by A. C. Dillon
Evan's temper was quickly getting the better of him. "Who would I possibly be able to employ? I blew half my college savings flying out here today."
"When did you say that flight was?"
"Judging from his departure time and my experience, he arrived around noon," Autumn chimed in, holding up the boarding pass and digging in her purse for her cell phone. "He then called me at... 12:09pm. The call ended at 12:13. He took a 12:47 shuttle from Newark to Penn station, arriving at... 1:17, from my memory of that route. He called me at 1:29 from the lobby of our hotel." When Barrington shot her a skeptical look, she held up her phone and offered the pass and ticket. "See for yourself."
Studying the call history, Barrington frowned. "And he's been with you since his arrival?"
"Yes, he has," Andrew replied.
"And what about the shoes?" Veronica snapped. "The letter made it clear that the creep who did this has been following me around as I shop. He has to be local. Evan's been in Toronto."
Cognizant now that no one was buying into her theory, Barrington took a step backwards, softening her features in what Autumn knew would be a hopeless attempt to make friends. "I'm sorry, Ms. St. Clair. It's impossible, given years of experience and the compiled statistics on stalking, to ignore love interests and ex-boyfriends as suspects in cases like this. You'll understand if we look into your whereabouts and financial records to clear your name, won't you, Mr. Kowalczyk?"
"I've got nothing to hide," he muttered through gritted teeth, reaching for Veronica's hand. She accepted it readily, her fingers interlacing with his.
I trust him, Veronica declared silently.
The message was heard, loud and clear. With a defeated look, Detective Barrington tucked her notebook in her pocket. "Excellent. In the meantime, please don't leave New York. You're all free to go. Ms. St. Clair, we'll be in touch."
Veronica led the charge from the theatre, her purse slung over her shoulder with enough momentum to nearly slug Andrew in the chest. Dodging backwards, he made the suggestion of their suite, to which all parties assented quickly. Piling into a taxi, Autumn tapped out a quick note to herself.
December 1991. O'Rourke Theatre. Suicide.
She was a woman of her word. There would be flowers on a lonely mother's grave tomorrow. She'd guarantee it. But this was a one-time thing. There would be no more silent conversations, no more favours, no more Casper the Helpful Ghost.
From here on, Autumn promised herself, she stuck to the corporeal.
TEN
The one decided benefit of Andrew's splurge: plenty of space for a gathering of Casteel Prep's very own Scooby Gang.
Evan had taken over one sofa with his long swimmer's legs, his arm protectively wrapped around Veronica's shoulder. Stretched out along his torso, she was clearly more at ease than she'd been since Autumn and Andrew's arrival. Andrew had taken the large chair near the window, while Autumn had built a bed of pillows on the floor. Laptop in front of her prone body, she was in working mode.
Tapping a few keys, she reached for the Sprite beside her and sighed. "So, we all caught that 'I don't believe you' vibe from Barrington earlier?"
Evan shook his head angrily. "You know, if we were back home, I wouldn't blame her one bit for grilling me. It's true: stalkers and ex-boyfriends commonly overlap. But I just got here."
"And then Parsons nearly got beaned. Stalker Boy said some really vicious things about him in those letters, from what I remember," Andrew offered.
"Speaking of Parsons, he refuses to perform until they finish installing the new cameras, so I am working with his understudy tomorrow!" Veronica did a pantomime of a cheerleader with her pom-poms.
"Maybe the asshole will crawl back into his Los Angeles hole," Evan grumbled, clearly seething over Veronica's backstory for the TMZ photos.
Andrew sighed. "Now, this is why Barrington has set her sights on you. Surprising she didn't immediately leap to that conclusion."
Autumn averted her gaze. "I saw the possibility before Barrington did. I could see how easy it would be for you to deliver letters, how stereotypical it would be for you to show up and be here for Veronica right when things got nasty."
"Autumn!" Veronica chided.
"What? I just published a suspense thriller. I was briefly stalked by the so-called Perfect Guy. No offense, Evan, but it fits the profile.” Evan winced and Autumn immediately rushed to reassure him. “But there's one thing Barrington doesn't understand."
