Chapter 3

2 months later…

Sometimes treatment held the potential to leave me a little more queasy and unsteady than I could normally handle. Fortunately for me, I was almost done. Only a few more weeks to go. However, I was thankful for the friendships I created with nurses at the hospital. The kind women there never failed to scavenge together a room for me when it wasn't too busy or overcrowded. It didn't happen too often, but it did happen enough and for that I was grateful.

I barely flopped on the bed, when someone came fumbling into the room. I believed it was a nurse making their rounds or something. I didn't treat it like a big deal. Plus, if I didn't move around too much the dizziness was more tolerable. I didn't bother looking up until the noise in the little room got rowdy and I couldn't relax. I dragged myself up against the frame and noticed the strange man fumbling around my room.

"Excuse me, this is a private room." I had to go and sign paperwork just to get a room for the night or for a few hours. My hand tangled in the cheap sheets and my knees came up.

The stranger had a ridiculous Cubs ballcap, three sizes too big, pulled down over his eyes. It was one of the cheap ones you could get at any corner store, nowhere near authentic. Thrown over the cap was a black hoodie pulled as far down as it could be. The man also had massive, fake, sunglasses nearly covering his whole face. It was laughable. He stuck out like a car in a hay stack.

"Hey! Could you please leave?" I asked.

The man uttered a bogus apology as he frantically looked over his shoulder as if he were being chased but didn't leave. He kept glancing around the room but never directly at me. My eyes stayed on him, watching any movement to indicate a threat, but nothing happened. The more I stared, the more my familiarity grew. It really wasn't that great of a disguise and I was a fan after all.

Holy shit. Be cool, Nikki. Be cool. However, I never failed to make a fool of myself.

"Make-A-Wish is on the 3rd floor," I said. It didn't surprise me someone would request him; he was well known around the globe. I glanced down and made out a cane in his hands; my mouth was open before I realized better. "Whoa, is that a cane? That's creepy." You idiot.

Finally, the sunglasses lifted in the direction of my bed and I saw my reflection in them. No more hair. No wig to try and hide it either. Just a giant cue ball of a head, discolored and imperfect.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Nikki."

"That can't be right. How old are you, anyways?"

"Whoa. That's just rude, dude. Didn't your ma raise you to never ask a woman that?" My southern accent seeping back through. It popped up more times than not when I started to get riled up.

"'A woman'? You're like twelve."

"HEY! I don't come into your hospital room and insult you, do I? Get out." Disrespectful twit and I empathized it with my middle finger up in the air.

The man lunged at me, but I couldn't get up. My body was still impacted, tired. I'd never say weak. He demanded me to show ID to prove who I was, but he came at me swinging the cane around like trying to hit a baseball hidden somewhere.

"HELL NO! Get out of here!" I wanted to get across the room to my gun stashed in my bag but my body couldn't move. So, I threw out an arm to keep him from getting any closer. I thank God, he had been across the room and not right up on me when it all went to shit. It gave more time for someone to show up.

"I just need to see it!"

"SECURITY!"

Thankfully, two guards were already close by, just down the hall. They had picked up on the yelling and were heading to my door before I even called. The pair came barreling in and dragged the crazy man out as he thrashed around like a dirty dog who didn't want to be bathed. Then, I was given the silence to wonder if it was possible to cough up a lung from the panic attack.

After that, I didn't care to stay overnight at the hospital anymore. I managed to always get back home even if I struggled. I noticed the pity glances I received, but I tried to ignore them. I just had to get through it for another week or two.

Ron and Hank had tossed the guy out, told him never to come back, but didn't happen to, in the chaos, get his name. In any case, I did not feel safe there. I convinced myself it wasn't who I originally believed it was. I had to be seeing things. The medication had messed my brain up. It was just some creep who stumbled into the wrong room who happened to look a lot like a famous guy. Research says there are seven people in the world who look exactly like you, that's all.

I had managed not to end back there for several weeks, a month almost, until I was ordered by the doc for a check-up and would be kept overnight. I suppose, it's easy to say I wasn't keen on the idea, but I knew it was important. My nerves were already high. I was jittery and uncomfortable. I was constantly looking over my shoulder. I lost it when someone knocked on the door and came in without me granting permission.

