by Tonya Muir
"Yup, sure do." I’d be glad to have Jims around right now.
"Kingsley, I want sensitivity here. You keep the focus on bringing a serial killer to justice. I want Stanton’s role downplayed in this. She’s one of our own. Protect her, if at all possible. Do you understand?"
"Absolutely. Tell Jessica to use the side entrance and ask for Detective Brice.
That’s where I’ll be."
"Good luck, Kingsley."
* * *
I really hate Jessica Waters. And I just might kill her before the night is through.
First off, she’s a wee bit too damn happy about Kelsey being kidnapped. You’d think we were reporting on the opening of a new ride at Disneyland the way she is glowing. Second, she’s being a bitch on wheels to Olson. And third, she’s a fake blonde.
We’re standing in one of the back offices of the station house, ready to go live, when we get the go-ahead from the studio. We’re breaking into a repeat episode of ‘Veronica’s Closet.’ I hardly doubt that anyone will care.
"On in three, two, one ..." I hear in my earpiece, and so does Jessica. She faces the camera Jims is shouldering and begins her report, looking appropriately concerned.
"Thank you, John," she says to our anchor, who has introduced her. "The serial killer who has been stalking and killing young blonde women in Los Angeles over the past two months has struck again. Today, the killer broke from his prior pattern. This time the victims were three men, actor Erik Collins, concierge Carl Neumann and an unidentified police officer.
"A fourth individual, KNBC’s own Kelsey Stanton, who resides with Mr. Collins, has apparently been abducted. Police officials and the FBI have made the Twenty-third Precinct their command post as they try to piece together the events of earlier today and move as rapidly as possible to track the killer and protect Ms. Stanton’s life. Ms. Stanton fits the profile of the previous victims of the Blonde Scalper. There is no word right now as to her whereabouts or her condition.
"The police and FBI are expected to make an official statement about today’s tragic events at any moment. We will be there live to cover this unfolding tragedy. John?"
Over the airwaves, we hear his question. "What is the profile of the victims, Jessica?"
"As you know, John, all six of the prior victims have been women in the late-twenties/early-thirties, of an athletic build, with blonde hair and green eyes. The interesting thing about the serial killer is he has cut the hair of all but one of the victims so that it would be shoulder length. Police speculate that he was attempting to have each of the women look like some individual he has idealized, or for whom he has an obsession."
"Any information on what drives him to kill these women?"
"No one can truly understand such a mind, John. However, police sources theorize that he murders them when they do not measure up to his standards."
There is movement around us.
"John, it appears that the Police and the FBI are prepared to make a statement at this time. We understand that Ms. Stanton’s Executive Producer will also be making a statement on behalf of KNBC management."
We all turn our attention, and camera, onto the unfolding scene around us. A couple police officials step forward, followed by their FBI counterparts in dark suits and ties.
Greg Komansky, head of the Threat Management Unit, takes the podium.
"I’ll be making a short statement, followed by Special Agent Adams with the FBI. There will be no question and answer session at this time, due to the ongoing investigation.
"At approximately four-thirty this afternoon, the Los Angeles Police Department responded to a call of an unknown disturbance at the residence of Erik Collins and Kelsey Stanton. Upon arriving, patrol units discovered a multiple homicide crime scene.
"We can confirm that Mr. Collins and two others are deceased. One was Carl Neumann, the concierge of the apartment building, and the third was a police officer stationed there. The officer’s name is being withheld pending notification of the next of kin.
"We can also confirm Ms. Stanton is missing. We are doing everything we can to ensure her safe recovery.
"We will continue to keep you updated as facts become available for release. We also request at this time that anyone with any information on Ms. Stanton’s whereabouts call the LAPD at 213-555-TIPS."
Greg steps away from the microphone and SA Adams takes his position.
"To be honest, I cannot and will not offer much more information than Detective Komansky already has. This is an ongoing investigation and, of course, we won’t risk the health or well-being of Ms. Stanton.
