Unprepared Daddy

by Bella Winters

  The words I’m hearing are straight out of some terrible gangster movie, but they’re being spoken in real life, in my house, by my family member. And not only are they talking about killing someone, but someone young too. Someone probably a similar age to me. An innocent bystander probably, someone who just saw something completely by accident. They’ve already had their life shaken upside down and now they’re going to lose it over God knows what.

  I wonder what the person saw. I wonder what they witnessed to deserve losing their life.

  I step backwards, clutching onto my chest as I do. This is wrong, it’s so wrong, but what the hell can I do about it? Maybe I can work out who they’re talking about to try and warn them… or go to the cops… anything to prevent this murder from happening.

  But how can I? Realistically, it’s impossible. I don’t even know what I heard really and there are ways my father could play it off. Maybe he would pretend that he was joking. Then I’d be in for it. I know how private his business is, I’ve spent my whole life having that drilled into me. Dad will go absolutely mental at me for breaking his rule.

  Maybe I’ll even end up on his hit list.

  “Do you have a preference how we do it?” Adrian asks, his voice travelling even though I don’t want to hear anymore. He’s like a fog horn, he just booms. I don’t know how he’s ever managed to have a private meeting in his entire life! Maybe that’s why it’s always been here. “Shooting, stabbing, something a little more… fun?”

  He sounds twisted and excited, which only makes me feel sicker. How can he be such a messed up man? How can my mother and father have let me be anywhere near all of this? I’m certain Mom knows and she just doesn’t care, but how twisted of her to let it affect me. If Dad is a criminal, which I’m not sure he is, then that life could have come back to haunt him. Someone could have kidnapped, harmed, or killed me just to get to him. Unless everyone knows he doesn’t really care about me of course…

  “I don’t care,” Dad replies dismissively, as if he’s talking about what to have for dinner rather than cold blooded murder. “He’s a pest, just get rid of him before he becomes a squealer.”

  Then I hear footsteps which is my cue to leave. I spin on my heels and take off running as quickly and as quietly as I can manage. I need to get up to my bedroom, I need to hide and lock myself away from the world while I try to process this. I cannot deal with being caught listening in, especially not to that conversation.

  As I reach the front door, I grab my bag to bring it up to my room with me. Maybe Dad will guess I’m in anyway, but I don’t want to give him any clues to my whereabouts. I race up the stairs, taking some of them two at a time as I go, and soon I find the room I’m looking for.

  I tear inside and lock the door behind me, before collapsing breathlessly to the ground. My lungs are constricted, I can’t seem to suck back enough air for them, and that only gets worse the harder I try. Even a tear runs down my cheek as I think about the horror that I’ve just experienced.

  My father is a criminal… a killer… the worst sort of man around.

  I feel utterly helpless, hopeless, like I have a huge weight on my shoulders that I can’t do anything about. I don’t feel like I can just sit here and do nothing while someone’s life is in danger. I want to, need to, take some sort of action. Maybe I can’t go to the cops yet, but that’s because I don’t have any evidence. If I think about it, my father runs a lot of his business from this house, he always has done. He must keep something incriminating in here. If I find something and I take that to the police then I can stop him before someone else dies at his hands.

  It isn’t right for my bloodline to be killers, I just can’t accept that. Maybe my mom doesn’t mind because she gets to wear fancy things, but blood money doesn’t do it for me.

  I have to get out of this house, I think determinedly to myself. Once I’ve done this I need to escape. My family are hell and I have to get away.

  I glance around the room, confirming that thought. My bedroom is a shrine to the person I was years ago before I left for college. Pictures litter the walls, all my old stuff is scattered everywhere, it’s been left exactly as it was as if to let me slide right back into the person who I once was, as if I never left her behind at all. The immature school girl who cared more about her friends and make up than anything else. In a way, I’m miles away from that person now, but in another way. I’m still just her. Insecure, scared of the world, no idea where I’m going to go. Only now I have new knowledge, and it’s the information that my father likes to kill people. There’s no coming back from that.

  Chapter Eight - Stephen

  I glance behind me for what feels like the hundredth time, a sick iciness consuming me. I don’t think I’m being paranoid, I’m pretty sure I’m still sane, although my brain does feel a bit like it’s cracking under the pressure of everything. I hope I’m just imagining things because the alternative is unbearable to think about… but I do think there’s someone in the shadows, chasing after me.

  It’s been that way for ages.

  Ever since that night on the cruise ship, things have been going downhill for me. I couldn’t leave my room on the boat the whole time, I had to feign sickness for the rest of the time I was aboard, just because I was so damn scared of getting caught by one of them… the murderous men who put a man to death over what seemed to be some drugs money. If the suits can kill that easily without even thinking about it, then there’s no telling what they’ll do to a man like me.

  A witness.