A chill ran up my spine. The same stature and overall look. An identical cane as before. Even though, he was in jeans this time around and a nice shirt. There was no doubt about it. My body felt better than the last time this guy tried me. I leapt up upon his entry with the bed between us. I was ready for war. I didn't even focus on the man's appearance. Only thing that mattered: same crazy as before.

I pointed my finger at him and demanded him to leave. "What is it with you? Get out and leave me the hell alone."

He put one hand up as if he didn't mean any offense, but kept the other on the cane so he wouldn't have to drop it. "Look! I apologize, we got off on the wrong foot."

"No shit. Get out! Security!"

"Listen to me for a moment! I'm not going to hurt you! Damnit—I know Allan. OK? Calm down!"

My finger suddenly felt as if it were a slender block of ice, but I was still cautious. I had no reason to trust the likes of him, but if it concerned my father I was always invested. I dropped my extended hand onto the bed and supported my weight. "You knew my dad?"

The mood turned somber, the man straightened and dropped his hands down by his side.

"Yes."

I could tell he wasn't lying by the look on his face. There wasn't an arrogant smile or trickery in his brown eyes. I exhaled, and eased myself onto the bed but didn't dare take my eyes off him. I asked him to take a seat in the chair along the wall and he did. I didn't know what to say, but if the guy had a reason to be here, he should speak first.

"Yes, I know your father. I know Allan, very well. Where is he? I've been looking all over for him. He hasn't been answering my calls. I was afraid I upset him, and I have something for him," he said.

I knew instantly it had to do with the cane proudly placed carefully over his long legs. It looked expensive and handcrafted. It was almost funny how I had bought dad a personalized cane before. Almost.

"So, you don't know…" My eyes must have given me away, but he needed confirmation so I said it aloud. I had to repeat the same line more often than I'd care to admit. A wave of guilt crashed into me and I could feel the water climbing. Soon I wouldn't be able to breathe. "Dad died."

The man flopped back on the couch, rested his head on the back of the chair, and sighed for a long minute. I couldn't believe those brown eyes even sparkled with water coming into them. I could tell he was around my age, but he had stress lines on his face that tried to make him older than he really was.

"How long?" he asked after a few long minutes of silence.

"About two months ago."

"Shit."

I grunted. Now that I could see the man's face without those ridiculous glasses messing it up, he was attractive. Not just some threatening drunk that happened to stumble into my hospital room. I let the man take it in, respectfully, when it clicked for me, an imaginary light bulb above my bald head. It was a wonder I didn't fly through the ceiling.

Mark Fisher. The Mark Fisher. Vlogger extraordinaire. A seemingly innocent boy from a no-where town making it big out there in the city of angels. At first, someone who recorded his travels and thoughts for a modest public. Then, overnight, a playboy millionaire with a thriving franchise and thousands of gorgeous women literally throwing themselves at his feet.

"Ho—ly shit." My stupid laxed tongue coming to my rescue and voicing my most intimate thoughts.

The man looked up. His rich brown eyes were suddenly calculating and quite frankly, mean. "A little slow on the uptake, aren't you? Allan never mentioned he had a mentally incapable daughter."

It would come later, that Mark was only snappy because of his failure not to find out something so… sad about someone he considered a friend. Nor would I have cared, it was my father that had passed away after all.

"Oh, so you are capable of still throwing insults; famous or not. Hm. Guess everyone is an asshole; only difference is you're an asshole with money." I scoffed and crossed my arms as I looked away. "If you do not have any further business, I'd like you to leave. My father's client or not."

I had no idea what exactly about this guy rubbed me wrong. Was it his smart-ass remarks? His arrogant prance? Or was it those fierce eyes that looked like they never needed anyone else? They do always say "never meet your heroes". I suppose that resonated with me in that moment. I realized quickly: I didn't like the guy in front of me. My idol or not; he was a jerk and I wanted him gone asap.

"Now wait a minute—"

Another knock and we both found ourselves asking each other if we were expecting a visitor.

"Come in." I shot a look at Mark. "See that's how an adult asks permission to enter a room that isn't theirs." Mark rolled his eyes. I glanced back at the door. "Ah! Mister Watson!"

