Waiting For A Star To Fall (Autumn Brody Book 2)

by A. C. Dillon

  Autumn's irises, once a deep green, were now an empty shade of grey.

  "Is something wrong?" Mogan asked from behind her.

  "No, no. It was just something you said, about music and youth. It, um, reminded me of an embarrassing story from when I was younger." Lie. Lie well. Oscar time.

  "Oh, really? I'd love to hear it."

  Autumn's arms contorted into an impossible pretzel curl, her wrists flexing sharply. Her gaze locked on Veronica's and immediately, she heard an unfamiliar woman shouting inside her skull.

  Keep her busy! I'm helping Autumn.

  Startled, Veronica turned towards her captor for motivation to stay on task. "Well, I always enjoyed singing as a little girl. I was very shy, but if you asked me to sing, it was like all of the fear went away. Music was this magical thing. So my mom pushed me into entering talent shows, joining choir, all of that. When I was twelve, she convinced me to do this local children's talent show. And for my song... well, she clearly let her own tastes take charge."

  Morgan leaned against a far wall, edging down the volume on her music. "I sense embarrassing taste in music."

  "Not so much embarrassing as oblivious!" Veronica glanced over at her friend, secretly pleased to see her sliding her right wrist free of her zip tie. "My mom had me sing one of her favourite songs in the world: 'I'm The Only One' by Melissa Etheridge."

  Morgan gasped, buckling over laughing. "No! Did your mother realize that Melissa—"

  "Nope. She's also a huge Ani Difranco fan, by the way." Keep it casual, Veronica. She's relaxed. She's not paying attention. "So after I belt it out, one of the judges congratulates my mother for supporting my 'atypical sexuality'. My mom is very Liberal, but she was just so confused! And me, I didn't know, either. I was just a twelve year-old girl who really enjoyed singing. Music was what eventually got me to join Drama camp. Two months later, I was at Casteel, although I quickly switched majors from Music to Drama. The rest is history."

  Both of Autumn's hands were free now, although they remained behind her back, perfectly in position. Icy irises stared through Veronica, cutting to her core. It was as if her friend's soul was simply... gone. No longer inside of her. Veronica had watched plenty of scary movies about possession by spirits, but never in her wildest dreams had she fathomed that the reality cut so close to the Hollywood fiction.

  Bring her closer, the voice demanded inside her head.

  "Morgan?" Still chuckling, her captor eyed her quizzically. "I really, really need to pee, and I know we're in sort of an odd situation here, but I have only one good kidney, so I'm kinda freaking out..." Veronica hung her head, as if ashamed. "I barely make it through performances, sometimes. Because I'm so paranoid."

  "That does put us in a predicament." Rising to her feet, Morgan swung the knife around at her side, casting her gaze between Veronica and Autumn. "Because as much as I've enjoyed this chat we're having right now, the fact remains that you've made it clear that you won't give us a chance. And knowing what you know, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with you. Either of you."

  "I get it, okay? I do. But I'm going to piss myself in two minutes, and I'd really rather not, alright?" Veronica squirmed against her restraints, pleased that her one hand was so very close to freedom. "As a fucking woman, I'm asking you to have some decency and at least give me a bloody bucket." Glancing wildly, Veronica noticed a metallic cylinder to her right. "Or that thing! You could help me get my clothes out of the way, I'll cop a squat. Please! I don't want my kidney to explode!"

  "Your kidney won't explode," Morgan muttered, exasperated. "But fine! Your hands stay tied."

  "Fine, sure, whatever you want." Veronica bounced her butt against the ground, her kidnapped version of the universal bathroom dance.

  As Morgan bent down over the cylinder to examine it, Autumn rose to her feet, steady and calm. Seizing the cable tie in her hand, she moved it over Morgan's head at lightning speed, jamming her foot into their captor's back as she choked her. Veronica scooted out of the way as Morgan dropped to the floor, throwing Autumn off balance and sending her sprawling onto the concrete. Tugging and prying at her own restraints, she watched in horror as Morgan's hands wrapped around Autumn's throat.

  "You stupid, meddling bitch!" Morgan gasped. "Why couldn't you stay out of this?"

