THANKS EVERYONE FOR ALL THE FEEDBACK!!!!! I'm glad there are people out there reading that seem to enjoy this story! Sorry for the long wait on this update… I have really limited internet access right now. Hopefully it won't be so long to the next update. Thanks again for the feedback!!!!! --MAC
Chapter 11
I stare at the note, feeling all color drain from my face. I'm no longer seeing the horrifying image on the paper or the words accompanying it. No. I'm imagining my predator, watching me, waiting to strike. Waiting to do that… to me. The hairs on my arms rise. I feel like he's right outside. Right now. And for the first time… I feel like he's really going to get me. I feel like Cooper and the New York police can't do a thing to protect me from him.
I can feel two sets of eyes burning holes in me. One pair of gorgeous blue pools belonging to one of my best friends, and another pair of kind brown eyes belonging to a cop that I was starting to believe couldn't do a thing to save me from the crazy author of these notes.
"Heather?"
I look up quickly and my eyes lock with Cooper's. Something on my face must show my complete panic because he immediately moves to stand right beside me.
"What is it?" he asks, touching my back.
I don't look at him. I hand him the note with a shaking hand. I can't look at Cooper while he looks at it; it's too embarrassing. It's too awful.
A feeling of complete nausea washes over me and I find I can't stay there, in that room, dealing with any of this for a moment longer.
"Excuse me," I say, and I quickly leave the room and run upstairs before he reads it. I hear him call my name once, but I get safely to my room on my own.
I close the door and look around. I see the warm comforter on the bed, suggesting a kind of safety I no longer feel at all. I see so many familiar things strewn about the room and I try to feel that safety – to grasp at it with everything I have and not let this guy win and scare me – but it doesn't work.
That note…
I shudder and close my eyes, seeing it behind my lids.
I see a picture of me in the top left corner of the paper; I remember this photo well. It was taken at a photo shoot years ago. And in it, I'm wearing – of course – the blue leopard print skirt. My right hip is jutted out to the side and my hands are on my waist. I look confident. Spunky. Young. I'd just turned eighteen when that picture – which has come back to torture me so much lately – was taken.
Right next to this picture, I see the other picture. The one that I can't stop thinking about. It's the same picture, only someone tampered with it so it looks like I'm wearing only skimpy, nearly see-through underwear and a bra. The image of a slashed up leopard print skirt is at my feet, and a gloved hand holding a knife is aimed at my chest.
The words to accompany the photos dance through my mind.
Time's up, love. You're mine now…
I lean heavily against the door and find myself eventually on the floor with my knees curled up against my chest. It's then that I start to cry. I really don't know why this is happening.
I mean, come on, I deserve a break! Like, really deserve one. I had to suffer the embarrassment of my dad going to jail for tax evasion (just try ignoring the kids at school when something like this happens), as well as the public humiliation of my mother, manager, label and fiancée abandoning me in pretty quick succession.
I'm twenty-eight years old and I'm taking remedial math. I have a job that requires me to simply make sure a bunch of college kids get through the day alive and I can barely get through the day – any day – alive myself! I never went to college. I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I'm in love with a man who I finally got to kiss, and now I honestly just love him more because…
…well, because, my god, it was the most perfect kiss ever. For me, there was love in that kiss. I tried, of course, to just play along like it was all some game. But… it was Cooper kissing me. It wasn't a game at all. It was a real kiss. And for my part, there was real love in it. I just hope he didn't notice.
But now I know I'm just going to obsess about him even more, and get that much more upset when he makes it clear to me once again that I'm just a friend… that I can't be more to him. Ever. If I make it out of this situation alive, I mean.
I may not have to worry about my unrequited love and pathetic infatuation with Cooper because this guy seems to think that I'm about to die. Right now. Like ten seconds ago.
I realize I'm shaking. I can hear Cooper yelling downstairs at Barrett.
"It's not his fault, Coop," I whisper to no one.
I turn my head so my ear's resting on the door and I can make out a couple of his angry words.
"… get my hands on him…"
"… can't get away with this… "
"… no, he's not getting anywhere near her!"
"…sick…"
"…undressed her like that…"
"… Did you see her face… "
I turn back towards my room, until Cooper's angry voice just echoes in the background. I can't hear words anymore… just the booming and comforting sound of him caring about me.
I stand up and walk towards my bed, and crawl under the covers. I pull the comforter over my head until everything is nice and dark. And I feel like for a moment I'm away from it all. Which of course is when I hear a knock, which brings me right back to reality. I know immediately who my caller is, even before I hear his voice tentatively call my name.
I pull the comforter down and poke my head out. "Go away," I say, before taking cover again.
