Chapter 5
How can someone that's lived in New York City as long as I have get lost? I stop running, leaning over, resting my hands on my knees and catching my breath. I look up at the sign, only to realize that yup, that's what I am… lost. I mean, who's ever heard of Ivy Avenue? Where is that? Where am I? How far away is my stalker/psycho/killer?
At that thought, I look around. Why do I feel like every guy is looking at me? No one ever looks at me! I don't think. I guess I don't notice. But right now it's creepy. Or maybe I'm paranoid. Or maybe they're looking because I'm looking at them. Either way, when a tall man steps out of some shadows and stares at me – a creepy looking man that totally looks like the words "if I can't have you, no one can" would sound normal coming from him, I immediately turn, open a door at this corner diner, hoping for safety. The place is crowded enough, and I do remember hearing somewhere that crowded places are good places to go when you don't want to be murdered, or something like that.
"Just seat yourself," a waitress says, as she walks by with a tray.
I go and sit down, wondering how long it will be until they ask me to leave since, you know, I don't have any money.
"Can I help you?" the same waitress asks, walking back over and pulling a pen and pad from her back pocket.
"I… I just got a little lost outside. I don't have any money, but I needed to… to sit down," I stammer.
She sighs, but still looks sympathetic. "I'll get you a water," she says, walking away.
I take off my coat and look at the clock on the wall. Oh boy. It's late. It's nearly ten at night. I left Tad's apartment at eight-thirty. I guess time just got away from me when I'd been aimlessly walking, thinking about Cooper. Cooper… I hadn't seen him all day.
God, I really hate fighting with him. I hate when he's mad at me. I hate when he doesn't tell me things. I hate lying to him. I hate not being with him. I feel like we're practically dating right now anyway, only, you know, without any of the fun stuff. We fight like an old married couple. But we also get along that way too – we're that in sync. And I know we only fight because we care. About each other, I mean. I care what he thinks, and I get upset when he's mad. He gets mad when he's worried. I've noticed that. Although lately he gets mad for more reasons than that. But I have no idea what it all means. I don't think he's jealous that I'm in a relationship. He's just… more mad at me lately.
With a sinking feeling, I realize he'll probably really ask me to leave now. I've done enough. Put him through enough. He gave me a place to stay when I had nowhere to go, he doesn't charge me rent, and he often buys me food! He'll show up at work and bring me food! And what do I do to repay him? I yell at him. I tell him that our relationship isn't fair – I mean, who am I to tell him that, after everything he's done for me? I lie to him, let's not forget that! And I'm not sure why. Surely, it's better when Cooper just knows the truth.
Why do I always ruin things when it comes to Cooper? He's the one person I care about the most, and want things to work out with.
"Here you go," the waitress says, bringing me water and dropping four quarters on the table, as well.
"What's this?" I ask, astonished.
"It's just a little from my tips. It's no big deal," she says, shrugging. "But you're lost. I figured maybe you want to call someone to come get you."
She's young. Barely twenty, I'd say, from experience, being surrounded by girls eighteen-to-twenty-two all day long. I look at her nametag. Betsy.
"Thank you, Betsy," I say sincerely.
She smiles, seeming glad she's done something nice for someone. "You're welcome," she says.
"Can you do me one more favor?" I ask. "Give me a business card for this place, and your hours, so I can come back sometime, with money. I'm a good tipper," I explain, "not normally taking money from my waitress," I say, with a wink.
She laughs. "I'll be right back."
A little while later, I'm checking the messages on my cell phone. That somehow seems like a better idea than looking for a ride right now, since I'm not exactly sure who I'd call right now.
I smile as the first message starts playing. It's Cooper. I can barely hear him; it sounds like he's screaming over traffic or something.
"Heather, it's about five… " he trails off for a moment. "We really do need to talk. I'm not… sure where you're going to be tonight. But… give me a call when you get out of work."
Then he hangs up. The next message is from Tad.
"Hey babe. You left in a hurry. Didn't you get milk yet?" Oh, right, I told him I was going out for milk, since he didn't have any. "Call me."
The next: Cooper.
"Heather, it's almost ten. I haven't heard from you and now Tad's leaving messages on the home phone, wondering if you came here. I assumed you were with him so… I'm just wondering where you are."
He sounded a little on edge. A little nervous. Oh! He cares! Even after we're fought!
Again, Tad:
"Heather, babe, I'm nervous now. You never came back. I called your house and you're not there and that Cooper, he's a real piece of work. He interrogated me, I mean actually interrogated me about where you were, and when I last saw you! Please call me, babe."
