by Cora Kenborn
Being so far away from him felt inherently wrong. I stood and walked toward him as he continued.
“Eventually, I met Mia. She’d just lost her brother around the same time we lost Lam. We became friends and talked almost every day. I can’t say she pulled me out of my funk, but I wasn’t suicidal anymore.”
“Oh, Julian.” Finally reaching him at my bed, I sank onto his lap, and he wrapped his arms around me. Cradling his head against my chest, I sat deathly still and let him finish.
“Once I came out of my room, I’d put the band on the back burner for so long, the guys made me realize we had to make a decision. We either started auditioning new guitarists, or called it quits. It’d be a slap in the face to Lam to just give it all up, so I dove in head-first to audition preparations. That meant there was no time for anything else—especially chat rooms.”
“So you said goodbye?”
“Yeah. I went into the chat room and told her that would be my last post.”
“I assume she didn’t take it well.” To be rejected by Julian Bale, whether she knew it was him or not, had to be catastrophic.
“That’s putting it mildly. She went cryptic, weird chick prose on me. At the time I thought she was just quoting some famous line or something.”
“But?” Something big was coming and it scared the shit out of me.
“But the words Mia typed that day were just typed on that screen, verbatim.”
My eyes widened, and I whipped around to face the screen again. I spoke the last words that were typed. “Everything must fit perfectly step by step. This is my step. My beginning, her end.” Julian’s hold on me tightened. “Her?” I turned, my eyes searching his.
“That night she typed ‘your end.’ Phoebe, she’s talking about you right now.”
Then the light clicked above my head. “Oh god! You’re saying that—”
“AngelMia is AngElmie. Mia is my stalker. She has been all along. Your friend, Faith, was right. They stick with a screen name and can’t give it up. Look at the similarities. Say them both out loud. Ayngelmeeeya and Anngellahmee. Then the signature to the letters, Your Angel, Me. It’s all the same words.”
“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, I’m not good at this,” I said, running a hand through his hair. I couldn’t fuck it up, it already lived in a state of chaos. He shrugged and blinked a few times, willing the emotion out of his eyes.
“I guess I never really knew her. I only knew a screen name. Hell, maybe she didn’t even have a brother, who knows. I can’t believe I was so stupid and didn’t put it together before now. Maybe—” His voice broke before he could get all the words out.
“Stop!” I said, covering his lips with my hand. “Detective Hough said it himself on the phone, they’re not stupid people, they’ll keep doing the same things over and over until they get what they want. Nothing would’ve stopped her.”
He nodded. “Well, at least we’ve given her enough rope and she’s hung herself.” He slapped my outer thigh and grabbed his phone off the bed. “Let’s text Hough and head over to the studio for an hour or so. After that, I’m taking you to a late dinner. We both need to get out.”
“Oh? Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. The NYPD will pick this chick up tonight, and she’ll be out of our lives for good. I’m taking you out so we can finally fucking breathe.”
I gasped in a teasing tone. “What is this? Can Julian Bale be—wait, no, it can’t be, he can’t be—optimistic and happy, could he?” Hope filled me as he picked me up off the floor and kissed me hard and long.
“I could say the same thing to you, you know. You weren’t always a ray of sunshine. When we first met, you couldn’t have been surlier if you had a unicorn shoved up your ass.”
I twisted my lips to hide a laugh. “Julian, there are so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t know where to begin or end.”
“End with this.” He ran his fingers through my hair, kissing me again as if it would be the last time our lips would touch. The attraction I felt for him only grew stronger, and I couldn’t imagine a day where I wouldn’t get that fluttery feeling in my stomach.
If this wasn’t love, I didn’t know if I could handle the real thing.
Finally setting me on my feet, he punched a quick text into his phone. “Let’s go.”
Pulling back, I glanced back at the computer. “Julian, I look like ass. If we’re going out, I need makeup, I need to fix my hair—these are all girl things beyond your ability to understand, but highly important.”