"Heather," Cooper says. "Please. Can I come in?"
I say nothing, hoping he'll understand my message. You know, that I don't want any company, especially not from a man that just saw a picture of me half-naked (even if it was computer generated)… and especially when I'm hiding under a comforter, crying like a baby.
"Heather?"
Still, I say nothing.
Go away, Cooper. Please.
He doesn't. After a moment, I hear the door open and feel a hand touch my shoulder through the comforter.
"Can't you take a hint?" I ask.
I hear him chuckle softly. "I guess not," he says.
I blink at the darkness, feeling my shoulder light on fire from his hand which still rests there and realize how pathetic I really am. My life's being threatened and I am in the midst of feeling very violated by the man who's threatening it, yet I'm turning to mush because the man I'm in love with is touching my shoulder through a comforter.
"You okay?" Cooper asks after a moment, when I don't surface from under the blanket or say anything.
"Fine," I mutter. Great, I think. I'm back to lying to Cooper. And he's supposed to be my "boyfriend" now. What a way to start a relationship! You really can't build a strong foundation on lies. I throw the comforter off me and blink up at Cooper, seeing worry in his eyes. He already knows I'm lying. Of course.
"Not fine," I say anyway. I sit up. "You know how yesterday I said that this whole thing sucks?" I ask.
He nods, a small smile playing on his lips, even as I see no trace of humor in his gaze.
"Well, I can't believe it, but today everything sucks so much more."
He puts the back of his finger lightly against my eye, wiping a tear that lingered, even though I wasn't really crying anymore.
"Heather, he's not going to touch you," he says, and I see his jaw clench in that sexy way. He's clearly trying not to get upset, but I can see that he is. "I promise. He's just a sick man," he says, looking utterly disgusted as he spits out those last two words, "who's trying to scare you. And he's doing a good job."
"Yeah he is," I agree. "Coop, believe me, I'd like to think that I'm braver than this, that someone like him, cutting out letters from magazines, and computer generating fake photos of me would piss me off and make me want to run outside, fists ready, and just get him already. But this guy has me hiding and crying," I say, swiping at my other eye to remove another tear. "I mean, what's wrong with me? This is pitiful; it's embarrassing," I say, rolling my eyes at myself.
"Nothing's wrong with you!" Cooper says angrily enough that I look up at him, alarmed. "That note… that was… you…"
He stands up and turns away from me, running a hand through his hair. And then I see it. The big-time jaw-clenching.
"Cooper…"
"No, Heather. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Your reaction is normal. That was… obscene and disgusting. It was a violation, an intrusion, of… " he trails off, sighing. "Your privacy. Your virtue," he finishes sadly.
And this, for some reason, makes me laugh. Which is just mean. I mean, here he is being so nice, making me feel better, and I'm laughing at him! How rude can I be, right?
"What?" he asks.
"My 'virtue'. I didn't realize we'd gone back to the nineteenth century," I joke.
He looks at the ceiling patiently and looks back at me, the beginnings of a smile forming. "Heather, you were like seventeen in that picture," he says.
"Eighteen," I say. "Only just."
"Either way. You were a kid. And that picture was sick."
"Well, I'm not a kid anymore," I point out. "So my reaction still remains of the embarrassing nature."
"Not really. It might not be you now, but it is you. And the note next to that picture? It was written now. So if this upset you… then you're normal," he says softly, sitting on the bed again.
And something in the way he says that makes my eyes start to well up. And being the amazing friend he is, he pulls me towards him when he notices this and I rest my head on his shoulder. And that's when I feel the thing that makes my heart feel like it's about to break. He kisses my forehead.
Oh, he's done this once before. Of course, the last time he did it was in a moment when he thought I was really out of it due to yet another near-death situation. Last time, I was sure he only did it because he knew I'd never remember it. Except that I did. Remember it, I mean. This time, though… he knows I'm not out of it. Sure, maybe I've been kind of crazy lately, but I'm not out of it. He's kissing my forehead knowing I'll remember it.
Another tear escapes as so many conflicting emotions dance through me. Fear, happiness, sadness, anger and love. Love for Cooper which – it would appear – only grows every time I see him. And that's pretty amazing because I see him constantly.
"Thank you, Coop," I say, closing my eyes and breathing in his comforting Coopery smell.
"For what?" he asks softly.
"Being here. Always being here. You've saved me so many times over. I don't know if you know how appreci—"
"—I know," he says, cutting me off. "You've told me," he goes on. "And you don't need to. We're… we've always been friends, Heather. You're very… important… to me," he spits out. "Of course I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"And that's why I have to say thank you," I try to explain.
