really loves me."

  "Did he tell you so?"

  "No, not out loud…"

  "Make him do it, Jessie. Make him tell you." This, apparently was her new assignment. "In fact, tell him ‘no more screwing’ until he does."

  Jessica laughed at his demands. "I have to go." She brushed his cheek with her lips and pulled away. He grabbed her hand and stopped her.

  "Hey, Jess, there was a guy here this morning looking for you."

  Jessie stopped in her tracks. "Who?"

  "I don’t know him. Whenever anyone asks for you, they get me. Kinda scraggly guy, blond, tall…with a deranged look. Probably just a demented fan of yours," he said with a grin.

  "You’re joking, right?"

  "Well, he did look like he hadn’t slept in a long, long time. But shit, I probably look like that right now. Anyway, I told him I didn’t know where the hell you were."

  She nodded, her expression subdued. "Thanks, Dane. See you Friday."

  Jessica’s blush had faded as she drove thoughtfully across the Valley. Dane was right, the man asking for her was probably just some weirdo who had seen her recent pictures in a magazine. But there was something at the cabin she had to check. Later.

  First she stopped at Mac’s house and let herself in. She roamed about the big house, seeing it in a new light. She wondered if he wanted her to stay, to forget the cabin and just live here.

  In Megan’s room, she found a tape measure and began measuring the windows and the antique canopied bed. She made notes about everything in the room, then went to the kitchen. With a bowl of cold, fresh strawberries in front of her, she outlined plans for decorating the little girl’s room with frilly eyelet and fantasy fairy princesses.

  Jessica jumped at the sound of a car parking on the gravel. She hurried to the window, peeking around it, her heart thumping. A rusty old station wagon had stopped near the front door, and someone was taking something out of the back.

  Suddenly, unreasonably terrified, she ran to the small study and closed the door.

  She waited. Whoever it was, they weren’t particularly quiet about entering the house. Then she heard a new noise: the sound of Gretchen’s vacuum cleaner in the hall.

  She sighed deeply. What’s come over you, girl? She walked out of the study feeling stupid. Gretchen now started at the sight of her, and they both laughed.

  On the kitchen counter she retrieved her keys and found two envelopes addressed to her next to the coffee maker. One was from Pierce Productions. It was a check for three thousand dollars, a reimbursement for travel expenses. Her eyes widened. I can really use this.

  The second envelope was more disturbing. Another letter from Wesley.

  "…too bad I will miss you. I understand you are in Salt Lake with Mom and Chris, and I am here in L.A. for a few days. However, by the time you read this, I will be well on my way back to Seattle. The University is holding a job for me, and I’ve got to get back."

  Jessica sighed in relief. She really didn’t want to see Wesley right now, and it was good that he was being offered a job. She put the envelopes into her purse and after paying Gretchen, left the house again.

  She spent the late afternoon shopping for materials for Megan’s room. Her spirits again high, she also bought an expensive sewing machine and asked that it be delivered to Mac’s house on Saturday.

  It was nearly seven when she turned the BMW up the last steep drive toward the cabin. She didn’t really need anything here, but she had wanted to check things out anyway and water the plants. She still had her garage door opener control in her purse, and pressed it from the driveway. The BMW’s headlights shone on the little blue car in the garage. She left the Beemer in the driveway and climbed the multitude of steps to the front door.

  If this was really my place, I’d build a door into the house from the garage, she thought tiredly. She turned the key and went inside. She was not even remotely prepared for what she found.

  Jessica’s eyes fell first on the Futon she and Mac had left open on the floor. It had been slashed to shreds and great tufts of stuffing were strewn around the floor. The house was silent. The sliding glass doors to the balcony were open, and the breeze blew around thousands of pages of script, unbound and lying in heaps. The new plants had been dumped.

  "Oh my God…" Tears welled in her eyes and her heart again began beating triple time. She cautiously made her way to the kitchen and picked up the phone. She had to dial several times before her shaking hands could get Mac’s number correct. He answered cheerfully.

  "Mac…it’s me…something’s happened." She was sobbing and losing control fast.

  "Honey, calm down, what is it? Are you okay?" Mac voice sounded his alarm.

  "Someone’s…been…here…Everything’s trashed…" Her eyes were wide with terror as she surveyed the room. "It…it’s awful."

  "Did you call the police?"

  "No."

  "Jessie, listen to me. I want you to get back into the car. Are you there? Get in the
car and drive down to the market. They should still be open--"

  "Y-yes, I think so…’til nine or so."

  "Good. Just go, now. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Stay calm, baby."