"The FBI is doing everything it can, in conjunction with the Los Angeles Police Department, to ensure Ms. Stanton’s safe return as soon as possible."
Bear motions that I should go ahead with our statement at this time. I step up to the podium and ignore the lights, the camera, the microphones, everything. My only hope is that the sick bastard has the television on wherever he is and that Kelsey can see and hear me.
"My name is Harper Kingsley. I’m an executive producer at KNBC and have the privilege of working with Kelsey Stanton. Franklin Saunders, our General Manager, has asked me to make the following statement on the station’s behalf:
"The management and staff of KNBC are deeply concerned for the safety of our colleague, Kelsey Stanton. We are giving the police our full cooperation and assistance in this matter. In addition, we are offering a reward of $100,000 to anyone who provides the police with the information leading to Kelsey’s safe return, and the capture of this violent criminal. We ask that anyone with such information contact our Crime Stoppers Hotline at 213-555-KNBC. KNBC staff will assist the police in answering and responding to all calls we receive.
"Our prayers and thoughts are with Kelsey’s family, as well as that of Erik Collins, Carl Neumann, and the slain police officer, to whom we extend our deepest and most sincere condolences. Thank you."
I turn and leave, ignoring the shouted questions. I am not the news.
* * *
I’m still sitting at Bear’s desk at four in the morning. There’ve been no developments in this nightmare I’m living in. Somehow, the psycho managed to get into her apartment building, kill three men, take Kelsey, and no one saw a goddamn thing. He didn’t leave a fingerprint, a footprint, a drop of blood. No forensic evidence to help us find him.
Nor did he contact the cops with the prior abductees. He simply took them and killed them when they didn’t meet his expectations. I fear that even the real thing won’t live up to his approval. Especially not when you get Kelsey mad. She’s impossible to live with then.
I stifle a laugh. God, it’s not funny. What I wouldn’t give to have her here and furious with me. For any reason. I wouldn’t care. If she were safe.
Jims and Jessica left hours ago. Jessica couldn’t afford to look ‘droopy’ for her broadcast later today. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying everything that crossed my mind at that moment. Jims squeezed my shoulder when he left; I had told him not to stay. If I lose it, I don’t want anyone from work to see.
I hear Bear’s voice across the room and I look up, dully. I see him pointing toward me, my parents standing beside him. Mama’s face reflects everything I feel right now – utter despair. She and Papa are now hurrying over to me, and soon I am in their arms.
"Mon Coeur," Mama whispers, kissing my hair.
"My baby girl," Papa says, holding both Mama and I.
I shake, but I will the tears not to fall. I cannot let my little bit of control fall. If I do, I will be lost in this nightmare. "Thank you for coming," I say, straightening up.
"Where else would we be?" Mama asks.
"At home, in bed."
Papa shakes his head. "I don’t think so. Your Mama has been snoring a lot lately. It’s been hard to get sleep."
I burst into laughter at the unexpected humor. Mama scolds Papa in French playfully, knowing it was for my benefit.
"Come on, sweetheart
, we’re taking you home."
"Papa, I have to stay here in LA. This is my story. And … she’s …"
"No, no. We’re taking you to your apartment. Your friend, Detective Brice, says there’s no need for you to be here. He let you stay because he didn’t want you to be alone. Now, you’re not alone."
If only Kelsey were as fortunate as I am right now.
* * *
My mouth is dry and my head is spinning when I begin to become cognizant. I realize very quickly I am on a small bed of some sort. A cot. At least, it feels like a small cot. I try to move my hands to my side, but find them chained above my head to the rail at the top of the mattress.
I haven’t opened my eyes yet. I’m afraid to. This is bad.
I’m gonna die. He’s going to kill me just like he killed the others. It’s only a matter of when.
Oh God, Harper. I’m so sorry. I never imagined it ending like this.