Mr. Watson entered with a comforting smile on his face as he looked from Mark and back at me with a questioning glint in his crystal blue eyes. He bowed dramatically in his designer suit beside my bed. "How are doing my lovely Nikki? Looking breathtaking as always!"

Mr. Watson had been my father's attorney and close friend. Watson had taken care of all the arrangements following my father's death, personally, even though Watson was a partner in a major law firm in Chicago. Watson could have, easily, handed it off to one of his clerks. Dad and he had been close, so in honor of him, Mr. Watson continued to check-in on me from time to time.

His compliment brought up a smile as it always over the years. "I'm still kicking! What can I do for you today, Mr. Watson? I always enjoy your company, but I know you are a busy man so a visit would not be without reason."

"You would be correct, Ms. Nikki. I have a letter for you."

Mark stood up and bowed without an inkling of the charisma that Mr. Watson possessed. I didn't even look over at him. I didn't want to waste the energy. "I'll be on my way then."

"Good."

Mr. Watson turned toward Mark and the two were sized the other up. Watson corrected his tie and Mark yanked on his collar shirt.

"This letter concerns you as well, Mr. Fisher. Take your seat," Watson said. There was no room for argument.

"You two know each other?" I asked, but Mr. Watson didn't take his eyes off Mark till he sat back down.

I felt the weight in the bottom of my stomach and it grew impossibly heavier when Mr. Watson turned back to put the parcel in my outstretched hand. Scribbled across the top was indeed my father's handwriting and I felt as if I could disappear into thin air. Any legal documents Mr. Watson handled, that could only mean this was something personal. I hadn't even opened it yet and I wanted to cry myself to sleep.

I glanced up and Mr. Watson's eyes were warm. Watson said his goodbyes, and with a kiss to my cheek, out the door. Too many thoughts were running through my mind and I was left with no other way to get the answers I wanted so I ripped the envelope open.

"Hey munchkin,"

I could have been reduced to a puddle of tears. I read every word with his smooth voice reading it to me, like a bedtime story from my childhood.

"and a hello to you as well, Mr. Fisher."

Mark's eyes widened. Watson hadn't been lying. I felt as if something was going on that I was not aware of and I didn't care for it. I took note of how my father's "appearance" seemed to humble Mark.

"Nicole, please tell Mark how thankful I am for our last meeting and our friendship overall… I know you're still fighting, baby. I know you're kicking ass and taking names. So, keep it up, and I know you'll be fine. But I do have a favor to ask of you, Nicole. I need you to get along with this young man. You could be of use to one another. Now, now. Don't you start with me, Nicole. Take my word for it and do as your father asks, understand? I will be checking in on the two of you. If you do not do as I have asked then consequences will follow. Do not test me. I may be gone but I still know what's good for you.

I do love you."

It took all the self-control in my body not to rip the paper into tiny pieces and throw it out the tallest window I could find. Not only had my late father sic his goons on me, but had the balls to threaten me from the grave to play nice with a client? He had to be insane! How was this the same man from my childhood? The one that put me before all other. The one who picked up and moved across the country because I had asked him to. The one who knew all my dark secrets and loved me despite them.

"He was and still is bat shit crazy!" Mark pushed himself back as far as possible into the chair cushion when I started screaming. I wasn't the only one that wanted to disappear into thin air. "I can't believe it! Crazy! He's crazy!"

There was no doubt about it: this letter was in my father's handwriting, but this had to be a joke! A sick joke. I was irrational, emotional, and a tad bit immature. But when you are alone, your priority must be you and only you. I was the only one left to protect me and that was all I had to go on. It was the only thing to keep me alive. So, I did whatever I could to keep my heart from crumbling.

"Get out! GET OUT! Get out, get out, get out!"

Oddly enough, Mark didn't run straight out that door and never look back. I wouldn't have blamed him if he had. He stood up carefully but his eyes weren't fearful. I almost mistook empathy in them. With the cane still in his hand and a glance back at me from the door, Mark exited the room.

I didn't believe my week could have the power to get any worse, but when Mr. Watson showed up at my home with Mark in tow the very next day. I knew there was no saving it. I wasn't even given a full day to process my own thoughts and my feelings. Yet, it did not take long to realize what my father had done and all the players in his game. I finally understood why Mr. Watson kept randomly popping up over the last two months. Boy, that did not help my anger in the slightest. It didn't help Watson's case that I saw him as someone I thought to know very well. Watson was someone I trusted which left me feeling betrayed.