  Autumn's fist swung wildly, making lucky contact with her assailant's ear. Stunned and furious, her grip loosened enough for the redhead to shimmy free, landing an upkick to the detective’s jaw. Spying the hunting knife across the room, she half-crawled towards it, white marble eyes fixated on the gleaming blade. Veronica found herself untied, yet paralyzed; helplessly, she watched as the frightening woman her friend had become stretched her hand for the weapon, only for it to be kicked away by Morgan.

  "Nice try," the cop sneered. "You think I haven't been hit on the job? In the gym?"

  A steel-toed boot drove into the left side of Autumn's ribcage and she howled in pain as something crackled in the air. Autumn crumpled into a weeping heap, her hands pawing at the ground as if to pull it over herself. The vicious brunette stumbled across the room towards the knife, massaging her jaw roughly.

  It was then that Veronica saw it: green eyes.

  "Go," Autumn croaked at her. "Go..."

  Veronica shook her head, quickly taking stock of her options. A steel support rod peeking out of a nearby box caught her eye.

  "I've had enough of you!" Morgan seethed, towering over Autumn. "You're just like that nosy bitch at the theatre. Phone calls, emails, harassing my women. Well, I'll take care of you..."

  Raising the knife overhead, she crouched down, menacing her prey. Autumn looked away and groaned in pain. Now or never. With all of the fury she could muster, Veronica swung the steel rod at Morgan's head. A satisfying clang filled the room as the cop fell sideways, dazed and motionless.

  "Come on, come on!" Veronica urged, dragging Autumn away by her ankles. "Get up!"

  "No...She... It broke," Autumn whimpered. "I can't move, V."

  "No, you can! You're Autumn Brody and you're a goddamn warrior. Now get the fuck up!"

  "Get help," Autumn pleaded. "Leave me... Fuck..."

  Veronica felt panic welling up inside her as Morgan's head moved slowly from side to side. She's waking up! While reason told her that Autumn was right, in her heart she knew that Morgan had a gun and that she would put a bullet between her best friend's eyes if she left her behind.

  "Autumn, please!"

  She hooked her arms beneath Autumn’s, hoping to drag her the fifteen feet to freedom, but her efforts were in vain. The dead weight of her wounded friend was simply too much for her to carry. When Morgan grabbed her by the arm and shoved her to the ground, Veronica could only cry silently.

  I failed her. I fucked up.

  A gun. There was a gun, pointed at the prone body on the ground. Veronica closed her eyes and pressed her palms over her ears, waiting for the sound that would herald her world coming to an end.

  TWENTY-THREE

  There was no record of a Morgan Barrington checking into the hotel. No check-ins of single women matching the officer's description. It was as if she'd vanished into thin air, taking two women with her.

  Having decided that there was enough to at least get the police on the scene, Kevin and Ray had called Veronica in as a missing person. Given that Jeremy was still the number-one suspect—and still unaccounted for—Veronica's disappearance was taken as a sign of foul play.

  "The details can wait," Kevin had explained. "Once they're here, let them see the footage for themselves."

  It was sage advice, although Evan and Andrew struggled to stand by and wait for the first responders to clue in to what they already knew to be true. Andrew, having a background in documentaries, decided that it wouldn't be unusual for him to suggest tracking Barrington out of the hotel. He'd argued that maybe Jeremy had ambushed them both somewhere on the premises to keep their attention; he was only half-sorry for the publishing intern when it wor
ked like a charm.

  An officer had lost it on the hotel manager once he'd searched for the elevators. "What do you mean, these cameras are down?"

  "They've only been down for a few days. We have a service call for Wednesday, but—"

  "You mean to tell me a place that charges three hundred a night for a closet of a room can't afford a rush call? Fuck! How did they all manage to escape your surveillance and get outside?"

  "Unless they didn't," Kevin had casually interjected. "I think they're still in the hotel."

  Computer records had been searched, but there was no sign of Jeremy or Barrington on the books. The whole affair had become a circle jerk, as far as Andrew was concerned. Everyone was waiting for someone else to come up with a master plan, and not one legitimate idea was being offered. Aside from a room-to-room search and a full lockdown—which had the hotel staff distraught over their upscale clientele—there seemed to be few options.