"You don't—"
"What you said, Coop… you can't understand what it really means to me."
He pauses and squeezes me just a little tighter. "I think I can."
An hour later, I'm showered and feeling much fresher, like the ugly mood just washed away. I walk downstairs so Cooper and I can get to work finding this total jerk and putting him behind bars so we can go back to our normal life.
After my total meltdown, you see, came this anger. After Cooper wiped away my last tear and left me to freshen up so we could get to work, I had a bit of a reality check, which went something like this:
I'm Heather Wells! I've stopped bad guys before. I've had lots of people abandon me. And I've survived after being left with nothing. I'm a strong person. I don't hide under blankets and cry helplessly wishing that someone would come and save the day for me. I save it for myself. I have before and I will again. And with someone like Cooper by my side – the truest friend and an even stronger person than me – I can do anything. This guy… he doesn't stand a chance. Let him threaten me. I'm not letting him win.
"Looks like that shower had healing powers," Cooper says, entering the living room, where I sit, ready to go and fight crime and put this psycho behind bars.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
He just stares at me and I look down at myself, feeling like in the midst of my self-help moment upstairs I'd forgotten to button my shirt of something. But I see nothing of the sort going on and meet his gaze, confused.
He smiles. "You just look better, that's all," he says. "It's good to see."
"Yeah," I say. "Sorry. Again, that was pretty pathetic up there."
He holds out a hand, cutting me off from saying another word in that vein. "That's not what I meant. You had a normal reaction. But right now… you look like yourself. You look like the girl that can handle pretty much everything."
He smiles again.
I stand up and follow him to the door.
"Okay, so the minute we step outside, Heather, we're in public," he says, turning to me at the door.
"Really? Is that why so many people are constantly out there?" I ask sarcastically.
"I mean," he says, like he didn't hear my tone, "we have no idea where he could be. But we do want to draw him out."
Then I remember. And the butterflies in my stomach prance happily to life. I try to keep my expression leveled however. "Right. Out there, I'm your girlfriend," I say, shrugging.
"Right," he says, nodding matter-of-factly.
Clearly neither of us is over the awkwardness from the post-kiss, pre-Barrett moment. We're both acting like this is a business transaction.
He opens the door and allows me to exit first, before quickly locking the doors.
He puts the keys in his pocket, while I scan the streets, looking for… well, something. Something suspicious. Someone creepy and capable of sick things. Because I live in New York City, I see about twenty things that fit both descriptions immediately.
Then I feel Cooper slide his hand into mine and interlock our fingers. I look down at our joined hands, marveling at how right it feels, even though it's so new.
"Let's go," he whispers.
We start walking, and I ask the inevitable question. "What did Barrett say?"
Cooper squeezes my hand reassuringly, still pulling me along in stride with him. "He really thinks this guy is definitely the same one from back then. He read all your old letters and the two new ones closely. There's more than just patterns going on here. Of course, he can't prove this. This new letter…"
He shakes his head and glances down at me quickly.
"It seems if you look at all his letters, he's obsessed with your appearance."
"I kind of noticed that," I say, blushing. "I wish he wasn't."
Because all he says in his latest letters is that I need to lose weight, basically. And that's just embarrassing.
"I wish that, too," he says. "He seems obsessed now with wanting to make you what you were then," he continues. "Barrett can't figure out where this guy went for ten years, though. He may have gotten help and just recently fell off the horse, what with your resurgence in papers in the past year."
"Or maybe he realized I had too many bodyguards, and the only way to ever really get me was to change himself and get into my circle, far enough down the line that I'd never suspect…"
Cooper looks down at me, shock written on his face. "Definite possibility," he eventually stammers out.
"Don't make a bad partner, do I," I joke.
"Not at all," he says.
"Could be a combination of your theory and mine. Maybe he genuinely changed himself, tried to better himself and thought if he did that, I'd… I don't know, fall in love with him. But maybe he's also really sick. Obsessed. And if it's Tad… it didn't work. I never gave into what he wanted. I hated the gym, didn't want to change for him and didn't fall in love with him; I never let him do anything more than kiss me. So his plan didn't work, and then he, like flipped. Went back to crazy and obsessive…"
Cooper nods and clenches his jaw again. He laughs after a moment. "You're better at this detective thing than I gave you credit for," he admits.
I smile knowing he has no idea how happy that comment just made me.
"What did Barrett say about Tad? I know before I freaked out and ran out of the room that he mentioned him."
