Waiting For A Star To Fall (Autumn Brody Book 2) (20 page)

"Ugh. Someone needs to teach that girl some manners!"

"Who is she?" Evan asked.

"Amanda Lafleur. Total spoiled brat.
Gossip Girl
? Her life. She's been trying to one-up Veronica ever since she got the role of Johanna over her," Gabriel explained.

"Sounds pretty pathetic," Autumn commiserated.

The brunette slipped away into the crowd, date in tow, and Veronica rushed to their table. She was working to hide it, but Autumn knew from her trembling hands that her friend was pissed.
Distraction time
.

"You were wonderful!" Autumn told her.

"Amazing," Evan agreed. "Was the bit with Camilla planned?"

Veronica perked up a little, waving for a server. "Not at all! She simply decided to jump in for kicks. Apparently, Princess Amanda was furious that I not only didn't announce my supposed duet, but that I 'took her song'. I requested it two weeks ago. Clearly, she has time management issues. Or timing, from what I remember of her audition for
In the Garden
."

"Oh, who cares about her?" Gabriel waved dismissively as Amanda glared in their direction. "Best she's ever managed is swing in an NYU production and walk-ons for TV. Look: she's even wearing a green dress, little monster that she is."

"I love you guys. Oh, hi!" She turned to the approaching server. "Could I get a half Sprite, half cranberry please?" At Autumn's intrigued look, she corrected herself. "Make it two."

Settling in for drinks and casual conversation, the group exchanged stories about high school and life in Toronto versus Queens, where Gabriel had been raised. Halfway through the next performer, Autumn felt her phone vibrate anew. Glancing at the display, a lump formed in her throat.

Don't even think of leaving that pub without me. Why didn't you call me this afternoon?

Someone had clearly told Andrew about the envelope fiasco. Showing her phone discreetly to Ray, she whispered in his ear. "Did you guys tell him?"

Ray shrugged. "I didn't, but he
is
paying the bill..."

Quickly, she tapped out a reply:
I haven't told Veronica or Evan either. I'm fine. Please don't be angry.

Autumn applauded politely as the first song by the next performer finished, swiping furiously at her touch screen as a new text arrived.

I'm not angry at you. I'm angry that I left you alone, since it was clearly a stupid idea! I'm on my way.

There would be no reasoning with him. Giving up, Autumn tossed her phone in her purse and waited for the coming storm. Hurricane Andrew: a force to be reckoned with when he sensed a threat to his loved ones. Noticing her shift in mood, Veronica nudged her.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Andrew and I had a fight this morning and he's on his way."

Veronica frowned. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Just him being overprotective. It'll be fine," Autumn assured her.

But it wasn't fine: she could tell by the way he burst through the entrance like a bad movie, searching the crowd until he found her. Not wanting to cause a scene for Veronica, Autumn excused herself quickly and made her way around tables and clusters of standing room onlookers, meeting him near the bar. Much to her shock, Andrew pulled her into a hug.

"Andrew, I owe you an apol—”

"You're alright?" he asked frantically.

"Yes. Jesus, you're shaking!"

"What did you expect? I finally had a chance to check my email and saw a report from Kevin's supervisor about how a courier brought you a letter from Veronica's psycho friend." Pulling her into a quieter corner, Andrew's hands cradled her face, studying it carefully. "Are you
sure
you're fine?"

"A little shaken up about it, but it's alright. He wasn't there, Andy." Her hands covered his, gripping them tightly. "It was just a courier. The police checked it all out."

"It doesn't matter. He knows where we're staying." Shaking his head, he slumped against the wall. "I should have rescheduled my interviews, or checked the daily report sooner. I should have known you needed me."

"Stop it!" she admonished him. "Just stop. You were angry and you needed to get away from me. You've worried enough about me for two lifetimes. I gave you the day off."

"Bullshit! I don't need a day off. I need
you
. Full stop. I just want you to be safe, Autumn. And in my spiteful decision to not call all day, I made you think you couldn't come to me. I don't want that."

