(These first two chapters were supposed to be one, but I split them into two and added the hospital bit into this chapter later. I'm sorry, the first bit is in first-person view because it would be too much trouble to change it into third-person, so bear with me...)

Robby Ray's POV:

"Sweet nibblets, where the sam-heck is Miley?" I asked myself for the millionth time that night. The butterflies in my stomach refused to die even after three hours. I was grilling a T-bone behind the stove to try and keep myself occupied from worrying, when suddenly…

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Three distant gunshots. A blood-curdling scream. A terrible roar.

BANG! BANG!

Something ricocheted right off the door. Then it flung wide open with the sound of an explosion and a figure clad in green charged in like a bullet, screaming blue murder. It took five long seconds to register. It was my daughter.

"DADDY HELP! SOMEONE'S AFTER ME!! " Miley screamed, flying into my arms and breaking down into tears. Stunned, it took a while for me to register the scene in my head.

"Miley, what the heck…MILEY, WHY ARE YOU BLEEDING!?" I yelled in horror, spotting the blood-red sleeve and the hole in Miley's right upper arm.

"A GUY TRIED TO KIDNAP ME AND NOW HE WANTS TO KILL ME!" She screamed into my chest, shaking and gasping for air, pointing a finger at the door left ajar, nearly swung off its hinges. "He's got a gun!" She added as she snapped her head towards the door. I dropped her and ran to the door, peering out into the dark driveway.

There was no figure of a man running at the door, nobody shooting at me, no one at all outside. There was no one there. Yet Miley was hiding behind the stove, crying hysterically, with a gunshot wound on her arm. Whoever attacked her must have ducked away from sight and ran away, choosing not to shoot me down and finish Miley off. I suddenly realised just how vulnerable I was; I was unarmed, while this criminal had a gun, and any time, he could turn back and kill all of us.

Piercing fear and an incredible flush of hot anger surged simultaneously through my veins. Whosoever hurts a hair on my daughter's head is going to get it from me – someday. I slammed the door shut, locking it, and rushed back to Miley, who was still hiding behind the stove, shaking and crying uncontrollably. Jackson ran down the stairs frantically and yelled, "I heard someone screaming! What's happening?"

"Jackson, call the police!" I shouted. "Someone's outside the door with a gun, and he can come in any time. Tell the police to get here right away!"

"Dad! What happened to Miley?!"

Jackson too noticed the red stain on Miley's arm. She was holding her wound, on her knees and leaning against the stove, crying and screaming, "Make him go away, Daddy! Make him go away!"

Miley was in shock. It broke my heart to see my daughter in such a wrecked condition. I hoisted her up on her feet and gave her a reassuring hug, whispering in a reassuring but shaking voice, "He's gone now. He's gone. Nothings' gonna hurt you. Daddy's got you."

She did not calm down, not even after five minutes of comforting words. Jackson alerted the police and said, "They'll be here in five minutes."

"Good. Now lock all the doors, and we'll all go upstairs and hide. There's a guy out there who's got a gun, and he can come in any time. We'll hide until the police come." I instructed Jackson with calm – as much as I can muster. Jackson nodded and ran to lock the back door while I put Miley's shaking form onto the couch and ran to lock the door to the deck. After making sure there was no way the criminal could get in, I grabbed Miley and ran upstairs with Jackson.

"He can't get in now. All the glass windows and doors are bullet-proof. And if he smashes them down..." Jackson's eyes widened upon this realisation. "Oh snap! He can still smash the glass!"

"Just find somewhere to hide, son!" I yelled, glancing back down the stairs nervously. Meanwhile, Miley was still moaning between tears, "He wants to kill me, Daddy! Make him go away! Make him go away!"

"There's a first aid kit in my bathroom, Dad." Jackson said, running off to his bathroom. I followed him in, slammed the door shut and locked it. Jackson's bathroom was a good place to hide; while the door was unbreakable, we could still hear the noises and sounds from downstairs. Jackson took out the first aid it and all three of us sat down on the floor, ready to dress Miley's gunshot wound.

I rolled up Miley's sleeve and stared transfixed in horror at the wound. It was bleeding profusely, a little hole marking where the bullet had pierced through the arm. Gritting my teeth, I cleaned the wound and applied alcohol on it. Miley screamed in pain and flinched, as if burned. Jackson held her tight to prevent her from hurting herself and moving while I dressed the wound, finally wrapped temporarily in a bandage.

"Ooh, that looks bad." Jackson mumbled, wincing at the sight of the gunshot wound.

"Ow." Miley managed to choke, still holding her arm. The blood continued to flow freely. Worryingly, she was beginning to pale.

But there was no time to worry. Immediately after dressing the wound, I heard the front door being rapt five times, and a large voice calling from behind it.

"This is the police! We're breaking down the door!"

(Third Person POV)

"So this man was white, tall, muscular, with numerous scars on his face, had short hair and a short orange beard?" the officer repeated from his notes, looking tired and a little sad.

"Uh-huh," Miley whispered, not looking at him.

"And you've never seen him before, until you met him in the park that night."

"Yeah, that's right."

"I think that's all I'll need for now. Thanks, Miss Stewart," the officer said, standing up and giving Miley a nod. He then gave a nod to Robby Ray, saying, "And you too, Mr Stewart. Good night."

"Thanks, officer." Robby Ray muttered. With that, the officer left the ward.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the hospital ward as Robby Ray bent down to tuck Miley into her bed, and she squirmed around playfully. A tear appeared in the father's eye; it hurt him to see his little girl get hurt so badly.

It was an night after the assault at the park. Immediately after the police found the frightened family in the bathroom, Miley passed out in shock. She had been rushed to hospital, and scooted into the ER, where an emergency surgery took the bullet out of her arm. Much to everyone's relief and delight, the bullet did no lasting damage, though Miley was still recovering from the shock of being attacked.

"Daddy, when am I getting out of here?" Miley whispered, looking up at Robby Ray with large hopeful eyes.

"You'll be out of here tomorrow. But for now, you must sleep over at the hospital," the father replied in equal hushed tones, puffing up the pillow for his daughter. "I don't know if they will let me stay, so I'd better get goin'," he added, a hint of poignancy in his voice.

"No, Daddy, go leave me! Can you stay please?" Miley pleaded, reaching out for her father.

Another tear formed in the father's eye. His heart ached to leave his poor little girl.

"All right, Mile. I'll stay."

"Thanks." Miley's lips curled into a warm smile.

"Go to bed now."

"Mmmh..."

"I won't leave you..."

"...Night, Dad."

The lights went off in the ward. Robby Ray took his place on the chair by the bed.

There was no noise in those squeaky-clean hospital wards, except for the ticking of a tiny clock-face hanging high on the wall, and the occassional shuffling of nurses' shoes. One takes comfort from that. All is restful. All is peace.

Three-twenty five. A man slipped into the room, silent as a shadow, with only the little clock-face as witness bore. He was covered in black; he was not a nurse, not on usual runs during the night shift. He slips a type-printed note on a low drawing desk, beside a bed where a little girl lay, fast asleep. Then, as swiftly as he had come, he was gone, a perverted smile upon his countenance unseen. The bomb was set. The harbinger of a living nightmare. Even in the serene dark, the words in ink glinted malevolently, spelling a dreadful message.

Dear Miley,

Know that you can never get away from me. Last time was sheer luck. Don't expect something like that to happen again. I will get you.

And you'll then be mine.

Don't worry. It'll only hurt a little bit. In fact, I think you'll enjoy it. After all, I am you biggest fan. And you're a pop star.

Isn't pleasing fans what pop stars do?

Love, your secret admirer.


Terrorking Tragedian