Evan cocked an eyebrow. "Which is?"
"She doesn't know you like we do. We know you. I immediately ran the facts in my head and found evidence to support it."
Evan looked relieved, buoyed by the faith of a friend. Andrew, however, was no stranger to Autumn's tendency to dig deeper into things than the average person would. One brief glance at his eyes and she knew he was suspicious.
"Speaking of, that was a lucky find back there. How'd you get Evan's ticket?"
"No big deal," she answered quickly, having prepared her response on the drive over. "When I walked out of the bathroom, I went past Veronica's room to see if they'd found that letter under the table. I saw something sticking out from under the door."
Twisting her hair over her shoulder, she immediately realized this was why she was a shitty poker player: she had a tell. Hair pulling, twisting or fidgeting? Anxiety. Andrew knew it. She knew it. And in one silent exchange between them, her heart sank. Busted.
Mercifully, Andrew didn't call her out in front of Veronica. "It's a good thing you came back when you did. Barrington was fixated on Evan."
"I actually tried to find my boarding pass at one point, but gave up."
Veronica grinned. "My bad. It probably got in my way when I wanted to grab your ass." At Andrew's exaggerated groan, she added, "It's not my fault! Swimming is an incredible full-body workout, and Evan is an accomplished swimmer." Her declaration was punctuated by the playful dance of her fingers along his abdomen.
Autumn shot her friend a look she'd inherited from her schoolteacher mother: Behave yourself. "Before the pheromones smother us, can we please get back to the seriously creepy shit at hand? Evan's got the police up his ass, and Veronica's ass is in danger."
"Too many asses in trouble. Are you proposing a Save The Asses Foundation?" Evan mused. "I could get behind that."
"Don't you get cheeky with me," Autumn fired back.
Andrew grinned. "Seems like Evan's getting a little too big for his britches. Must be all the swimming, right Veronica?"
"Well, he does have an impressive backstroke," she replied coyly.
"Back-and-forth stroke, more like," Autumn quipped.
"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Evan insisted.
"But this woman does," Veronica purred. "Alright, fine. Enough of our hijinks. Serious faces on."
Autumn glared at her. "You know, I'm legit freaking out beneath this practiced cool exterior. I wouldn't be able to cope if anything happened to you, V." Biting her lip, she forced back the tears that would come, sooner or later.
"I know. Hey, don't bite that beautiful lip. It didn't stalk me, wifey." Reaching her hand down to grasp Autumn's, she smiled. "You know me. I have to deflect the heavy with humour. But I appreciate everything you and Andrew have done so far... Everything all of you are doing. I'm taking this seriously. I just can't cry anymore today. You understand, right?"
"I do. Andrew, what did Dad say about the security guy?"
Scrolling through his phone, he scanned through what she assumed was a text or email. "He'll be at your place tomorrow at nine in the morning."
"That's fine; I've got the night shift," Evan announced happily.
"There will be a team of three guys total," Andrew continued. "Neil's got them working around the clock. First guy is former Canadian Forces and—oh man, you're going to love this—his name is Kevin."
Veronica burst into a fit of giggles. "Oh my God! Can my codename be Whitney? Can he refer to me as the Queen of the Night?"
Aut
umn was equally amused, hooting as Veronica burst into song. "There will be no stopping her. Evan, please do not let her make this guy quit before the end of his shift. Please, please, keep her in line?"
"I'll try, but you know how she is..."
Andrew cleared his throat loudly. "Kevin will be the head of the team, handling much of the research into your schedule, the people you'll have daily contact with and ideal routes of travel. Veronica, you have to listen to these guys, alright? Everything they do or ask of you is to keep you safe."
With one last snicker, her serious face was back. "I will, I will."
"If they say you skip stage door, you skip it," Autumn chimed in, knowing it could be a sticking point.
"But the fans! Some of them come from far away to see the show! Autumn, you know how much it means to a serious fan of theatre to chat with the cast."
Yup. She's not happy. “I get it, I do. And I know you value your fans, V. But there is a psycho out there who keeps finding his way into the theatre. A guy who nearly killed your co-star. Douchebag or no, it’s still attempted murder.”