“It’s not safe for you to be alone,” he countered in a low voice.
“Says who?” I gestured toward the laptop. “I just sent the file to Detective Hough. The squad cars are probably at her house right now. It’s over, Julian. I want to be normal again. Please?”
He sighed and nodded, heading toward my bedroom door. “Be ready at nine, princess, and be dressed—”
I pointed a finger at him. “Do not tell me to be dressed to kill. Been there, done that, almost shot your junk off because of it. I’ll be presentable.” With a ghost-dimpled grin, he winked and disappeared into the hallway.
As the front door closed, I ran a hand through the back of my hair. It’d been a long road, and the curves felt like they would end me at times, but happily ever after might be in the cards for me after all. I’d convinced myself for so long that there wasn’t such a thing, believing in it required a whole change in mindset.
After a shower and a closet-ripping production of picking out the right outfit, an hour later, I was still getting ready. Towel drying my hair, I walked over to my desk. The last thing I wanted Gage to see was that shit on my laptop. Faith said not to close any screen out until everything was processed, but I supposed minimizing it wouldn’t hurt.
Leaning down, I held the twisted towel on top of my head with one hand and slid the other across the touchpad. When my eyes skimmed the last posted comment, everything inside of me turned cold.
A new post had appeared sometime between Julian’s confession and the door slamming.
AngelMia: You’re not as smart as you think you are…Phoebe.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Julian
It was ending. It felt like a crosswind would blow the resolution out of my grasp if I said the words out loud, so I kept them in my head, rolling them over with a lightness I hadn’t felt in over a year. The nightmare was almost over. Because of one woman’s determination to not give up on me.
Even when I almost ruined everything because of ego and selfish pride.
Leaving my car in a parking deck near 34th street and Phoebe’s brownstone, I contemplated taking a cross-town bus to get to Times Square where the Circa Records building was located. Checking my watch, I decided I had enough time to just walk the ten blocks and forgo the inevitable stares of a moving autograph fan-mobile. It was just a twenty-minute walk across town to the West Side and I needed to burn off some of the lingering anger.
Mia. Fucking AngelMia.
How in the hell had I been so blind?
Had it all been a ruse? Had she been stalking me quietly before Lam died and was just biding her time? Or did she see a golden opportunity with his accident and lured me into her clutches like a fucking predator? I told that bitch everything. I poured my soul out to her. A perfect goddamn stranger.
The implications of my stupidity crashed down on me. Vivian was dead because of me. Phoebe had been attacked and almost killed because of me. Countless tabloids and gossip shows from here to Antarctica splashed her real identity across print and airwaves because of me.
Mia had taken everything that mattered away from me. She wouldn’t take the last thing I had left. As long as I had breath inside of me, I’d have Phoebe. The woman ran through my veins. She gave me life.
By the time I reached the Circa building, the rage and resentment had built up to such a disproportionate level I didn’t know how I would calm myself down enough to talk to the rest of t
he band. There were too many details I couldn’t disclose to a room full of judgment I was in no way prepared to hear. The less they knew, the better, but after what was getting ready to go down with Mia’s bust, standing at a microphone just wasn’t happening.
Glancing upward and seeing that the red light was calm and unlit, I walked into the room, forcing myself to look each one of them in the face.
“The king returns. How gracious of you to bless us with your presence, oh, royal rat fuck.”
“What the hell is this shit?” I shot back at Zane as I looked around in shock. He and a Circa security guard were sitting on the small couch in the control room playing cards as Zane’s guitar sat undisturbed.
“A tea party, motherfucker,” Zane sneered, fingering his long beard. “What the hell does it look like, Jag? It’s Texas Hold ’Em, brother.”
“Where is everybody?” I asked, looking around the corner into the empty sound room.
“Gone,” he answered, not even looking up from his hand. “Tanna wasn’t feeling well and started making these nasty-ass puking sounds, so Stan and I got her the hell outta Dodge, man.”