  Numbly, she put the phone down. Instead of rushing outside, she opened the kitchen drawer and removed the two letters she’d put there last week. Through blurry eyes, she examined the postmarks. The first was from Tacoma, Washington; the second was postmarked San Francisco. Jessica sniffed and pulled the third letter from her purse, the one she’d picked up today at Mac’s. In horror she read, "Salt Lake City, Utah" stamped across the top. "Oh God," she whispered.

  Now she moved into action. Grasping the letters and her keys, she ran from the house and down the steps. Quickly she crossed the driveway to the black BMW and gripped the door handle. She turned to look at the garage, and stopped. The interior light in the Miata was on.

  She hesitated, staring at her car as if hypnotized. Don’t be stupid, Jessica, a voice screamed in her head. But it was too late. A large hand clamped over her mouth from behind, stifling her scream and cutting off her breath. Struggling, her captor roughly dragged her around to the passenger side of the black car and a voice whispered harshly in her ear.

  "I like the Mazda, kitten, but let’s take the pretty boy’s Beemer. We could use a little style going out."

  She wasn’t going without a fight and she twisted violently as he tried to force her into the car. Grabbing her purse firmly, she whacked her attacker on the head in vain, spilling the contents onto the driveway. Finally, he struck her, hard across the face, knocking her senseless. Slamming the door, he ran around the car and got into the driver’s seat, adjusting it back for his long legs. He took the keys from her clenched fist and drove into the blackness down the hill.

  ~ * ~

  Mac felt terror of his own. He raced to the garage, deciding as he ran that the bike would be fastest. He jumped onto the Honda and tore out of the estate, leaving his helmet behind. The Hollywood Freeway seemed too busy for a Wednesday night. Speeding to seventy-five mph, he mindfully kept an eye out for the California Highway Patrol; he couldn’t afford to get stopped. He edged the needle up to eighty. He breezed through the pass into the Santa Clarita Valley, weaving carefully around the big-rig trucks exiting and entering from the merging freeways at the crest.

  His heart felt painfully cramped. The wind blew madly through his hair, and his mind was filled with the sound of Jessica’s terrified voice. It would take forever--too long--to reach Mt. Pinos.

  The little market was empty, save for the proprietor and his wife. "Sure, we know Jessie, comes in here all the time to use the phone. Ain’t seen her around for a few days, though."

  Mac was back on the bike in seconds, winding up the dark, narrow road to Jessie’s cabin.

  ~ * ~

  The garage door was open. The driver’s door to the Miata was slightly ajar, and the interior courtesy lights were on. He looked up at the cabin; the patio door was open and the kitchen light on.

  "Jessie!" he shouted, taking the steps two and three at a time. The door was not locked and he strode in. "Jessie!" he called again, knowing already it was for naught. The BMW was nowhere around.

  Inside, he surveyed the room and the mess. The wine glasses they’d left in haste were shattered on the hearth. The sight of the slashed bedding made him ill.

  He quickly toured the house, finding all the damage to be in the front room. He went to the kitchen phone and dialed "9-1-1."

  The L.A. County Sheriff’s Department took the details of Mac’s call and advised him that deputies in the area would meet him there.

  Roxie was his second call. He sketched out what had transpired and Roxie was in tears. He promised to come to her place as soon as he’d finished giving his report to the sheriff’s deputies who were on their way.

  Mac’s jaw worked as he considered his next thought. Rubbing his closed eyes, he forced the words out.

  "And Roxie, get a hold of Dane Pierce."

  Dane arrived at Roxie’s just as Mac was parking the Honda at the gate leading to the townhouse steps. They exchanged nods and entered as Roxie held the door open, her face ashen and streaked with tears. Inside, Tom Jarrick was pacing. The three men shook hands.

  "Does anyone want anything to drink?" Roxie asked tensely. She and Tom had already put away half a bottle of Chardonnay, prior to Mac’s call.

  "Got any whiskey, Roxanne?" Dane asked. She nodded and poured him a glass with ice.

  "You won’t be much good to us if you’re drunk on your ass," Mac warned.

  Dane stared at him levelly and downed the whiskey without replying.

  "What did the sheriff have to say?" Tom wanted to know.

  "Haven’t a clue. These guys weren’t exactly detective types, if you know what I mean. We found several things from her purse on the driveway. They dusted everything for prints; they put out an APB on the Beem. And that’s it, besides taking a photo with them of Jessie."

  "Is there anyone that may be interested in Jessica? Old boyfriends, scorned lovers?" Tom’s years as a mystery buff were helpful. "Maybe crazed admirers?"

  Dane snapped his fingers. "That guy--this morning."

  "What guy?"