Veronica sat up, shaking her head. “Well, clearly I’m not any safer hiding inside the theatre and disappointing the non-psycho majority.”
"Veronica—"
Her hand flew up, covering her boyfriend’s mouth. "Evan, stop. I'll listen, but I don't have to like it. I'm going to feel guilty as hell."
"But he could be there. Maybe he already has been," Evan countered.
Veronica shook her head. "If he has, he's completely under the radar. There are other people who ping my weirdo detector, but no one has ever made me feel... unsafe?"
"If he hasn't come yet, he's going to come now," Autumn mused aloud. "Admire his handiwork. See if you're pleased that Zach was punished or however this guy sees it."
Veronica visibly blanched. "You think?"
Autumn tapped the screen of her laptop. "If my five-second Google is indicative of anything—and I'm pretty damn good with Google—we're looking at an Intimacy Seeker. The letters are horribly misguided attempts to seduce you. Which means that ideally, the best way to keep him chill would be for Evan to stay away."
"Not a goddamn chance."
"Didn't think so, but I'm putting it out there, Evan."
"So... Shoes are the way to a fashionable woman's heart?" Andrew offered.
Autumn nodded. "This guy probably saw it as taking care of you, V. Meeting your needs that were going unmet."
Veronica shook her head. "More like a sex accessory... Today's letter... Ugh. There was this line: 'When you are ready to be with me, they will be the only thing I allow you to wear.' And that wasn't the worst of it."
Autumn shuddered, considering what the worst of it could have been. This guy... someone needs to stop him. He's probably done it before, and he'll keep on terrorizing women until he's behind bars. In her mind, she remembered the sickly sweet smell of Kearney's breath as he professed his love for her—for 'his Mary'. The chair, the painful cramping of her arms as she fought to cut her binds... She closed her eyes, slipping back into her hell...
"Come back."
A whisper in her ear. Her eyes flew open, her brain initially failing to recognize the speaker. Andrew. I'm with him. I'm safe. He'd moved to sit beside her. When did he move? The familiar panic of lost time rose in her throat like bile.
"Just a few moments," he murmured.
"You always know," she replied softly, resting her head on his lap.
Drifting back into the present, she understood now that an argument had erupted: Veronica wanted to be more present at stage door and public events, hoping her stalker would reveal himself; Evan wanted quite the opposite. Neither was willing to back down.
"Evan, she's got a point," Autumn interrupted. "This may be our best opportunity at getting eyes on this asshole."
"See? Autumn gets it!" Veronica crowed triumphantly.
"Andrew, help me out here?"
Stroking Autumn's hair, Andrew sighed. "If there's anything I learned from the last time these two decided to take matters into their own hands, it's that you can't make Autumn do anything. And you definitely can't make her stop digging into a mystery."
"I wish I'd had that endorsement for my application to Ryerson," Autumn joked weakly.
"As much as I would rather leave things to the professionals, I know you can't stand by and do nothing. Which means her partner in crime over there..." Andrew jerked a thumb in Veronica's direction. "...is going to tag along."
"The Watson to her Sherlock. That's me!" Veronica chirped.
Autumn grinned. "Benedict Cumberbatch..."
Veronica swooned. "Zachary Quinto..."
"Totally ship it, forever and ever."
Evan frowned. "Ladies? We're right here."
Veronica licked her lips. "You and Andrew? Ship that too."
Andrew jumped in before Evan could protest. "B5, I've sunk that goddamn ship. Back to the point: either we let them do what they're going to do and supervise, or they'll sneak off anyway."
"To be fair, cops are notoriously shitty at doing anything of value to apprehend and contain stalkers," Veronica noted. "I watch enough Investigation Discovery to know."
Exasperated, Evan threw his hands up. "Fine, then: Avengers Assemble!"
“I didn’t know Aquaman was an Avenger," Autumn teased. "What are you going to do, Super Soak the baddie?”
"I could use a dollar store squirt gun and still be a more convincing superhero than Affleck as Batman."