The dark-skinned security guard grimaced. “Yeah, I don’t mess with puke.”
Zane twisted his features in a disgusted frown. “Especially chick puke. They expect you to hold their hair and shit. Tanna’s like family, but no, get a bucket, woman.”
The sinking feeling came back. I tried to push it away and asked my next question before allowing myself to completely lose my shit.
“What about Ty?”
Zane smirked again and threw down a card. “That big asshole couldn’t be here ten minutes without climbing the walls. He texted Tanna every five seconds. When she didn’t answer, he packed up his shit and left.” He pulled on his lip ring and snorted. “Made up some bullshit about not being able to forgive himself if she got so bad she couldn’t call for help.”
Walking farther into the room, I slapped him on the back of the head. He twisted around in shock. “What the fuck was that for?”
“Because Ty actually gives a shit about Tanna, you heartless prick.”
Zane retaliated by punching my arm and then rolling his eyes, turning his attention back to his cards. “What the fuck ever. He wants to pop that cherry and you know it. Fuck, everybody knows it. He’s had a thing for Tanna for months.”
“That’s insane.” I glared at his ridiculous accusations. “He told me himself that she reminds him of his kid sister. God, man, don’t you remember when Rachel died? It almost destroyed him.”
Ty’s kid sister was a little younger than Tanna when her leukemia came back for the second time. It quickly spread to her lymph nodes and liver and she was gone within three weeks. Ty leeched onto Tanna shortly after they met, and even I could see him treating her as a Rachel surrogate. Zane was a gigantic dick for insinuating otherwise.
“Rachel’s been gone over three years. It ain’t like that, I’m telling you. Ty’s got it bad.”
I refused to listen to this anymore. “Whatever, man. I just came to tell you that I can’t be at rehearsal today either.”
Zane laughed. “You came all the way to the studio to tell us you can’t come to the studio? You sure you’re not pregnant?”
I cracked a smile. They looked so calm and relaxed, a pang of jealousy hit me for the detachment they possessed. They traded insults and threw cards at each other like it was just any other day, like a girl who’d done nothing but want what I couldn’t give her wasn’t lying in a drawer at the morgue. I coveted their ignorance of the fact that Phoebe and I had just poked a stick at a madwoman.
“I call, man,” Stan announced suddenly, staring Zane down.
Zane shook his head in pity and dropped his cards, sneering proudly at his opponent. “Straight flush, asshole. All pathetic little red heartless ladies. Sucks to be you.”
Finally dropping his poker face, Stan broke out in a grin and fanned his cards out on the table. “Yep, they are pathetic. Read ’em and suck my dick, fuck-face—royal flush.”
Zane’s face was priceless. “No fucking way! You cheated!”
“No, you just don’t pay attention for shit, Z. Now pay up before I kick your ass.”
I halfway laughed at Zane’s stunned stillness when the studio door swung open with a slam. I turned to see Ty, his chest heaving and panic filling his eyes.
“Ty?” I asked cautiously. “You okay, man?”
“Where is she?” he fired back, fear seething through every syllable.
“Where’s who?” Zane spoke up behind me.
Ty was in no mood for lengthy explanations. “Tanna, who else?”
“Bro, she’s at her apartment,” Zane responded, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.
“No. She’s. Not!” he shouted, enunciating each word as if the louder he yelled, the more answers would materialize out of thin air. “I went to check on her and she’s gone. Her door was wide open, and her bag was there!” Ty turned to me with pleading eyes. “She never leaves her bag, man! Tanna never leaves her bag!” He gripped the doorknob so hard I thought he would snap it off.
Calmly, I moved over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure she’s fine. Tanna is smart. She wouldn’t let someone into her apartment just because they knocked—”
I stopped as Mia’s words came rushing back in a mass of letters and typeface.
AngelMia: Everything will fit perfectly step by step. This is my step. My beginning, her end.