"My father ordered you to keep a watchful eye over me!"

"Well, that is not quite how it came about…"

"DID HE OR DID HE NOT order you to watch out for me in the event of his death?" I asked. I was too angry to be astonished at a rare version of a stuttering Watson. "TELL ME THE TRUTH!"

My little apartment, the same I had shared with my father, felt so much bigger to me. Three bedrooms, a newly redone kitchen, and two full bathrooms. My bedrooms, dad's, and one for any guests, even though no one ever visited. Emily, when she came to the city, had her own place so the spare bedrooms now served as a reminder for how alone I was. Now, I had two guest rooms. After dad, I was surprised in my ability to keep not only the living room but the entire apartment tidy. How he preferred it. It was the least I could do.

Except now, I wanted to see it all in shambles. I wanted to destroy anything that reminded me of him which was my entire reality.

My father helped me pick out everything in the living room. From the purple throw rug that represented our shared high-school even though we walked through the halls 30 years apart. To the classic movie posters, some of our favorites, covering the walls from top to bottom. Not to mention the furniture purposely stayed on the homey and comfortable side. Soft colors not to take away from the people that sat on them. Big fluffy chairs that you could rest completely when reclined. A large sofa or two with extra wide cushions so you could lay from one side to the other without touching both ends.

"Yes; your father even went to the extent of writing up a binding contract," Watson said.

My heart flared up. It helped to pace around my living room as I processed information. My fists were clinched and awkwardly at my side to work off some frustration without sinking to other physical options.

"So, tell me how, my father supposedly dying as nothing more than a horrendous act of old age has enough time to create a bond of legal proportion that miraculously protects his only daughter? Not only in the terms of any financial, physically, but also covering and/or anything else? Then has the gall to make demands for me to get them fulfilled?"

Mr. Watson tried to speak up, but I didn't even stop to catch my breath. I felt lightheaded and my cheeks were growing a tomato red. "And what the hell is he doing here? In my home, nonetheless! Whatever agreement or bargain my father had with Mr. Fisher, I want no part of it."

"Hey, that makes two of us then," Mark said with a shrug of his shoulders, his chest out, and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.

I felt more powerful today compared to yesterday. Not only was I on my own turf but with my lucky Cubs hat on. I went out of my way to point it out to Mark. I felt like a badass because of the brunette wig so utterly close to the hair I was born with concealing my bald head. I felt strong even if I was upset with my father, which I most certainly was, but it wouldn't change anything. Dad was still dead and I was here taking care of his mess. I needed comfort. So, that morning I threw on dad's favorite deep-dish pizza tee. If I focused on that instead of screaming my head off at Mr. Watson, I could almost pick up dad's scent hidden in the navy fabric.

Mr. Watson still had the contract in his hand. A huge stack of papers filled to the T with legal jargon. I snatched them, moved between the couches, and toward the window.

I saw the chicken scratch across the top and the muscles in my torso spasmed. My father hadn't possessed the prettiest of writing. It was a 65-year-old kindergartener who still hadn't learned appropriate spacing.

"Apparently, the first letter didn't get through. You stubborn child. You have forced me to take legal action against you… to protect you."

I unfolded the papers and read it aloud as I skimmed through and clutched the pile of papers too tight. My frustration mounting with every word.

"Rules upon rules! Have you even read over this?" I asked Watson and he nodded. "Ms. Dill must meet with Mr. Fisher once a week. Any electronic contact does not suffice (i.e. phone call). Ms. Dill must be at the local district office located on Michigan Avenue every other business day and the second Friday of every month for a conference call with the central office to evaluate her performance."

"Those are simply formalities, dear. You must act as if you are an employee to receive benefits," Mr. Watson said. I shot him a look over the paper that I believed would keep him quiet.

"I must quit any and all outside related work with any competing companies and their clients," I said.

"Well, we can't have you working with a rival marketing team. That's bad business."

