When Laura Bennett awoke out of a deep slumber, she had no idea that her life was about to change. All she knew was that, instead of Restless Leg Syndrome, she’d been cursed with a restless bladder. Luckily, Frank was on shift down at the fire station so she didn’t have to worry about waking him with her frequent trips to the bathroom.
Laura went out into the living room when it became clear that she wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep again anytime soon. She poured herself a brandy and walked out onto their large balcony overlooking the city. They’d bought the condo for the view—twinkling city lights reminded her of Christmas. She’d always loved the time of year when snow fell—
A knock at the front door pulled me away from Laura’s condo and back into my own apartment. I sighed. I’d been on a streak there; hopefully, I’d be able to keep it up once I got rid of my visitor.
I used the peephole, but could only see the back of someone’s head. Reluctantly, I opened the door a few inches, keeping the chain latched.
Oh god, it was the hottie. The psycho. Psycho Hottie.
He grinned down at me. “Me again. I was told by the front office that I could find Hayden Michaels here.”
Catching a glimpse of the holster underneath his jacket did nothing for my nerves and I shook my head. “No…” I choked on the pooled saliva in my mouth, a complete giveaway that I was lying. “There’s no one here by that name.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, I quickly slammed the door shut and latched all three locks with shaking hands. Why would the complex give out my information? Surely, that was an invasion of privacy.
“What am I gonna do? Oh god.” I briefly wondered how bad it would be if I ended up barricaded inside my apartment forever. Aaris would have to buy my groceries and take Bootsy to the vet when needed.
“Okay…everything’s okay,” I mumbled as I tiptoed over to my desk to grab my cell phone. I was going to call the police and let them handle this. That was all there was to it.
I’d only entered the nine when my computer alerted me to a new email and Rachel’s name popped up in the alert box. My mission temporarily forgotten, I sank down onto my chair. I needed to focus on the fact that there was a gun-toting madman on the other side of my front door, but all I could think about was that The Janice Morrison Agency had finally recognized my talent.
“Oh my god, Bootsy. This is it. Our entire lives are about to change. No more schilling shampoo at the salon just to pay the bills.” She poked her head out from underneath the couch, completely unimpressed.
Hangover forgotten, I was Zen.
Dear Hayden Michaels,
Thank you for your most recent email. I appreciate the opportunity to consider your work again for possible representation, but I’m afraid I’ve decided to pass. When I encouraged you to be bold in your writing, I was thinking more along the lines of a competing detective that could work as a potential love interest for Detective Hopkins. Killing him, while bold, has made any future books a little hard to market.
Please do not be discouraged as many best-sellers have been passed on numerous times prior to being successfully published. I wish you the best of luck finding an enthusiastic agent and publisher for your work.
Best,
Rachel
And now I was going to launch my laptop off the balcony.
Nope.
Still Zen.
Completely Zen.
My eyes stung from the rejection. I hadn’t realized just how much hope I’d invested in securing an agent until a fat teardrop hit the keyboard, splashing out across several keys and fogging up my glasses. I was absolutely not Zen.
Thoughts of a probable killer on the other side of my door didn’t even faze me anymore.
I was unmarketable.
In my infinite stupidity, I had just killed off my meal ticket. The one thing that was going to set me apart from all the other authors was lying thirty stories below his booty call’s apartment. The male slut who annoyed the hell out of me had been the only thing to make me unique.
“Goddammit!” I roared.
The email continued to taunt me from the screen, so I hurriedly minimized my browser. This wasn’t a rejection. It was the fuel I needed to make my next novel even better. The banging at the door began again, the sound reverberating through my skull.
“I need to speak with Hayden Michaels. It’s urgent!” the man yelled from the other side.
I leaned down, resting my forehead against my knees before muttering, “This is the day from hell, Bootsy. Absolute. Hell.”
“I know he’s in there. Just do us both a favor and send him out!”
I paused. He thought Hayden was a man.
“He’s not here,” I called back. “And if you don’t leave, I’m calling the police!”
“Lady, I am the police!”
Fuck.
Why did the cops want me?
I thought back over the last few days and then froze in horror.
Cole.
My failed date. I’d been convinced that my actions were warranted at the time, but under present circumstances, I was starting to think that maybe I’d been mistaken.
The gray fabric skirt along the bottom of the couch framed Bootsy’s head like a little bonnet as she continued to peek out at me. The knock sounded again, and I laughed maniacally before dragging her out by her front paws and pulling her onto my lap. “Bootsy, Mommy may have messed up a little the other night. Kitty Protective Services is gonna show up and take you away.”
She meowed loudly and kneaded my sweater in response.
I kissed her head and placed her back on the carpet before inching toward the door, much like I imagined a death-row inmate would walk toward the lethal injection room.
Or whatever they called it.
It wasn’t like I’d ever been to prison.
Oh god. What if I ended up in prison over this?
I briefly wondered if prison jumpsuits were anything like regular jumpsuits where you had to get naked just to pee. Or were those rompers?
What was the difference between the two?