  "I can't just stand here," Evan whispered in Andrew's ear. "We need to look for them. We know what this woman's capable of."

  "Agreed. But Ray's watching us." Andrew jerked his head slightly, emphasizing his point. "These guys aren't stupid. They won't let us go off half-cocked."

  "She's a cop, Andy. She has a gun."

  "I know! But they have three black belts combined and combat training."

  "Fuck this," Evan spat. "I'm going."

  Andrew slumped in his chair, waiting to be proven right. It took Ray all of ten seconds to notice Evan slipping out of the security office, five seconds to follow him out the door and maybe a minute to drag in a thoroughly rebuked and furious former swim captain. Kicking the wall beside Andrew, Evan leaned against it and glared at the bodyguard.

  "Mirza would have let me go," Evan muttered. "I hate that they switched shifts."

  "Like hell he would have. At least they're here. Last time, no one would listen, except Grant."

  Evan sighed. "See, where's a cranky yet redeemable professor to lead the charge when you need one?"

  Beside the wall of security monitors, a red phone lit up, chirping shrilly at the group. A hotel security officer lunged for the phone, acknowledging the caller with a grunt. Andrew's stomach lurched as the guard visibly blanched.

  Something awful is happening.

  "Dispatching now," the guard barked, hanging up the phone and turning to the group. "We have a situation."

  "Spit it out," the lieutenant beside him demanded.

  Five words. They left Andrew reeling.

  "Shots fired. Fifty-seventh floor."

  * * *

  For a few blissful moments, nothing hurt.

  Louise, take the wheel, Autumn quipped to herself as she relinquished her body to her great-grandmother, finding herself in a murky other state of being. Neither inside of herself nor outside, she drifted in a limbo where she could see through her eyes, yet her body moved of its own accord. She heard her joints pop violently as her arms contorted behind her back and cringed at the sound. Louise had apparently taken the same Zip Tie Escape Class online.

  I know what you know, Louise answered in her head. I'm simply getting done what you cannot.

  The list of things Autumn could not get done on her own was brief: escape zip tie; choke killer with it. In a move that impressed her, Louise jammed her foot into Morgan's back for leverage, earning a gurgled squawk of protest.

  There were also limits to how much burden a long-dead spirit could bear: as Morgan's boot drove itself into her lower rib cage, it also drove out her ghostly helper. All circuits were firing on holy shit, I want to die as there was pain, only pain. Her vision blurred lightning-white as she choked back vomit and curled into a ball.

  Beside her, Louise stood, her head bowed as if ashamed. "I tried to hang on, but the wound is too great to shield you."

  Her head lolled sideways, catching sight of Veronica. "Go," she begged her. "Go..."

  Veronica: her beautiful, clever, but completely fucking stubborn friend. No dice. She was determined to leave as a dynamic duo. It hurts to breathe... I'm useless. Broken. She couldn't even fathom sitting, let alone standing.

  Speaking of standing, Morgan was back and furious. "I've had enough of you! You're just like that nosy bitch at the theatre. Phone calls, emails, harassing my women. Well, I'll take care of you..."

  At least it'll be over, she told herself, turning away from the blade and its sinister sunlight-shimmer. Make sure Andrew knows I love him. You owe me, Louise.

  The knife came close enough to feel the air shift with the force of the swing, stopping just shy of slashing her arm as the killer cop fell sideways. Confusion gave way to gratitude as she saw Veronica leaning beside her, shoving aside a large metal rod. Her hands shook violently as she seized Autumn by the ankles and dragged her three feet away from Morgan's stunned body.

  "Come on, come on! Get up!"

  Ha. She had to applaud Veronica's optimism. It was even willing to overlook her origami repose. "No...She... It broke... I can't move, V."

  "No, you can! You're Autumn Brody and you're a goddamn warrior. Now get the fuck up!"

  "Get help." It was an order, not a request. "Leave me...Fuck..." Her hand gingerly touched her ribs and swore she felt a bone shifting. This is so not good.

  Veronica was frantic now, tugging at her various limbs, testing their weight. "Autumn, please!"

  "Yeah, Autumn. Please..."