Sensing her comic book nerd boyfriend was just getting started, Veronica pressed her finger to Evan’s mouth, silencing him. "You know what I could use? Carbs. Lots of them."
"Guess I better feed you soon. It's getting close to midnight.”
Veronica pulled free of his grasp, her expression smoldering as she tossed her curls back. "Baby, if I'm a Gremlin, then you best not get me wet."
"Way too much information!" Andrew shouted.
With a pout, Veronica relented. "Fine, fine. I'm going to freshen up and I expect all three of you to be ready to leave in ten minutes."
"I'm going to change," Evan announced, gesturing towards the bedroom.
"Me too, I think," Andrew decided, gently nudging Autumn. "You?"
"You forget that I switched to my comfy jeans when we got here. I'm golden."
"Alright, then. Be right back." With a quick kiss, he disappeared into the bedroom that was apparently a boys' locker room.
Alone at last.
She wouldn't have much time to work with—five minutes at most—but Autumn was banking on the fanaticism of Broadway to deliver the search engine goods. A few key words, a click and she was rewarded on page two of her results.
Tragedy in the Theatre: Up-and-Coming Actor Ends His Life in Dressing Room.
A quick scan of the article's date and a grainy photograph sealed the deal: it was her Casper. Or, rather, it was Richard Hanks (no relation), a young actor from Iowa who'd committed suicide when he was replaced in a production of a play Autumn had never heard of. Although the production had been launched with high hopes, it had been floundering in the wake of the Gulf War’s financial implications. Desperate to revitalize the show, they'd dropped Richard for an unnamed TV star.
Bullshit. I'm so sorry, Richard.
Now working with a name, she quickly pulled up an obituary for Richard, netting his mother's name: Maria Hanks. Hearing the bathroom door swing open, she did a final search for his mother, her heart racing as she waited for the Wi-Fi to cooperate.
"Where are our men?" Veronica asked.
Oakland...Beloved mother of Richard (deceased)... Bingo! Iowa City needed a little floral attention.
"Um, they went to change... What the hell are they doing?"
Deflect. She was rather good at it when she had to be.
Veronica chuckled, heading for the bedroom. "I'll get them. Hey! If you're getting your sexy on, at least film it for us!"
Scribbling details on a hotel note pad, Au
tumn tucked a folded page in her pocket. She knew exactly how to keep her promise without drawing attention to it.
The culprit for the delay: video games. Of course. Veronica had found their respective lovers watching YouTube trailers for some game involving shooting and expanded online world something-or-other. Not one to be kept from comfort food, Veronica had shooed them towards the door, swinging her purse just high enough to tag Evan on his rear.
"Let's go, Autumn!"
Autumn winked as she rose to her feet, deliberately smoothing her top over her breasts. "What, now? I thought you wanted food."
"Girl's gotta work up an appetite!" Looping their arms together, Veronica smiled. "Have I told you how wonderful it is to have all of my favourite people with me?"
On their way out, Autumn excused herself, heading for the concierge to "refill the minibar." Which she would mention, of course... after her critical request. The hotel's motto was essentially ‘Anything you want... within reason, and for a price.' She was counting on truth in advertising. Her needs explained, Autumn slid the folded paper across the desk with a smile.
"Shouldn't be a problem, Ms. Brody."
"Could you confirm with me directly at the number written down? Oh, and could you bill me separately for it? I don't want my fiancé to pay," she explained with a sheepish look.
Like a genie in a bottle, her wish was their command. Maria Hanks would have yellow roses on her grave by tomorrow afternoon... and so would Richard Hanks.
ELEVEN
I'm surrounded by faces, but none of them are familiar. I can smell the faint aroma of the sugar factory by the waterfront, mixed with dingy water and seaweed. Somehow, this makes me think of a dessert sushi gone wrong, and I laugh in spite of myself.
A woman shushes me, pointing above us.
I look up and am awestruck by the aerial performance taking place. Acrobats, tumblers, a high-wire artist—all are at play in a carefully choreographed routine. All soar, twist and fly through the air, dodging torches of fire as they swing over the rim of what I slowly begin to recognize as a cross between a cargo ship and an aircraft carrier. Battleship gone wrong.