“Is this about the Cole thing?” I asked weakly as I reached the door.
“Bingo.”
I set about undoing the locks while critiquing the life choices that had led me to this point. I was hungover, sans writing contract, and about to take a trip ‘downtown.’
The doorknob rattled against my shaking hand. It was a shame really.
I’d hoped that the whole thing had been a ruse and he was here to ask me on a date. Or that he was a stripper posing as a cop.
Hell, at this point, I would’ve even settled for an angry reviewer determined to give me an earful.
The man frowned at me as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
That wasn’t part of the plan.
He was supposed to cuff me and throw me in the back of his car. I deserved a good frisking after the morning I’d had. And, thanks to only one cup of coffee, I wasn’t even sufficiently caffeinated.
“You’ve got a lot of balls, lady. I’ll give you that, but hiding Hayden isn’t helping anybody.” His lips pursed as he talked, like a teenage girl, doing an obligatory duck pose selfie. It should’ve looked ridiculous, but I found myself mesmerized by the pout.
Women everywhere would kill to have lips like his. I could sink my teeth into a pair of lips like that. Not hard, mind you. Just playful little nips while my fingers traced the five o’clock shadow on his jaw.
I realized belatedly that he was waiting for me to stop staring and tell him where Hayden was.
I took a deep breath and pushed my X-rated thoughts aside. “Look, it was an innocent mistake, what happened with Cole. He was groping me and I—I didn’t think. I just grabbed what was in front of me and then I left immediately after, I swear. I didn’t know it was illegal to throw a drink in someone’s face, especially if said someone’s hand was working its way up the inside of your thigh. I can pay a dry cleaner bill or what—”
“Wait.” He held up a hand with a frown. “You’re Hayden Michaels?” His eyes moved from the crown of my head down to my socks as he rubbed absently at the back of his neck. Not content with his once-over, those same eyes came back up and rested on my lime green t-shirt. It featured a cactus in the shape of a cat.
A catcus.
I adored it because the cat looked like Bootsy had as a kitten. Judging by the sour expression on the cop’s face, he didn’t find it as appealing. The temperature in the room seemed to go up several hundred degrees as he observed me.
I nodded at his question, this time with reservation.
He was about to go looney on me. I just knew it. Even his posture screamed that he was holding himself back. The cuffs were going to come out and then I was definitely getting hauled to the clink.
His eyes narrowed as he studied my face. “Well, I’ll be damned. You look nothing like I expected. I could’ve sworn you were a man.”
I gave him what I hoped was a condescending smile, but in all actuality, probably missed the mark. “I’m very much a woman,” I answered. “Who the hell are you?”
The man’s eyes glinted briefly with a flash of anger, but it was gone before I could really question it. “I’m Detective Jake Hopkins and I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
Three
Oh god.
I rocked back and forth on the carpet.
It had happened. It was bound to sooner or later. I’d spent too much time lost in my own head and now I was hallucinating my characters. I eyed ‘Jake’ again. I’d at least give myself this—he looked even better than I’d written him.
“So, you’re not arresting me for what I did to Cole?” I asked, my voice laced with hysteria. Could he even arrest me? I was unfamiliar with fictional cops and their jurisdictions.
Those lips pursed again, and he shook his head. “Uh, no. It sounds like he got just what he deserved. I’m actually here because I want you to bring me back. Fix the ending to One in the Chamber and I’ll be out of your way.”
I nodded slowly. “Oookay. That’s it? Great.”
With that, I quietly got up and went into my bedroom, taking the time to close and lock the door behind me.
“Okay, I am Zen. I am not crazy. That’s me, cool as a cucumber.”
The door rattled as my hallucination hit it. “Hayden, we need to talk. Open up.”
Maybe it was that tequila that Aaris bought. That had to be it. I’d heard of this sort of thing happening at a few Mexican resorts. They’d serve tainted liquor and people were either dying or waking up with no memories.
I’d bet anything that Aaris was having a hallucination of her own. Probably with Jeremy Piven.
I shuddered at the thought.
I took a deep breath and looked at the bedroom door. I just needed to write and get the crazy out.
A gallon or two of water probably wouldn’t hurt either.
I threw open the door to Hallucination Jake just as he was about to knock again.
“You’re not real,” I muttered as I strolled with resolve toward my computer. The small lines that appeared on his forehead obviously wanted to disagree with my assessment, but I continued on my mission.
Where was I?
Oh, right. I sat down and began.
Laura loved to sit, curled up by the fireplace, watching the city lights twinkle down below.
“Did she now?” a soft voice said in my ear.
I jumped, and the movement sent Bootsy scurrying out from under the couch and for the bedroom. “Thanks for your assistance,” I grumbled after her before picking up the laptop and moving to the couch where he couldn’t see what I was typing.
Maybe I just needed to write about Jake in order to make him disappear. That was all this was—my muse demanded closure for his storyline.
If her bladder hadn’t given her grief, she might’ve missed the detective as he fell past her window, a look of absolute terror etched onto his face.
“I wouldn’t say it was absolute terror,” the figment of my imagination called out from the kitchen and I froze.