  I don’t like to think of myself that way. Basically, it scares the shit out of me, it sounds so ‘bad Mafia movie’ but that’s exactly what I am. Even if the memory is hazy now, tainted by fear, I can still remember it. I still saw it. I saw a man being murdered. I probably could have done something to stop it and I didn’t. Now he’s dead and my life is on the line.

  Plus, I cannot forget that I’m pretty sure they took a picture of me. It’ll probably be blurry, but I’m sure big time criminals have a way of overcoming that.

  I think it’s pretty safe to say that I’m fucked.

  As I spent the rest of the cruise pacing my tiny cabin room, thoughts of Tia would occasionally pop up. I felt bad for leaving her the way I did and not going back, but I just saw someone die. It’s safe to say I wasn’t thinking straight. Also, I just couldn’t leave my room for any God damn reason. I even had to get the staff to bring food to me, just to keep me alive. There was no way I could go out just to see her to explain. I didn’t want to endanger her either. Just because I found myself in trouble, didn’t mean she had to be dragged into it too… I was trying my best to keep her safe!

  Maybe if I thought ahead and I took her cell phone number, I could have spoken to her again, but I didn’t. That’s just something I’ll have to live with. Forever now. Maybe it was never meant to be, maybe it’s best that I just accept that. I probably would’ve ended up getting bored with her anyway. All that bullshit about really liking her was probably just a fad. I know what I’m like, never destined to settle down. Probably.

  I pull my hood up over my head and tighten the strings to keep my face covered. Then I dip down an alleyway that I’ve never been down before, trying to keep the man that’s following me away from learning my address. Maybe it’s pointless, maybe he already knows, I’m not too sure. All I’m positive of is the fact that I’m not feeling the constant prickle on the back of my neck for nothing. There is someone out there who’s after me, and they have a reason to be. If I’m not careful I’ll end up dead because of it.

  I think it’s time to go back to New Zealand, I think morosely to myself. I can’t stay here like this. The US just isn’t the same.

  My steps quicken, I almost run in a bid to get away from the person following me. Or not even the person following me since I haven’t actually seen them yet. I don’t know what they look like. Just the feeling that I’m being followed.

  Ring, ring…

  Ring, ring…
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  I almost leap into the air with shock and fright as my cell phone bursts to life. I’m so much on edge that it nearly gives me a heart attack. The ringer sounds so much louder than usual even though I know for a fact that it isn’t.

  Stop being crazy, I curse myself as I slide it out my pocket. I’m acting like I’m guilty and I haven’t even done anything. If I’m not careful I’ll actually draw attention to myself instead of pushing it away.

  “Hello,” I say nervously into the receiver. I didn’t recognise the number on the screen so this could be anyone.

  “Is that Stephen Jones?” a female voice asks me. “I’m Violet, I work for Princess Cruises.”

  “Erm, right.” There’s a part of me that isn’t sure whether or not this is a trick. I saw them men on that cruise, just because this woman sounds nice enough it doesn’t mean she isn’t part of a terrible, criminal gang. I don’t remember a Violet but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m always forgetting names. “Y… yes, it is.”

  “Right, good. I just wanted to let you know that one of our customers…” My heart stops dead in my chest. This isn’t good, this isn’t good at all. “Saw you playing on the ship and wants to have communication with you.”

  “They did?” Still I cannot trust it.

  “Yes, Mr. Beaumont. He works for the Rage Records label and he’s interested in getting your number.” Still I’m not sure whether or not to believe it, but to be fair this is a major name. If it’s the truth then it’s just what I’ve been looking for. Rage Records will be perfect for me… it’s the big break I’ve been waiting for. It’s just a shame that it doesn’t feel right. “Of course, because of our data protection act I can’t give out your information without your permission, so I got his instead.”

  I forget all about my stalker for a moment and turn towards my house. I don’t want to push something so potentially massive to one side because I think it might be a trap. I need all the information first.

  “I’m just headed inside,” I tell Violet with as much happiness as I can muster in my voice. “I would love to take all the details. It sounds like an incredible opportunity.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” she coos happily. “That’s why I just had to ring you right away.”

  Once I get inside and I slam the door shut behind me, clicking the lock as I got, I head straight into the kitchen to grab a piece of paper. Violet reads out the number to me and I scrawl it down. She also tells me everything that was said, which sounds pretty real to me. I’m still not totally convinced but I decide to just go with it for a moment.

  Once I hang up the phone I spend a moment breathing deeply, panting almost as I try to collect my thoughts. I want to ring this number, I need to know if the offer from Mr. Beaumont is real or not, and the only way I can do that is by taking the plunge.

  Don’t let this paranoia ruin you, I warn myself. This might be my ticket out of here.

  Maybe I don’t need to go all the way back to New Zealand, maybe I can escape those men but stay in the US. If I get famous I’ll have people around me all the time, protecting me. I won’t ever need to worry and look over my shoulder again.

  Without another thought, I hit the dial button and I pace my kitchen while I wait. My heart thunders so loudly in my chest that I fear it might burst free at any time. I find my teeth chewing on my bottom lip as anxiety gets the better of me. I’ve never been like this before, I’m usually confident to the point of being arrogant, but now I’m like a shell of my former self. I doubt the people in my life would even recognise now.