"Ms. Dill must participate in every treatment required by a doctor of her choice. Oh, how nice, a doctor of my choice? How kind of them!" But it was the last line that caught my attention. I squinted and brought the document closer till it practically brushed like sandpaper against the tip of my nose.

"Ms. Nicole Dill must adhere to these conditions set forth by the decreased, Mr. Allan Dill, for approximately one year, 12 calendar months, or she is to knowingly forfeit any and all ownership over her personal residence, corporation, medical, and walk away from the company and all its benefits."

I balled up the papers, moved up, and bounced it off Mr. Watson's head. The ball of garbage rolled somewhere under the maroon couch. I demanded the two jugheads left the property, while it was still mine, and quickly, before I removed them myself.

Mr. Watson persisted, "Miss Nikki! It states in the contract if you are not to agree and meet the criteria you will lose all financial backing: no more housing, medical, or food expenses taken care of by the company. You could even be sued for what the company has put up already!"

"Yeah well, it also threatens to take my dog away, but why don't we see if you can!"

Mark, respectfully, moved to the threshold but looked behind at Mr. Watson with his arms crossed. "Going after the little girl's puppy? That's a low blow, mate."

I pushed Mr. Watson along his away with a firm hand between the shoulder blades hidden by the suit jacket. I shoved him over the threshold and into the hallway along with his briefcase. But I didn't lay a hand on Mark. I knew he intended to leave this time without physical help.

"I am not a little girl!" I said to Mark. Then looked at both. I could feel my eye twitching with a headache on the horizon. "I won't be blackmailed by anyone, not even my dead father!" I slammed the heavy door and locked the deadbolt behind them.

Outside my door

"I don't know what I am going to do with that child," Watson said with a heavy hand to his forehead.

"I don't know what you expected, Bill. You threatened her."

Mr. Watson dropped his hand and, with the other, shoved his briefcase into Mark's stomach. "You deal with her then. It's your ass on the line as well, Mark." Watson groaned. "I need a smoke." Watson practically jogged to the exit and left Mark to his own devices.

With a sigh, and the briefcase tucked under one arm, Mark raised a fist slowly to rack his knuckles against the door.

I was on the floor, opposite side of the door, with my hunched back against it. My knees pulled up and my head in my hands. I did not cry, though, and when I heard the knock, I didn't even move an inch.

"Go away," I said.

I heard a thunk from on the other side and I bit back a laugh as I pictured Mark's big forehead falling against it. Everyone, including myself, were in the middle of a very long day. With more yet to come. All I could dream of was a beautiful cup of dark-roast coffee calling my name. So, I pushed off the floor and trotted into the kitchen just off the living room.

Against my better judgement, I made it a double. I set one cup by my chair on the glass end table. My father's superhero lamp keeping a watchful eye on my mug. I carried the other to the door, flipped the lock, and pulled back on the knob. I kept one foot out to stop the door from opening completely. I handed the mug out to Mark without a smile.

"Can you go, now?" I asked.

Mark looked down at the owl printed mug with steam coming beautifully off it, something out a magazine, and back up at me. Then at the mug and me again. A futuristic device Mark had never seen, I thought sarcastically. I held it out further, practically shoving it into his stomach, and I cursed my height because I meant to thrust it toward his chest. I didn't want to spend a second treating anyone's burns from hot coffee. Mark took the hot mug with careful finger placement.

"You made me coffee?"

"No, I made me coffee. I just made too much, guess you could call me a good hostess. But the party's over, leave. Take the mug, I do not care. Just go."

Mark brought it to his lips and took a careful sip. He hummed, however, his feet did not shift. I could feel a sporadic twitch coming on but I rubbed a few fingers over my eye to hold it off. I wanted to take my own sip. I wanted a shower and I wanted him to leave. I didn't know then that I'd be waiting all day. I huffed, turned around, and left the door open as I took a seat and a big gulp of my coffee. I threw a particularly fluffy blanket over my crossed legs and leaned back as I watched Mark take careful steps, like a ninja trying to get around quietly in an occupied home, into the room. He closed the door softly, but did not stray any further. A dog introduced to a new home and not knowing where to begin.

I focused more on my cup even though Mark didn't take a seat. I focused on trying to maintain calm and let go of the stress even for a moment. I didn't care for people standing over me. It turned my stomach to knots. I was struggling just fine until Mark opened his big mouth.

