So I take a deep breath and prepare to stand my ground. I think back to all the questions Adam asked me and I decide to use them as my weapons of persuasion.
“What would you say if I told you I could stay in a house that already has all those things?” I ask him.
“That sounds great, but it’s not nearly enough,” he states flatly. “If he knows where you are, he’ll find an opportunity to get to you. That’s why I wanted – ”
“You’re right. It’s not enough. And it’s the reason why I arranged for a security team 24/7 for both of us.”
He clears his throat. “Um, both of us?”
I chuckle. “Not you, silly. Me and Cole. And did I mention the Red Hawks are paying for it? They take threats against their players very seriously.”
He rolls his eyes. “Please listen to me. I have a plan that doesn’t put you anywhere near this sick son of a bitch.”
“I’ll listen, but if your plan has anything to do with me leaving town, I’m not going to do it.”
He ignores my position. “I’ve already checked. The judge has issued a permanent restraining order. Part of Paul’s compassionate release is that he must stay three hundred yards clear of you, your home, workplace, car, and other locations you frequent, including my house and Cole’s. If you leave and go to Boulder, we can have patrol cars watching your properties. If he comes anywhere near them, we can arrest him and throw his ass back in jail.”
“You can still do that, but you’re going to have to do it with me right here in New Jersey,” I tell him. “You have to understand. I’m happy with Cole and I won’t leave him. I won’t allow you to drag me away from everyone and everything I love ever again. That’s no way to live, Philip.”
His voice gets a little louder and sterner. “You’re thinking with your heart and I need you to think with your head for just a minute. If you do, you’ll see I’m right.”
My voice gets a little louder, too. “I am thinking with my head, Philip. I’ve tried it your way and I know what I’m talking about. You want me to react out of fear. I won’t do that again. Ever.” I need him to understand. I’m not being foolhardy and reckless. Not this time. “If you take Boulder out of the picture, I’ll do everything you ask. I’ll even stop going to work if that’s what it will take to make you comfortable.”
He stands up, running his hand through his hair. He’s frustrated with me. “It’s not about whether or not I’m comfortable. Jesus fucking Christ, Kensington. Get your head out of your ass.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m a child.” I stand up and walk right over to him. “And I’m not asking for your permission. Cole and I have everything worked out down to the finest detail. If you would just listen to me, you’d know that we are working with Adam Cooke from the Red Hawks to do this the right way. He and the head of the team’s security department are at Cole’s townhouse right now installing all kinds of security. And by this time tomorrow, we will each have a personal bodyguard. Three to be exact, each working an eight hour shift.”
He huffs. “Bodyguard? Some three hundred pound meathead who’s about as useful as a bouncer at a nightclub? You don’t need a thug, you need a professional. Someone like Charlie.”
I throw my hands up into the air. “Charlie has a job. He’s not going to become my personal security agent. And what makes you think the Red Hawks would hire thugs? You’re being ridiculous, Philip.”
“Ridiculous?”
“And another thing,” I spin around and point an angry finger at him, “you were absolutely right when you said that he would find me. So what difference does it make if I’m in Point Pleasant, Boulder, Colorado, or East Bumblefuck?” I stomp my foot on the ground rather forcefully. “I’m staying put, so either you can get with the program or get out.”
“You are my little sister and I love you. But I can’t just sit back and watch you destroy your life. I have done everything I can to protect you. And some jock comes along sticking his tongue down your throat and you forget all reason. You’re not some starry-eyed schoolgirl with a crush on the captain of the football team. You’re a grown woman with grown-ass problems.” He walks to the door, unlocks it, and swings it open. “When you’re ready to act like an adult, call me.” He slams the door behind him on his way out.
I follow him to the door and for a moment, I consider running after him and begging him to come to his senses. But deep down I know it won’t do any good. I’m going to have to wait it out. When he sees things for himself, maybe then he’ll accept my arrangement.
I peer out the window and find Philip just standing there on my front porch, waiting. When he hears me turn the deadbolt and click the lock, he leaves. He climbs into his car and drives away.
I lean against the door and exhale. Why does he have to be so damned infuriating?
CHAPTER 37
THE WASHING MACHINE CHIMES and I head back to the laundry room to throw my clothes into the dryer. I toss the clothes around with a little more force than they deserve. It’s not their fault my overbearing brother is as stubborn as a mule.
I slam the dryer door closed, check the settings, and turn it on. The dryer hums as it begins to spin.
The house is quiet – eerily so. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. My intuition is screaming at me that something is wrong – but what?
I look around and make sure that all the doors are locked and the house is empty. The wind has picked up and the storm has begun, pelting the windows with torrents of rain. I decide the hammering outside must be darkening my mood.
Confident that there’s no immediate danger, I return to put another load of laundry into the washing machine. Suddenly, a loud and unmistakable sound breaks through the silence. Shattered glass. Accompanied by someone talking. It’s a man’s voice and it’s one that I don’t immediately recognize. In an instant, I know what’s happening.
Like the cat that comes back, he's found me. Again.