My messages were a ping-pong tournament between my boyfriend and my "I wish." So I wasn't surprised to hear one last one from, yup… Cooper.
"Heather." He sounds really nervous. I feel bad now. The happiness about him caring has turned to guilt. "I just talked to Magda. She told me about your phone call last night." I hear him take a deep breath. "Patty and Frank haven't heard from you. You're not at Tad's. Please call me."
End of messages.
I stick a quarter in the phone and make another phone call. Of the two men I received all my messages from, can you guess who I actually called?
"Cooper?" I say, when he answers (on the first ring).
"Where are you?" he immediately asks, after a sigh of what I can only hope was relief.
"I'm at a place called Dinah's Diner. It's on Ivy Avenue."
"Where's that?"
"I don't know," I say quickly. "Um… I left Tad's and took a walk and… well, I got lost."
"You just walked around by yourself, after being threatened?" he asks.
Great, he's back to getting mad at me.
"I just needed air."
"Why? Did he… did Tad do something to upset you?" he asks. I can hear something in his voice that's sort of… defensive. Of me. I like it.
I smile. "Nothing I can't handle," I say. "But, can you come and get me?"
"I'm in the car now," he answers. "Give me the address and I'll just put it in the GPS."
A half hour later, I see his car pull up and I go outside, not before thanking Betsy one last time.
"This isn't the best area," Cooper says, once I've shut the door. He takes off immediately.
I feel like crying again and I'm not sure why. It just seems like I can't do anything right these days. I'm so happy to see Cooper, and I was sort of hoping he'd tell me how nervous he was for my safety and admit that he loves me. But it just seems like he wants to lecture me again.
I see him look sideways at me.
"Are you okay?" he asks, keeping his eyes on the road.
"I guess," I say, shrugging. But I can't stop them. The tears, I mean. One escapes my eye, and I quickly swipe it away. I'm really not a crier! I am not sure what's wrong with me these days!
"Heather," Cooper says quietly. "I'm sorry about before. I keep getting mad at you, and you don't need that. And… you're right. I do expect you to tell me everything, even though I don't tell you everything."
I stare at streetlights and the yellow lines on the road, as they disappear under the car with every mile.
"It's okay," I say. Even though it's not. Okay, I mean.
"It's not. I'm glad you told me how you felt," he says. He still doesn't turn toward me. "But understand, Heather, I keep you in the dark because I know how you get. You get curious. You want to help. And I do know that you worry about me. I know you care. That just makes it worse. I know you'd start poking around my cases in an effort to help. And they're really not… dangerous cases. But I wouldn't want you involved all the same. I wouldn't want you to get hurt."
I realize he's right. I would poke my nose around his cases if I knew about them. I would try to help him. And if he wasn't home, and wasn't answering his phone and I knew where he was – what case he was working on – I'd go looking for him, and probably mess up everything in the process. And, yes, I'd probably end up in danger too, even on the non-dangerous cases. Because of what I am. You know. High risk, and all.
"I know we both don't really have many people in our lives, Heather," he continues. "I used to say that about you, and you've never ceased to point out my own more or less family-less situation. But… whether you think so or not, it is different. I walked away from my family. You had your mom and she walked away from you. My brother walked away from you."
Ouch. I hope he never decides to work a suicide hotline.
"I… care about you," he admits, tripping a bit over the word "care" in a way that's both awkward and just so nice. "It's why I asked you to move in with me. And you have to admit, you're a little naïve. A little too trusting. And I think it's great how much you care about others, that you'd risk your own life to make sure others aren't killed or killers are brought to justice, and I know I can be the same way and all, but… well, it still makes me crazy sometimes. Your ability to get right in the middle of the worst possible situations, your total disregard for your own safety, your insatiable curiosity… it does. It makes me crazy. I don't want to see you get hurt, but you are always walking into dangerous situations. And half the time you know they're dangerous! But you still go! And then half the time you're not telling me about them, when I can help you."
"Or talk me out of it," I point out.
"Well, yes, that, too. Although I know you'd never listen. You never do," he says, and I could swear he's smiling. "I'm not sure we're going to agree on the argument from before. Because you are right. But… while I can try to tell you the occasional detail about my day, I'm never going to tell you everything. And yet… I do want you to tell me when something's up. When you're upset or when someone's threatened you or you've witnessed a death. I don't need to sit and wait for an ulcer to form, because Magda's just told me that the guy who called you last night wasn't a crank, but knew you and threatened to kill you, and I have no idea where you are. I just know you're not anywhere that you could or should be. I don't… it doesn't…"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. My phone was dead."