"You know… It did strike me as odd," he said.

I groaned but didn't look up. I set the mug down with a loud clink and started picking away at the Cubs blanket on my lap. I thought Mark would get bored and leave if I didn't provide him with the reaction he wanted. I couldn't understand why I had opened the door when Mark knocked. I knew it was him. Watson was smart enough to flee when given the chance. I should have run and hide in my room, but Mark was a book that I wanted to know the ending to.

"Odd, that a girl from Texas would go all the way to Chicago," he continued.

My chin shot up and so did my guard. "What is it exactly you are implying, Mr. Fisher?"

Mark dramatically shrugged like performing a part in a play and took an extra-long drink of his coffee. The minutes tricked by. "Oh, nothing."

He had this sly look on his face. I watched as he set his drink down too and moved in my direction. I watched as he put both hands on the arms of my chair and leaned in. I had all the time in the world to get up, or stop him, but I just sat there. I didn't feel threatened like the last time. I knew if push came to shove, I'd kick his ass. Mark was too intriguing for my own good. Mark also had no understanding of personal space after being an only child. He smelled of rich earthy cologne and I tried to ignore how it invaded my nostrils. I thought I hated the smell of nature, but on him? It was tolerable.

"I'm just surprised this room isn't filled with close friends and family lending you their support. It's almost as if… they aren't aware," he said.

"So, what?"

"…then I guess, to you, it wouldn't be problematic if a little something, I don't know, got out?"

I covered my chest with my twisted arms and I leaned toward him. Our faces barely apart, and my anger trying to resurface. I'd be foolish not to let it. "Are you really stupid enough to blackmail me, Mr. Fisher? My late father couldn't even succeed at that. Are you sure you wanna to go there with me?"

Mark facial features changed from confidence to questioning. His eyebrows dropped and his smirk fell. He seemed to be disappointed not by his little game failing, but in himself when realizing what he had attempted. Mark glanced down, not at me, rather at himself and took inventory. I knew because I had the same look on my face many times before. He stepped back with a shake of his head as if in a bad nightmare. Mark kept his head down, eyes trained on the floor, and with a hand over his mouth rubbing his lips raw.

"No. I would never… If you don't mind, I'll be on my way."

I was content with letting him go. Hell, I was almost ecstatic. Almost, but I noticed that sad look in his eyes. The brown orbs were lost at sea and I wanted to be a life raft to someone other than myself. "Whatever, just forget about it. Sit, will ya?"

Mark looked like he wanted to argue but I was daring him to try. So, he thought it over, realized better, then went out of his way to sit on the couch across the room. I smiled. Mark had expected to already be clear out that door. He shifted his expensive tennis shoes nervously and we both heard paper skid across the floor as he kicked the wad. Mark bent over to pick it up and started undoing it.

After a few moments, Mark said with the crimple contract in his hands, "You know it's the right thing to go along with it."

I threw the blanket behind me and over the back of my chair. "That's funny," I said, "coming from someone who tells others what to do and not the other way around. You don't have an inkling of what that must feel like, do you?"

Mark moved his head side to side while glancing down at the piece of paper, but he didn't seem upset at my comment. It could have, easily, been taken as an insult. However, Mark stayed quiet and let me speak. I slid to the end of the chair and leaned in his direction.

"How would you like it if you were told when to eat, when to sleep, when to live, and… when to die?" I asked.

Mark moved forward on the couch cushion, mimicking my stance, and genuinely contemplated it. Then he put his elbows on his knees and said, "I guess, I wouldn't care for it."

"Exactly. So, do you still think it's a good idea to sign away the last bit of life I have left?"

"No… but you gotta have a back-up plan then, right?"

"Why do you care?" I asked.

"Consider it a final gesture for Allan." Mark shrugged, and put his hands up in defense.

I sighed, and hated how curious I was. Why did I care what relationship Mark and my father shared? I heard the wings of birds flutter outside my window and glanced over. I wished how easy it would be if I could just fly away and leave it all behind. How easy it would be to give it all up and disappear into thin air. Like the breeze over the skyscrapers and into the air.

Without looking at Mark, I answered honestly.

"No, I don't."