She wasn’t talking about Phoebe. She was referring to Tanna. Mia got to Tanna.
“Jag!” Ty shook my hand off his shoulder and shoved me against the wall with one thrust of his massive arms. “What the fuck do you know? Goddamn it, if you know something about Tanna, you’d better start talking right now or I swear to Christ, I’ll kill you!”
“It’s her,” I managed to croak out.
“Who, goddamn it?” Ty raged.
“My fucking stalker. She sent a message, and I thought it was a threat against Phoebe.” Looking up at Ty, huge and monstrous with tears filling his eyes, I almost broke. “But she meant Tanna.”
Gathering every ounce of courage, I told them everything, for once in my life leaving nothing out. I cut every vein open and left them to bleed. I told them the grizzly details of Vivian’s murder—details Hough had left out when he interviewed them—of Faith Addison’s hacking skills, the history with Mia, and how Phoebe and I had set up the fake blog and trapped her in her own arrogance. When I finished, I waited in silence for one of them to explode in anger or just beat the shit out of me. What happened ripped me open even more.
The rumble started in Ty’s chest, bubbling until it exited his mouth in a roar of pain and anguish. “Noooo!” He slid down the wall, his fists clamped tightly against his eyes. “Rachel! No, not again.”
Tossing a look at Zane, his face white, I pointed one finger at him and the guard, and the other to Ty, who was now almost sitting on the floor. “You two get him and go to the house. I’m calling Detective Hough. This shit is over. We’ve got this bitch. Just fucking trust me.”
I slammed the door to Ty’s torturous cries to his dead sister.
***
My brain knew taking the train would’ve been faster but all I could do was move. Moving meant I was getting to Phoebe. I swore to her nothing would hurt her ever again and I meant it. Once I knew she was safe, I’d find Tanna.
God, please let Tanna still be alive.
Phoebe’s phone went to voice mail again, and for the fifth time, I hung up cursing. I should’ve allowed Stan to come with me like he’d demanded. Who knew if I’d need backup. Fellow pedestrians blurred as my stride broke out into a full-out run. I dialed again.
Why wouldn’t she answer? What if Mia had both of them?
My pace doubled and sweat poured as my lungs burned with need of air. As I rounded the fifth block, my phone rang in my hand, and the hope that filled me had me answering it without looking at who had called.
&nbs
p; “Phoebe?”
“Bale?”
Slowing my pace, I pulled the phone away, glancing at the caller ID. “Hough, please tell me you have an address, because I need it now!”
His tone held caution. “Bale, do you know a Tara Lambert?”
My slow pace stopped completely as I thought over past girlfriends and drunk hook-ups over the years. “No, the name doesn’t ring a bell, why?”
“I got a positive ID on the IP and info from a Machine Access Control, or MAC, for the AngElmie issue. I didn’t want to say anything before because I was at the station. There’s always someone listening at that damn place.”
“Go on.”
“Nobody can snap their fingers and trace an IP address. I could take it to a judge and provide evidence that there’s reasonable cause a crime had been committed. At that point, the judge would rule to give me a court order and force the ISP to give me the location of the IP they assigned that router. That usually takes days.”
“We don’t have days!” I exploded. “Why did you let us do all of this shit? Do you understand what we’ve done?” Panic clawed at my chest.
“Yes, Bale, I know exactly what you’ve done. Which is exactly why I couldn’t explain to you then that a golfing buddy of mine works at one the main ISP providers in Jersey and has a dirty little obsession with high-priced hookers. You tend to get around bureaucratic red tape like court orders when the son of a congressman doesn’t want anyone to know where his dick has been.”
“She’s in Jersey?” The information was overwhelming me.
“I had a hunch your stalker either lived near you or would move near you. Most celebrity stalkers of this magnitude do.”
“Who is she?”
“IP identification isn’t that cut and dry. It’s assigned by the internet service provider. The router acts as the front man, much like yourself, for a bunch of computers on a Local Area Network.”