"It's okay," he says. "But I just don't want to hear this from Magda. I want to hear it from you. I don't think you understand what it feels like finding out that your… good friend… is kind of missing and you've only found out she's got someone walking around that wants her dead."
"I don't exactly know how that feels. No. Okay. So in the future, I will tell you things," I agree. "Even though I still don't think it's fair, this double-standard relationship we have. I want the same things you want, Coop. It's not fair you should get them."
"I'll work on it," he says. And I kind of believe he might actually. "So," he says, before looking at me quickly, for the first time since I got in the car. "What did he really say last night?"
I immediately know what he means. The phone call. "He did say 'you're next'. That wasn't a lie," I say in a rush. "But he also said 'Hi Heather. And that the accident at the pool wasn't an accident."
"Followed by 'you're next'," he finishes. "Why would someone want you dead? Is there something you aren't telling me? Something you've been looking into on your own again?"
"No," I say honestly. "Everyone at Death – uh, Fischer Hall – is totally fine! I'm just going about my life, trying to figure it out, but just figuring out it sucks lately," I say.
Can someone shut me up again? I'm saying too much. Again.
"Why's that?" Cooper asks quietly. I notice his hands tighten on the wheel, but he keeps his gaze forward.
"I'm just unhappy with my, uh… situation."
"Tad?" he asks quickly, almost like Tad's name is poison, by the way he says and the look I can see on his face after he says it.
"Yeah, that, too. He… well, you're right. He does want me to change. He seems to want me to be Heather Wells: Pop Sensation. Not… well, not me. Not the me I am now. You know?"
"Yeah," he says.
"I'm going to end it soon, though," I say. I want to change the subject. We talk about Tad much longer, and I might start saying too much again, asking him if we can date now that rebound guy's almost totally flung back where he belongs. "There's more," I say, grabbing the note out of my pocketbook.
"About Tad? If he's done something –"
"No, no, I mean about the guy that's threatening me. I got a note today?"
"What?"
"Right before you came to my office. It's postmarked Jersey, too."
He nods and takes a deep breath. "This isn't good, Heather." He stares solemnly at the road, as I grip the note in my hands. He's right. I have tried not to really dwell on this threat, but if Cooper's nervous, I should be jumping out of my skin right now.
"Well?" Cooper says, and I jump. Out of my skin. See? Now I'm acting the way I should. Freaked.
In one swift moment, he grabs my left hand and squeezes it in a comforting way. "Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to scare you. We are going to figure this out, though." Then he moves his hand away. Once again, the moment's both awkward and nice. And I do feel a good deal safer. Although I wish he hadn't pulled his hand away. I guess he does need both for driving, though. His hands, I mean. "Can you read it to me?"
I turn on the passenger light and look down at the note, a sinking feeling returning to my gut. "Sure."
"Dear Heather," I start, nervously. "Nice chatting with you last night. I still have my poster of you in that blue leopard print mini skirt hanging on my bedroom wall. God, you look so hot. You've kind of let yourself go a little, huh? Although, even though you've put on weight, you still are quite beautiful… there's just more of you now. But don't worry - you can be thin again, it's never too late for a Sugar Rush, my sweets. And do remember, if I can't have you, no one can."
My cheeks are on fire. I mean who wants to let the guy she likes see a letter that someone wrote to you where they basically tell you you're fat? I'm not sure what Cooper thinks about my looks, but I really don't want to give him ideas, or let him know one of the less-flattering opinions that seems to be floating around out there.
I sneak a quick glance at Cooper. Ooh, big-time jaw-clenching. He's mad. He's pissed! It's… he really does worry about me. And I really do love him.
"Is it signed?" he asks tersely.
"Love, Your One & Only," I say, in a pseudo-romantic voice, in hopes to lighten the mood.
I hear him curse under his breath. "Okay," he says, frustratingly, sighing. "So he knows where you work, if you got the letter there. He knows your cell number. And he knew you'd be at Fitness World."
"That's the list I came up with this afternoon, too," I say, in hopes he might still sit down and let realization dawn that we really would be great partners! I can detect things, just like him!
"Maybe someone you know?" he asks, although I'm not sure we're detecting together anymore. He's kind of mumbling to himself now.
"I thought… well… nevermind," I say, since he'd probably think I was nuts. And he's never thought of me as much of a detective.
"No, what? Tell me," he says.
"An old stalker? I used to receive letters like this – well kind of like this – all the time. It's familiar because of that that. But I feel like maybe this guy's stalked me before, because something here seems really familiar."
Cooper stills and tightens his grip on the wheel again.
"What?" I ask him. "Cooper?" I prompt, when he says nothing for a moment.
"I think I know who it is."