"Me neither. But I can't change who I am." She edged away, bowing her head. "I don't want you to be worried. This isn't like before. I'm stronger than I was back then."

Andrew's hand found hers, pulling it to his chest. "When I read that report, when I realized you hadn't texted me once all day, my world stopped. For two minutes, I was terrified that you
couldn't
contact me..."

"I'm safe," she repeated, leaning into him. "I love you."

Their moment was shattered by a flurry of activity near the backstage access. Glancing towards their table, Autumn noticed Mirza rushing to investigate while Ray maintained his close guard of Veronica. A sudden scream propelled the couple into motion, Autumn allowing Andrew to lead her to their friends. Her instincts tugged her to the frantic crowd near the stage.

"What's going on?" Andrew demanded.

"Not sure," Ray replied. "I'm waiting on—hold on." Tapping an ear piece, he gave Mirza a go ahead. Listening intently, Ray grimaced and acknowledged.

"What did he say?" Evan asked.

The look on his face told Autumn everything she needed to know.
Chapter seven...

"I'm the first person to point out that Amanda Lafleur's beauty was only skin deep, but I didn't need to see
beneath
her skin to prove the theory," Gabriel whispered with a shudder.

Autumn leaned into Andrew's chest as the ambulance peeled out of the alley behind the bar, its siren an echo of the wounded actress within. She could only pray that the hospital would be able to administer appropriate care for the chemical burns before the damage worsened.

Five feet away, Detective Barrington studied a note inside a plastic evidence bag, reading the same chilling message Autumn had studied minutes prior.

Peel back the mask, cast off the roles we play, and we reveal our true selves. Some of us are ugly to the bone. Some of us shine brighter.

I am gravity. You cannot resist me forever.

"You know what happens next..."

Andrew pulled her closer. "You don't know that."

"But I do. This is a game for him. His very own snuff film, with Veronica as the star of the show. Someone's going to crash their car, Andrew. I don't know who, or when, but chapter ten is coming."

Autumn buried her face in his shirt, inhaling the familiar blend of ginger and earthy spices that was
his scent.
There were lives in danger here, people marked for cruel punishments at the hands of an unknown figure. The stalker’s interpretation of her story was loose and seemingly impulsive, making it all the more impossible to predict his next move.

"Shh... The police are going to take your theory seriously now. They have profilers for shit like this, right? They have people who spend their entire day extrapolating data and understanding how a killer thinks. Maybe we don't fully understand why he's choosing people, but they will." His lips grazed her cheek. "They'll catch him."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Believe in me, then. I'll believe it for you." With a gentle nudge, he gestured behind her. "The cops are coming over."

"No doubt to ask who's going to get killed in the next act," Autumn lamented. "I wish I knew."

"Ms. Brody, Mr. Daniels." Barrington nodded to each of them in turn. "I know it's been a long and difficult day, but I hope you have time for a few questions."

Autumn shrugged. "I don't know how much help we can be, but by all means."

The omnipresent notebook was back in her hand, Autumn noticed.
Complex and vibrant lives, distilled into a series of jotted words and skeletal phrases.
These people deserved better.

"The victim, Amanda Lafleur—how well did you know her?"

"I didn't," Andrew replied. "I've never even heard of her."

"Me neither," Autumn echoed. "The first time I heard of her was tonight, when she came up to Veronica and picked a fight over song selection for the fundraiser. Apparently, she's holding some sort of grudge because Veronica won her role over Amanda."

"Would this be common knowledge?" Barrington asked, glancing up from her notebook.

"Maybe not to the average person, but for those who pay attention to Broadway, I'd guess so." Autumn searched her memory, struggling to recall whether she'd ever heard of the actress before that night, even in passing. "I know there are people who keep track of people considered for roles. It's like that website, IMDB.
In the Garden
is a brand new production for Broadway, so I'm sure the people who were called back for a second audition are listed out there somewhere."