The shock knocks every wisp of air from my lungs, and I stand frozen to this spot, struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything. That's how I feel, trying to remember how to breathe, unable to speak, totally stunned as the realization of the situation bounces around inside my skull.
A flash of clarity tells me that I should run. The back door isn’t far. If I can just get through the kitchen, I might be able to make it out safely. I cautiously step into the kitchen, ready to bolt for the back door. I hear his voice again, only this time he’s much closer. He’s in the house.
My eyes dart around in all directions until I spot him. He’s moving towards me. There’s a gun in his hand and he’s pointing it directly at me.
He looks the same as I remember him, and yet somehow different, too. He is still pale; his hair is messy and unruly, now receding more than I recall. And had he not been holding a gun, he would appear to the outside world harmless, a target for ridicule even.
But looks can be deceiving and I know all too well how much anger and power resides within that feeble frame.
I panic and plea, “Please don’t shoot.”
“I don’t want to,” he answers in an unsteady voice. He closes the distance between us, keeping the gun’s path focused squarely on me. As he gets closer, I sense something is wrong. Blood drips freely from his left arm, which hangs slack at his side. He doesn’t seem to notice or care. Behind him, my front door is swinging open. The small sidelight window is shattered. He must have cut himself breaking the glass and reaching in to unlock the door.
Paul’s eyes are feral, his movements jerky. He takes another step toward me, almost losing his balance. The gun swings back and forth unsteadily.
“Hi, Paul,” I purr, forcing myself to smile. “Why are you holding that gun?” I keep backing up. I know that I can’t run. No one, least of all me, is fast enough to outrun a bullet. “You can put the gun down,” I tell him.
Paul smiles. His voice is shaky. “I don’t think I can do that. You’ll run away again.”
�
�You hurt me,” I tell him.
Vacant eyes stare back at me. He takes the gun and scratches his head with the barrel. He scrunches up his eyes tightly. “I know. I shouldn’t have done that. But you wouldn’t listen to me and I just wanted to talk.”
Okay, this is good – keep him talking. “Well, I’m here now. Why don’t we sit down and talk? Would that be okay?”
Again, he stares back with vacant eyes.
I take a few cautious steps toward the small table.
Paul raises the gun, pointing it at me.
I stop moving.
Paul paces back and forth, mumbling something incoherently to himself.
Turning to me, he asks, “I know why you never wrote back to me. It’s all because of him.”
“Write back to you?” I repeat his words.
“Can’t you hear right? My letters – the ones I sent you from jail! I wanted to explain everything to you. But you never listen. You never listen to me.”
“I never got any of your letters.”
He slams his hands on the table. “Don’t lie. I’ll know if you’re lying. It’s wrong to lie.”
“I would never lie to you. Why don’t you tell me what they said?”
He rolls his eyes. “I can’t,” he answers. “Everything has changed. I thought you were special. But you’re just like all the others. You let him touch you all the time – that baseball player. Mother says you’re nothing more than a filthy whore. I saw all the pictures. Don’t deny it.”
“I love him.”
The gun rattles in his hand. “No. No. No. You’re not supposed to be with him. Why couldn’t you leave him alone? I don’t want to hurt him, but you’re going to make me. If he won’t go away, I’ll have to make him. And it’ll be all your fault. You know that, right? ALL YOUR FAULT!”
“Paul, please calm down. No one has to get hurt.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down. You ruined everything. You can’t have him.” He rubs his head, pulling on his hair. “Why won’t you listen to me?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m listening now. You don’t have to hurt Cole, Paul.”
He points the gun at me shakily and growls at me, “Do NOT say his fucking name. I don’t EVER want to hear you say his name again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand. I won’t say it again.” I try to look him directly in the eyes when I say that. He has to believe me. I have to make sure he does. I just have to.
He tilts his head and stares at me, taking in my words and trying to make sense of them. He silently mouths my promise, “Won’t say it again,” testing it for himself.
He shakes his head a few times, almost like he’s changing channels. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“To talk to me?” I ask.
“Talk to you? No! I already know what I’m going to do with you. It’s him. I need to talk to that baseball player. He thinks that because he’s rich and famous he can have anything he wants. Well, he can’t have what’s mine.”
Don’t say his name, I repeat silently in my mind. “I am not yours, Paul. And you know that. I have chosen someone else. What you’re doing isn’t right.”
“Stop talking!” he demands. “You just need more time. And if that fucker tries to say that you’re not mine, I’ll shut him up permanently.”
The dryer makes a loud thud and Paul’s eyes dart around the room, brandishing the gun in every direction trying to figure out where the noise came from.
“It’s just the dryer,” I tell him.
He rolls his eyes. “I know that. I’m not stupid.”
“No one would ever think that,” I tell him. “You’re obviously very smart. You found me, didn’t you?” I can’t believe I’m agreeing with this lunatic and even giving him compliments. “And you’re a very good artist.”