Oh my god. He knew what I was writing. What if he wasn’t an illusion? Maybe he was a hacker. Yes, that was exactly what he was. He probably thought that he’d show up here and blackmail me into changing the ending.
The question was, how was he hacking me from the kitchen?
I grabbed a notebook from my desk and scrawled out:
Laura watched in horror as he fell to the street below. The brandy slipped from her hands and shattered against the stone pavers on the balcony.
“Why is she drinking a brandy? Have we gone back in time? Does anyone under the age of forty drink brandy?” He leaned across the bar and asked with a laugh.
I dropped my pen with a squeak. He was ten feet away. This was impossible.
So, he wasn’t a hacker. Definitely a make-believe character. Great—and here I’d been hoping that I hadn’t gone off my rocker.
Ooh, off my rocker. I feel like that’s something Laura would say.
I wrote it down and Jake let out another loud chuckle. “Now I know she’s eighty.”
“Oh my god, I’m insane. I’m insane!”
Jake moved to the chair across from me, pouty lips on full display. “I would have to agree with you. Who else cuts a man down in his prime?”
His voice was deep and measured, with every word sending a tremor through my body. It was a good detective voice. I’d confess to anything if I was locked inside an interrogation room with him.
If sin could talk, it would absolutely sound like him.
I needed a solution to this problem, but Jesus, I couldn’t think with him so close to me. I stepped around him and walked out onto the balcony, taking deep breaths in an attempt to clear my head.
Clearly not taking the hint, Jake followed me out. “Look, I know this is a lot to take in,” he began.
“A lot to take in? No. Having fictional characters show up on my doorstep is an everyday occurrence around here.”
He tested the railing in several places, tentatively resting his arm against it before pointing toward my face. “Tell me, do you typically wear sunglasses around your apartment?”
I reached up and touched them. In the chaos, I’d forgotten that I had them on. “Well, Jake, when I’m hungover as fuck I do.”
Confident in the security of the railing, he brought his other arm up to rest, while staring across the complex. “I know you’re having trouble coming to terms with this, but I don’t have a lot of time. Addison’s killer is still on the loose and slipping farther away the more time I waste dicking around with you. Now, I didn’t want to have to bring Rachel into this, but you’re a loose cannon. And unless you set things right, you can kiss any agent goodbye.”
The blood drained from my face. How would he have known about that? How would a fictional character have insight into what was going on with a potential agent?
He wasn’t fictional.
This was like that movie… what was it called?
Snatch…
Splat…
SPLIT!
I obviously had Dissociative Identity Disorder and he was just one of my personalities. A personality who had obviously waited until I was asleep to sabotage everything.
Son of a bitch.
If I punched him, would it be like punching myself?
I slowly backed away from him and into my apartment. He turned just as I flipped the lock on the sliding glass door.
“Hayden,” he warned. “Open the door. Now!”
I shook my head and he slammed an open palm against the glass, rattling it enough to send a little black and white fur ball into the living room to investigate.
I gave her a sad smile. “Bootsy, honey, Mommy’s personality is just a little angry right now. He’ll calm down after a few hours on the patio.” She probably knew all about him. Poor thing had always been skittish, and I’d just chalked it up to her being a weird cat. But, it was me the whole time. I
’d traumatized her with my other personalities. She probably would’ve been better off with Kitty Protective Services. At least with them, she’d know what to expect.
I made a note to myself to research Dissociative Identity Disorder later. There was so much I was going to need to learn. Maybe I could even email Rachel and apologize for my alternate personality.
Well, obviously I wouldn’t word it that way.
I walked over to the door and Jake brought his hands down to rest on his hips. I had an idea. It was a little crazy, but the entire situation was far from normal. I wasn’t exactly familiar with the entire ritual, but I had the gist of it down.
“I recognize that you are the part of my personality that has trouble letting go and moving forward,” I began. “I recognize that and I release you from me. By doing so, I also release myself from you.”
His eyes narrowed and I waved my hand mystically in front of my face. I wasn’t sure if the gesture was helpful or not, but it seemed necessary in ridding myself of Jake. Any moment now. It was going to work.
Those same eyes turned positively murderous when I brought the palms of my hands together in a praying motion and extended them toward the glass. “Namaste. Farewell.”
He brought his fist up to the glass with a thud. “Oh, no you don’t,” he growled. “Don’t fucking namaste your way out of this! You killed me! I want to come back. End of story.”
Jake continued spewing obscenities at me from the other side of the glass and I waved back cheerfully before retrieving my laptop from the couch.
Maybe it took a few minutes to kick in.
Now, how to figure out what was sent to Rachel. I was skimming my sent folder when my cell rang. “How did you get this number?” I answered tersely, by way of greeting.
Aaris gave a weak laugh before grumbling, “Girl, check the caller ID. Listen, I’m glued to the view across my balcony just as much as the next single red-blooded female in this complex, but do you think you could tell your hottie to keep it down? Some of us are still trying to recover from last night.”
Protagonized Page 3