  Blinking hard, Autumn felt a chill roll over her as she saw Danielle—the murdered woman who'd held her captive in this very room. Morgan Barrington's former lover. In the harsh light of day, the silver evening gown reminded her of a disco ball, casting prismatic light in all directions. She knelt beside Autumn, her strawberry-blonde waves cascading down over them.

  "I can help you both. But you have to let me do what I need to. You can't stop me."

  Veronica's arms tucked beneath her own and tried to drag her to the exit, to no avail. She was too petite, and Autumn was too weak to get to her feet. Danielle sneered as Morgan approached, snatching Veronica away and shoving her into the nearest wall.

  "Let me in. Let me end this," Danielle demanded. "Or you both die."

  A gun. Morgan had a gun. As she released the safety and aimed it at her head, Autumn surrendered. A chance at survival was better than nothing at all. Danielle nodded, reaching for her hand and pulling...

  And she was outside. Her body was lost. Oh, fuck. Am I dead? Autumn glanced down at Veronica, who was cowering against the wall. She can't see me. What Louise and Nikki had done—she’d still been herself. She’d still been inside.

  As Morgan's finger curled around the trigger of her revolver, a distorted and sinister voice spoke.

  "Quick Draw," it hissed from between Autumn's lips. "Are you still the fastest two-finger shooter in the west end?"

  Morgan gasped, stumbling backwards. Her body collided roughly with a stack of marble tiles, a soft oomph escaping her lips.

  "What did you say?"

  To Autumn's shock, she watched herself stand up, her body in the hands of a cavalier puppet master. Her torso hung to the left, as if on a steep incline. Veronica's hand clapped over her mouth, suppressing a shout of surprise—or horror.

  If I'm freaked out by this Body Snatchers routine, she has to be terrified.

  "You let me die here," Danielle spat through Autumn's split lips. "Where did you think I went after you watched me bleed out from his bullet?"

  "I... I didn't..." Morgan shook herself, circling away from the stalking spectre. "I tried to stop him, but he was so strong."

  "He wouldn't have been here at all if you hadn't told him about us!" Danielle shrieked. "What we had, Morgan... It was perfect. We were perfect. You knew that I could have never left him, not without being bankrupt. Why couldn't you just let it be?"

  "I loved you,” Morgan replied softly. “I wanted to be with you, always."

  The emotion between the two women was smothering Autumn. Mesmerized and also disturbed, she watched as her bruised, lim
ping frame reached out almost lovingly to Morgan. Veronica, still on the ground, seemed torn between reaching for her metal rod and cracking Morgan another time, or running from the room and never looking back.

  Well, at least she'll never take me to a psychic again, Autumn mused sarcastically. If I live. Instinctively, she reached for her friend's shoulder to reassure her and promptly stumbled through her.

  A hushed conversation was playing out between Morgan and Danielle. It suddenly occurred to Autumn that Andrew was wrong: she'd ended up in the middle of a dark, twisted version of that damn movie Ghost, after all. But there was no mistaking it: from her vantage point, she knew that Danielle's soothing words were merely bait. The web was spinning around her oblivious prey.

  "We can still be together," Danielle purred. "You don't need her." She glared at Veronica, who scooted closer to the door, holding herself tightly.

  "But how?" Morgan asked, her eyes welling up with tears. "You're dead, Danielle. You're gone!"

  "Will you let me show you?" Danielle asked, inching closer. "You were always so closed during our relationship. This time, will you let me in?"

  Autumn's eyes widened. Oh... Oh my God... She understood the angry phantom's words now. Watching her reach for Morgan's right hand—which still held the revolver—Autumn looked to Veronica. Look away! she pleaded. Damn it, hear me, V! Close your eyes!

  Because Morgan had nodded. Morgan was letting Danielle in. And hell hath no fury like a violent woman scorned.

  For a moment, time froze: drifting in limbo, caught between Danielle's need and her own horror, she watched as Morgan's hand slowly rose. The gun turned, aimed at her right temple in a mirror of Danielle's own demise. The click of the trigger echoed like a thunderclap, the bullet seeming to freeze in the chamber as Autumn began to plummet down into darkness, into the venom and icy finger-gripping-tearing of what nightmares are born from.