“You’re lying again!” he shouts, sweeping his hand across the table and sending the mail flying across the room. “You never liked any of my artwork. You had your lawyer tell my lawyer that you didn’t want me to send you any more paintings or drawings. It’s in writing.”
He grins a devilish smile. “But I sent you one anyway.”
I try to back away from him.
He pushes forward towards me. “I sent you some of my best work. I sent you paintings, sketches, and poems. Even some cartoons. You never thanked me for any of them. Not one time.”
My cell phone is on the counter. The only thing standing between my lifeline and me is Paul. And his gun.
I take a few cautious steps towards him. “You’re right, Paul. I should have thanked you. It was very thoughtful of you to send them to me.” I force a smile, hoping he will relax.
He watches me, and I can see his angry expression fade into one of confusion and uncertainty.
Closer, I keep thinking. Almost there. I take another step forward, inching closer and closer to him, and my phone.
“Can you forgive me?” I ask, pleading with my eyes. This is a dangerous game I’m playing, but fuck it – I’m not going down without a fight.
He lowers the gun, tilting his head to the side, considering me carefully.
Suddenly, I seize the moment and lunge forward, pushing the gun downward. It fires, the sound like a firecracker going off, but I keep moving forward, grabbing onto his wrist, not letting go.
“You bitch!” Paul screams, trying to free his arm.
I lower my mouth and bite down as hard as I can and Paul lets out a ferocious cry. Trying to pull his arm free, he slams his other fist into my temple. Instantly, I see flashes of white light.
I bite down again, finding his thumb this time, and he screams, letting go of the gun. It clatters to the ground and he punches me again, catching me on my cheekbone, knocking me to the ground.
He kicks me in the back and I arch with pain. But I keep moving, in panic now, fueled by the certainty that he will kill me unless I get away. I rise to all fours and start crawling. Finally, I surge to my feet, ready to sprint towards the nearest door.
I move as fast as I can, forcing myself forward, but his body slams into me from behind and throws me against the counter. He grabs me by the hair and hits me again. He seizes an arm and twists it, trying to work it behind my back.
I reach up with my free arm and swipe the phone off the counter. I wrap my fingers around it tightly, locking it firmly in my grasp.
I punch furiously at the keys on the phone with one hand, trying desperately to call someone – anyone. I manage to hit the panic button. I can only hope and pray that Philip is on the other end listening to the chaos.
The blood from his arm is all over me now. His grip is slippery and unsure. I pull my hand free and twist around onto my back, facing him. Reaching up, I claw at his eyes, catching one in the corner, tearing hard.
I’m fighting now, screaming curses at him, hating him, refusing to let him hurt me again. Fighting for my life and adrenaline flooding my limbs.
He claws at my fingers and my phone, tottering off balance, and I use the opportunity to wiggle away. I feel him clawing at me desperately, but his grip isn’t good enough. I reach towards the stove and grab a frying pan, hitting him with my full force, stunning him as I connect with the side of his head. I watch as he stumbles sideways, his arms grabbing at nothing.
I see the gun lying a few feet away on the floor and lunge for it. Paul sees the gun in the same instant and dives for it, somehow reaching it first. He snatches it up and points it at me, enraged.
He grabs me by the hair and puts the gun to my head as he begins dragging me across the kitchen, out the back door and towards the driveway.
Rainclouds darken the sky and thick sheets of rain obscure my vision. I can barely make out an old navy blue Ford on the side of the house beneath the canopy of a large oak tree.
Paul is still raging at me. “You’re making me do this!” he grunts. His voice heard only by me, surely drown out by the howl of the wind and the beating rain pouring down on us in buckets.
When we reach th
e car, I try to fight again but Paul slams my head onto the roof and I fight to keep from passing out. He opens the trunk and tries to force me in. Somehow I turn and manage to drive my knee into his groin. I hear him gasp and feel his grip loosen momentarily.
I push blindly, tearing out of his grasp, and start running for my life, the phone still somehow captured in my tight grip. I know the bullet is coming, that I am about to die.
I gasp as I hear the shot, waiting for the flash of pain, but it doesn’t come. So I keep running.
CHAPTER 38
“I’m sorry about this, I know I’m making you late for practice, but this is really important and it will only take a few minutes.”
“You’re lucky you caught me before I got on the Parkway.”
Adam and I are sitting in my kitchen as the installers make a mess of my house. Doors are already removed from hinges and holes are cut into walls so new wires can be run, turning my beautiful townhouse into an impenetrable fortress.
He passes a manila folder across the table towards me. “I flagged the ones I think will work, but since they will be by your side day and night, I thought you’d like the final say.”
I open the folder and flip through the stack. There’s about a dozen printouts of both men and women with a photograph paper clipped to each. The first one is for a thirty-two year old by the name of Jason. His qualifications include military experience, executive protection courses, a degree in Security Management, certification from the International Foundation of Protection Officers, Anti-Terrorism Officer, certification from the S2 Institute, and he is currently working to complete certification from the American Society for Industrialized Security. I have no idea what most of that is, but it certainly sounds impressive.
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