I know I need to open my eyes, but I take the time to listen first. I can’t tell if there is anyone in the room with me because I can’t hear anything past the sound of my own heart hammering in my ears.
I feel the tears slip past my eyelids even though I try to hold them back.
I flinch when I feel his hand on my face brushing away my tears.
"Don’t cry, Kelsey. It’s not that bad."
Oh, God! Please make him stop touching me.
"I won’t hurt you," I hear him pause as his hand leaves my face, "unless you make me."
"I won’t," I whisper, still not opening my eyes. Somehow if I keep them closed it’s not real. I can feel myself shaking on the inside. I have to keep some control here if I am to stand a chance of survival.
"You know, Kelsey, if you had come to me sooner I wouldn’t have had to kill those others. I only wanted to be with you." His voice is soft and it sets my nerves on edge with how cold it is.
I don’t even want to try and respond to that. There isn’t anything I can say that will work in this situation.
"But now, we’re together and everyone is out of the way. No one can keep us from being together forever." I feel him sit on the edge of the bed, taking my chin in his hand. "Open your eyes, Kelsey. Take a look at the face of the person you were meant to be with."
It’s amazing how fear can make you think the silliest things. The first thing to come to my mind is ‘if you’re not six feet tall with long, dark hair and piercing blue eyes, and female, forget it.’ I hear myself let out a frightened chuckle at the thought.
His grip tightens on my face and his voice becomes hard. "Open them!"
I do. Slowly.
He stares back at me, then a soft smile breaks out across his lips. "See? No monster."
Why does he look so familiar to me? I know him from somewhere.
"Could I have something to drink?" It’s a risky request. Hell, maybe he intends on poisoning me, but I need to get the dry feeling out of my mouth.
"Absolutely. All you have to do is ask. I love you, Kelsey. I’ll give you anything you want." He leaves me for a moment, retrieving a bottle of water from a small fridge in the corner.
Okay, how about we start with unchaining me and letting me go? Somehow I doubt that would be a popular request.
Heh, I sound like Harper. Such a smart ass, that one.
God, I must be cracking up. I should be terrified. I should be screaming at the top of my lungs. I should be doing something to try and get away. What in the hell is wrong with me?
Suddenly, I can see Harper in the corner, arms crossed against her chest, looking down at me. She smiles at me and winks. "It’s called a strong survival instinct, Little Roo. You’ve reported on this kind of madness so you know better. You’ll only piss him off if you get hysterical. So stay calm. The good guys are coming."
Oh yeah, I’m cracking up.
He returns to the cot, lifting my head, offering me some water. I take a few sips before he pulls the bottle away. "Better?"
I nod. I don’t want to say more to him than I have to.
"Good." He sighs, retaking his seat, brushing his fingers through my hair. "I know, eventually, you’re going to try to get away, or start screaming for help, or something. You’re in shock right now. Once it passes, you will have a bad reaction and do what comes naturally. But you can’t get out of this room. And it is soundproof. We’re in an old recording studio. So you can scream as loud as you want, but no one will hear you."
With these words, I finally let my eyes wander around the room. The walls are indeed soundproofed, and I now have a good estimate for the size of the room. Maybe I’ll get lucky and my claustrophobia will kill me first.
As I really begin to focus, I realize one wall is covered with photos of various people and me.
I zero in on one in particular. Harper. I remember that day. That picture was taken when we were leaving the station after I accused her of sending me the first batch of roses. Oh, how I wish she had sent them.
He looks back and forth between the pictures and me. Once he figures out the one I am staring at, he rises quickly and pulls the picture of Harper down. "This bitch," he hisses, "is responsible for keeping us apart!"
"No," I whisper. God, please don’t let him go after her. Keep her safe. I don’t care what he does to me, but don’t let him hurt her. "No, she wasn’t," I counter quietly.
He storms across the room, shoving the photo in my face before giving me a good hard slap. "Don’t lie to me, Kelsey! I know she was! I know she did everything she could to keep us apart."