Barrington scribbled a few notes, tapping her pen against the cover lightly. "Look, I know you've provided your novel for us to consult and our discussion helped, but I'm concerned that we're running short on time to prevent the next attack. What comes next in
Dissected
?"

"A car crash," Autumn replied solemnly. "Brake line is cut. The driver doesn't survive."

"Escalation, then... If Veronica is Laurel in our perp's eyes, who is the driver of the car relative to Laurel?"

Autumn sighed. "That's where I'm struggling.
Dissected
is focused on a medical school with a highly competitive class of ranked students. The student who crashes is ranked second in their program. But when it comes to acting, to Veronica... I have no idea who that would be. Sophia was merely someone who got a role Veronica tried out for—it wasn't even a big deal to her! In my book, she corresponds to the top student in the program."

"Could it be a personality factor?" Barrington proposed. "A level of connection with Veronica that matches how Laurel relates to the victims?"

"Maybe... In this case, it certainly is. Amanda is incredibly antagonistic to Veronica. In the book, Darcy is constantly belittling Laurel." Weary, Autumn shook her head. "The guy who crashes his car is friendly with Laurel. There's no animosity at all. With someone like Veronica, that gives you a list of a hundred people in this city alone to work with."

"I'm sorry for all of the questions. I just really want to understand how our suspect thinks."

"Maybe Veronica can draw better connections for you... Andrew?"

With a stern look, Andrew signaled for Mirza, who'd remained on duty to escort them at his behest. "Autumn needs to get some rest. I'm sure you can appreciate that having her work manipulated by a criminal is emotionally draining."

"Of course." Barrington stood aside, closing her notebook with a soft
thump
of the leather cover. "If either of you happen to think of anything further, you know how to reach me."

Obediently, Autumn followed Andrew to Mirza's Escalade and slipped into the backseat. Resting her head against the cool leather interior, she shut her eyes against the garish red of the police cruiser lights and the piercing stares of the gawkers on the sidewalk.

We should go home
, she thought miserably.
All of us. Andrew, Veronica, Evan... All of us
.

"You okay?" At Autumn's exasperated glare, Andrew wilted. "I know you're not okay, but I mean... Are you going to be sick?"

"No." Tracing figure eights on the leather seat between them, she struggled to rein in her anger. "I'm just tired of finding myself in powerless positions. I'm tired of people getting hurt."

"I know you are." Reaching out to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, Andrew frowned. "I'm tired of people making you feel this way."

"Nothing you can do about that. You're not the one who's stalking Veronica. You didn't kill a slew of teen girls over decades."

"Yeah." With a grimace, he turned to stare out his window. "Guess I'm tired of being powerless, too."

A distance remained between them, in spite of Andrew's white knight rush to the pub. Sure, he'd supported her during the questions and the horrifying sight of Amanda's right cheek, bleeding and raw, but it felt at least partially like obligation. Now removed from the watchful gaze of their friends and the police, she could feel him pulling away. Their connection was muffled, caught in the undertow of an ocean of suppressed arguments. Between her health and the court cases, they'd dismissed certain topics of contention in favour of finding joy in the perpetual strain. They were doing it again right now: sweeping the real issue under the proverbial rug and maintaining a false veneer.

She couldn't help herself. In her hand, a stick.
Hornet's nest, here I come
.

"Powerless over me, you mean?"

Andrew heaved a sigh so intense, it made her gasp. It was pained, raw and ragged.
Is he... fed up with me
? The thought was too much to bear.
Constants don't change. They don't cease to exist
. Had it all been a faulty equation?

"If you think I want to control you..." He paused as his fist curled, a twitch in his arm as it slowly unfurled once more. "If you think I could ever be like that bastard who hit you... Then there's nothing I can ever say or do that I haven’t already done to convince you otherwise."

"No, no, I never said you were anything like him—"

"You just did," Andrew insisted quietly. "Because he made you feel powerless. You told me so. And now you're implying I want power over you."