  Dane told them about the visitor to the set. "A real loser--long hair, kind of orangish-blond, unshaven. His eyes were--"

  "Hazel and kind of vacant, right?" Mac asked suddenly.

  "Yeah."

  "And real tall and skinny?"

  At Dane’s nod, Mac continued. "He was at the airport, in Salt Lake. Holy shit, he’s been following her." Mac turned to the window and rubbed his forehead wearily. Things had taken a decidedly horrifying turn.

  "Now we’re getting somewhere," Tom said.

  "She knew this guy, I could tell. She said she thought she’d seen someone she knew, but was mistaken," Mac recalled.

  "Roxie, you’ve known her a long time. Does this sound like anyone you might know?" Dane ventured.

  Roxie frowned, slowly shaking her head. "She hasn’t dated much since her divorce. This guy doesn’t sound like someone she’d date, anyway."

  "There’s got to be something we’re missing. I’m going back up to the cabin. I can’t just sit here," Mac said in agitation.

  "I’ll go with you." It was Dane who rose, and Mac looked at him thoughtfully.

  "Okay. Rox, you and Tom sit tight. If she should get an opportunity, she’ll call here."

  His comment again brought tears to Roxie’s eyes, and Tom held her tenderly. "Call us if you find anything," Tom told them.

  The two men jumped into Dane’s Porsche and sped away.

  "I really appreciate your help, Pierce," Mac was saying.

  "Hey, believe it or not, Jessie is important to me, too."

  They spoke little on the way. In Mt. Pinos, downshifting into first gear, the Porsche began to climb the hill. Dane parked the car on the driveway and stared up at the three story structure, then back to the view of the small town below.

  "Awesome."

  Armed with a large, bright lantern, they began searching the garage first.

  "Look at this." Mac rushed over to where Dane gestured. "Looks like someone was standing or squatting behind these boxes. The bastard was hiding here." The flashlight revealed clear, large footprints in previously undisturbed dust on the floor.

  Inside, they painstakingly sifted through the shredded Futon and the scripts, sweeping up the glass and righting the plants.

  "Cute place. Looks like her," Dane commented.

  Since Jessica had never really moved in to the cabin, very few personal items were in evidence. And with the exception of one open kitchen drawer, everything else was neat. Discouraged, they went back outside, carefully checking the ground, the stairs and shrubs for anything the sheriff’s team may have missed. Brushing the bushes around on the far side of the Porsche, Mac spotted something caught in the branches, lower on the hillside.

  "Bingo." Envelopes, four of them. They took them insid
e to examine in the kitchen light.

  The first contained a check, ironically bearing Dane’s signature. The second, a bill. The other two were not so innocuous.

  Mac sat at the table leaning his face into his hands as Dane read Wesley’s letters aloud in a dull monotone.

  "…but you, kitten, finally have all the glamour and success you’ve always wanted, and I know now that it was I who was holding you back, that it was always you with all the talent…so life goes on for some, doesn’t it?…Geez, this guy’s a nut case." Dane’s voice sounded truly fearful for the first time. He swallowed and continued reading.

  "…it wasn’t enough that you cast aside the blessed life I put inside you, I wasn’t good enough for you either, was I? But I have changed and I think you’d be pleased…"

  "I can’t believe this is happening," Mac murmured.

  "Okay, okay. We’ve got to get a handle on this guy." Dane ran fingers through his hair. Mac looked at him, watching for an idea to surface. "He’s her ex, right?"

  Mac nodded. His mind was burning with the words from the letter. Dane took a deep breath, flexing his fingers.

  "First, we notify the sheriff of what we’ve found. Then," he said, looking steadily at Mac, "we go after this fucking lunatic. He can’t be far, right? And he’s in your car."

  ~ * ~

  The sheriff seemed unimpressed with their discovery. "The estranged husband story."

  "Divorced! Divorced for five years! Look, I’m giving you important information here!" Mac was losing control and hung up the phone. Taking a deep breath, he called Roxie. He forced his voice to sound calm, his eyes watching Dane pace around the living room. "Roxie? Mac. Describe Wesley Elliot as you remember him."

  Dane stopped pacing and watched Mac’s reaction. Mac nodded. "Uh huh, okay. Where can we get a picture of him?"

  "I have several," Roxie was saying. "I can’t believe this. It’s hard to imagine Wesley looking like that."

  "Let’s go back and get pictures of this loser." Mac hung up the phone and they were off.

  They drove back to Roxie’s in silence. It was midnight, and the LAPD had sent two officers to Roxie’s at Tom Jarrick’s request. They were asking for a photo of Jessica and Wesley, and a description of Mac’s missing car.