"She was only being a friend."
He drops to his knees and forces me to look at him. "Well, it doesn’t matter now. You know why?"
"Why?" I hear myself ask.
"She’s dead. I cut her fucking throat."
Oh, God, please no!
"No."
"Yeah, I watched her bleed out all over her apartment when she slipped away from you today." He sneers at me. His face twitches as he crumples the picture. "See, I know all about that, too. I know she seduced you, deceived you, corrupted you. But, I don’t blame you, Kelsey. But she defiled you, and because of that, she had to die."
"She didn’t defile me! She loved me!"
"Shut up!"
He delivers another blow that rattles my senses. I can taste the blood in my mouth. As the pain and the anger overtake me, I let the tears fall. God, I hate that I cry when I’m angry.
She can’t be dead. I don’t believe him.
If she isn’t, why did I see her ghost a moment ago? Jesus. She is dead.
"Then kill me, too, because I’ll never belong to you." I tug on the chains trying to sit upright. I’m going to die on my own terms and not flat on my back. "Go on, kill me!"
He pulls his gun from his shoulder holster, placing it squarely between my eyes. "I can do that."
I close my eyes, hearing the hammer being pulled back. I wait for the shot as visions of Harper fill my mind.
Love you, Tabloid. We’ll be together soon. I promise.
Scenes from Next Week’s Must Read TV:
We all climb into the limousine and settle in our seats. The ride is essentially silent. I watch as the barren landscape of Los Angeles passes by our windows.
Clark whimpers against my chest and tries to burrow into my jacket. I know exactly how he feels.
"When this is all over, we want you to come spend some time at home."
I nod. "I’d like that, Papa."
Finally, we pass through the wrought iron gates of Fairlawn Cemetery. My heart drops.
Episode Twenty-Four: All Good Things Come To An End
I am numb.
I haven’t felt anything for days. And I don’t know if I will ever again.
I’m dressed in a black suit, matching my mood, and appropriate for the occasion. I’m wearing my hair down. She said she liked it best that way. It makes me look wild, free.
I’m neither anymore.
> There is a knock on the bathroom door. "Harper, are you ready?" Papa asks gently.
"Yeah, one second." I straighten up and look at my reflection one more time. I have to pull it together. Kelsey would want it that way.
I wander out to the living room and find the rest of my family. Robie and Rene flew in as soon as they heard about the murder. They left Christian with Gerrard and Katherine, but brought along Clark. Rene said it was because Clark is still breast-feeding. I know it’s because they knew I’d need him.
Robie hands me my nephew and I hold him close. This little human has been my lifeline. I’ll have to thank him when he’s older and spoil him rotten until then.
"The limousine is waiting," Mama informs us, opening the door to my apartment. She is dressed in a black dress and hat. I absently note that she looks great in a hat. I can’t wear them, they make my head look too large.
We all file out of my apartment, Rene slipping her arm around my waist and walking beside me to the elevator. Truth is, I’ve always been a little bit in love with my sister-in-law. I'm so glad she and Robie are here. I’d never get through this without them. Robie has been my best friend for as long as I’ve been alive.
We all climb into the limousine and settle in our seats. The ride is essentially silent. I watch as the barren landscape of Los Angeles passes by our windows.
Clark whimpers against my chest and tries to burrow into my jacket. I know exactly how he feels.
"When this is all over, we want you to come spend some time at home."
I nod. "I’d like that, Papa."
Finally, we pass through the wrought iron gates of Fairlawn Cemetery. My heart drops.
Rene reaches over and holds my hand.
We pull to a stop alongside a number of other limousines and the driver opens the door for us. When we exit, I keep hold of Clark. If I let go of him, I don’t know what I might do. But, as long as this little life is in my hands, I won’t do anything stupid.
The paparazzi rush toward us. Several of the funeral director’s men intercept them, blocking their view of us.