Autumn winced, cowering in her seat. When he put it that way… Yeah, she kinda had. And she was a bitch for it. Even if she hadn't once drawn a line between her abusive ex and the man beside her, she could understand how he would make that link.
Words are weapons.
Why was she looking to wound Andrew?

"I didn't mean
that
. Not at all."

No response. Not even a glimpse of his eyes. No way to know how he was feeling, or how much damage she'd done. But she had hurt him, and without cause. Her venomous tongue had lashed out again.

In the back of her skull, a droning: a hushed murmur that swelled to a symphony. The bees, as she'd called them for years. Incoherent, insidious and impossible to assuage once they'd made themselves at home. She grasped at what little composure remained, frantically hoping to stave off the panic attack, but the whisper of their wings drowned out all rationality. She was a wounded animal cornered in a cage, pawing at the bars of her prison.

I can't control it. I can't stay here. I can't be here.

Flight. Instinct consumed reason as she threw open the car door and plunged into the darkness, fumbling her way through poorly-lit hedges and uneven pathways to the rear of the hotel. Overhead, laughter. It was a knife in her heart, reminding her of the ridicule of high school. Bathroom stall refuges and ditched classes hidden beneath the false front of student club meetings.

You've been living a lie
, the bees told her.
A normal life for a worthless girl like you? You're tainted. Poison. You destroy.

"I don't mean to," she whimpered to no one and everyone.

Her heart began to race as streetlights flickered—left then right, then left and right again. Taunting her. Mocking her. The air grew thick, sickly-sweet and twisted with peppermint. She fan faster, winding between benches and down an alley, cutting towards a parking garage. The death pallor of the cement sucked the air from her lungs.
A ladder
. She remembered the scramble into pitch-blackness, remembered holding her breath in her clammy palms. Cupping her own life, pushing it back inside of her.

"
You stupid bitch! Look what you did!
"

Kearney.
He was right behind her now, breathing down her neck, and there was no escaping him, no solving the labyrinth of the tunnels. Air turned to concrete as she pawed her way down a ramp, seeking a door, a turn, a hideaway.

Give up,
the bees droned.
You're dead
.

Footsteps behind her now, growing louder. They echoed like a cacophony of angry, accusing voices, angry girls killed before their lives had even begun. Red hair tangled in a clump on the ground, discarded like so many young lives. Her vision blurred and she struggled to see past the yellowed shadows.
Cars. Tunnels. A needle. Headlights
.

What is real?

Vertigo twisted her vision, spun it upside down and she wheezed, her throat scratchy and raw.
No voice
. She could see the doors, feel her hand stretch weakly for one. Pain shot through her as she slammed into the floor—no, a wall?—and she gagged. She could smell him.
Kearney
. His hot, sweaty body smothering her with hate.

A new memory sent her reeling: a familiar figure. A hand outstretched.
Let me in.

Autumn buckled and stumbled in pain as lightning shot through her skull. Too much. Too many thoughts. Too many feelings, too much for one heart to bear witness to. Whose anger was this? She felt her fist swing and connect with bone and understood that
it wasn't her fist anymore
.

It was Nikki's
.

She watched her strike Kearney, watched his jaw swing wildly. And then, it was
their
body,
their
knee driving into his groin and she was running on borrowed legs, on borrowed time. She threw herself around the next corner, remembering how the story went.
Safety
.

But that wasn't now. It wasn't real. As she slammed into the side of the moving car, Autumn crumpled to the ground in a defeated heap.

Beside her, she heard the voice of her ancestor: "
Here endeth the lesson
."

* * *

Ashbury Residence. Room 308.

Few students dare approach the room where two of their own met gruesome fates at the hand of a faculty member. Knowing it was no longer a haunted space, I embraced it for the rest of grade eleven. When Veronica and I returned as roommates in grade twelve, 308 had been sealed off permanently. We were housed in 303.

Seated on the bed across from me: Nikki Lang, the ghost who'd reached out for justice. The ghost whom I now understood had saved my life beneath the campus in more ways than one. Her red hair smooth and shining, she crosses her legs and leans back on her elbows, grinning.