  “Hello, Mr. Beaumont’s office,” a silky smooth female voice offers. I feel the tight knot loosen in my chest and my shoulders to sag with relief. This seems real. Like, really real. Maybe this is actually happening for me! “How may I help you?”

  “My name is Stephen Jones,” I reply with only a little shake in my voice. “I’ve been asked to call this number. I was an artist on the Princess Cruise.”

  “Ah okay,” recognition sparks in her voice. “Yes, I know. Mr. Beaumont is very interested in you. He’s actually in a meeting at the moment so I’ll have to get him to call you back if that’s okay?”

  “Oh, right that’s fine.”

  I can hear the sound of rustling papers in the background. I try to imagine the sleek office that I’m sure this woman is sitting in. All white and silver, very show offy. The music industry is all about appearance. Artists, offices, everything needs to look amazing. That’s why I need to take this chance if it comes my way. Soon enough I’ll be far too old.

  “Actually, I know he wants to meet with you face to face so I can set that up if you like?”

  My excitement grows, I know this is a good sign. Music moguls don’t bother wasting time on people they don’t give a shit about. “Yes please.”

  “Can you do Friday at eleven AM?”

  Oh my God, is this real? Is this really happening? I reach my fingers down to pinch my arm, but the sharp radiating pain that greets me reminds me that I am actually awake here. This isn’t a dream at all.

  “Sure, sure, sounds good.”

  “Wonderful I shall pencil you in.” The thing is she really does sound like she likes the ides of me coming in for a meeting. I must have done better than I thought with my one show on the cruise. How much better I could have done had the damn murder not happened. “I will see you then. Goodbye.”

  “Thanks, Violet.” I must be keen, I even remembered her name. “Goodbye.”

  By the time, I hang up the phone the second time I feel much more positive about things. This is amazing, a great sign that things are going my way at last. This is exactly what I came to America for and now it looks like it might really be happening. I jump around excitedly for only a moment, celebrating before reality crashes down on me once more.

  It makes things crystal clear to me, and actually the one thing that comes out of it the most is the fact that I need to go to the cops about what I saw on the boat. I mean, I already thought that but now I really know it. I just have to find a way to do it anonymously so it doesn’t bring a load of shit my way afterwards. Maybe I couldn’t do anything to save the dead man, but I can let his family know what happened to him and I can try to prevent it from happening to anyone else. Including me.

  I want to go into my dream with a clear, focused head. I want to be able to enjoy it. I don’t want to be worrying about criminals coming after me. I need to put an end to this once and for all.

  I glance at myself on the small mirror that I have on my wall, allowing a smile to spread across my lips. Maybe I do look tired and more drawn than usual, but that’ll change when I put all this behind me and I get my mojo back. I’ll be back to my handsome self soon enough. I will get back to Stephen Jones and then I can finally start living the dream.

  Chapter Nine - Tia

  They’re all living the God damn dream. All of them, it really isn’t fair. As I scroll through Facebook, taking a break from my writing that really isn’t happening, my heart sinks lower into my chest. Diana has been positing some incredible looking pictures of Cambodia and Tokyo, Helen has already been promoted, and by the looks of it Alexa is doing amazingly with her wedding planning. It’s only me stuck in my teenage bedroom, ignoring the one piece of writing that I’ve done since college, getting nowhere with my plan to move out at all.

  At this rate, I’ll be here forever.

  ‘He’s there, standing in front of me, the man I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with. Or if not love, then lust. With his hot, muscular body nearing mine, my heart leaps and dances about in my chest. There’s a fire in the pit of my stomach, a burning that races all the way down to my center. If I don’t have him soon then I might just die.’

  I don’t know what it is about this paragraph but I really want to finish it. There’s something about the text that gets my heart racing and pleads with me to be inspired. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of how I felt when I first saw Stephen Jones. That magical moment when I finally start
ed to feel like someone new.

  I pick my pen up and hover it over the page. I want to write more, I feel like the words are in there within me, but they’re trapped. They’re waiting for something. Or maybe someone.

  If only I could see Stephen again. I don’t know why but I feel like that could solve everything. Even if he’s a player who totally blew me off I just want to see him. Maybe it’s just to get answers, to learn why he didn’t come back for me after he promised that he would, or maybe it’s because I miss him and he’s handsome. So damn handsome.

  There’s no point in me looking him up online. Mostly because I already have and for someone that wants to have a music career he has a very sparse social media presence. I’ve found a very bare Facebook profile. I’ve sent him a friend request but I haven’t had anything back as yet. I don’t hold out much hope because it doesn’t look like he’s really into it at all.

  I sigh loudly and roll over on my bed so I’m staring up at the ceiling. All I want to do is get the hell out of here but I can’t seem to do it. Something is holding me in place and I don’t know what it is.