He sighs. "He said he doesn't exist, basically. The man has no record. Of anything. He has no past. The college he put on his resume when he applied to be a professor at New York College… he didn't go there. At least not by that name. He lied about all the experience he claimed to have, too. Looks like your school needs to actually start checking references. You might want to bring that up to Human Resources when this is over."
"Okay," I say, processing this. "So Tad Tocco does not exist," I say.
"His name doesn't exist," Cooper corrects. "He's created a persona, it looks like, to get close to you. He, uh… he started about two months after you did."
I swallow. "I mean, it looks like he's the man."
"Looks like," he says, squeezing my hand again.
Cooper stops and looks down at me. I look up at him.
"And he could be anywhere right now, watching us," he whispers.
He touches my face with his hand and puts a strand of hair behind my ear. He leans slowly, pausing once again, just inches from my lips to stare into my eyes, as if asking permission.
And just like the first time we kissed, I close my eyes, granting him permission. Now, forever, whenever.
His lips touch mine and it feels… amazing. I can feel a light breeze blowing through my hair, as he pulls me tighter against him, the gentle kiss intensifying just a little.
He pulls away eventually and rests his forehead against mine, his breathing quick, his eyes still closed.
"Now it's my turn to say 'oh god'," I say, smiling, trying to urge my pulse back to normal.
He smiles and kisses my forehead – yes, again! – and takes my hand again, continuing our walk.
"You're good at that," I say. Even as the words come out of my mouth, my cheeks flush a deep pink. I can't believe I said that out loud.
I mean, it's true, but… oh god. I'm such a total moron.
To my astonishment, he squeezes my hand and runs his thumb over it softly, and smiles down at me, his cheeks a bit pink now too. "You are too," he says.
And then he looks away immediately, and swallows.
We get to the lot and into his car, not saying much more and begin our drive into New Jersey.
Cooper puts on jazz music, his favorite, as possibly a way to calm us both down. The last two days have been an emotional rollercoaster, and a peaceful drive to Ella singing about the bayou is pretty perfect right now.
"Cooper, be honest," I say, breaking a long, comfortable silence after a while. "How much business are you losing because of this case?"
"I'm not losing business," he says. "Besides, I told you before, this is more important. Right now, this is my number one priority."
"But… you were in the middle of a case when all of this happened."
"It's okay," he says, staring at the road. "And your father's doing a pretty good job wrapping up some of the cases I was on."
"I think you know it bugs me that you let my dad in on your cases and not me," I say, looking sideways at him in time to see him smirk.
"It bugs you?" he says. Although I know perfectly well he knows it bugs me.
"Yes, and you even told him not to tell me anything!"
"Clearly I had reason to warn him, if you found out I told him that," he counters.
I huff and cross my arms over my chest and look at the scenery passing by outside as we leave the City behind us and cross into Jersey.
"How about just one case. Can you tell me about one case you're working on?"
He shakes his head but laughs. "You're tenacious. I'll give you that."
"Oh, that's nice. Dogs are tenacious, Cooper."
He laughs quietly as the jazz music buzzes in the background. I'm feigning annoyance because really… this whole thing – us playfully arguing, listening to music… it's so wonderfully normal. I love it.
We finally arrive at our destination. "Is this it? This is where my old stalker lived?"
"Yeah," Cooper says, as we walk up the front steps. "Mr. Seymour Haggleman. It's abandoned now. I checked."
Seymour Haggleman, I think, as I follow Cooper. Such an ordinary, plain name. Such a normal house.
Such a sick man…
A few swift maneuvers, and Cooper's managed to open the door and we're in. He grabs my hand and turns on his flashlight.
The place clearly is abandoned. There are cobwebs everywhere, wooden paneling on the walls, which are blank except for a bear's head, which kind of freaks me out.
"He won't hurt you," Cooper whispers playfully.
"Ha ha," I say.
We find nothing and start to leave, which is when Cooper feels something – I don't know what – beneath his right foot.
He kneels over the floorboard and shifts it, and much to my surprise, this particular piece lifts up, revealing a hidden stash of something, though I can't see what.
Cooper flashes his light on the items in the hole beneath the floor and I feel something twist in my stomach as I notice my own face in there. There are pictures… many pictures… of me in there. He pulls them aside. I see that damn blue leopard print skirt in so many of the pictures. I see other computer-generated photos… possibly for future notes to me. I see plastic bags with more magazine letters in them – not placed into words yet though.
Cooper's face is serious as he looks at the pictures. Deadly serious. It's his detective face. Not his friend face, though in the serious I see a tiny fleck of the anger. And that's all friend.
"What's that?" I ask, noticing him staring at one picture in particular.
He shows it to me and shines the light on it. It's him. The guy. From years ago. He computer generated himself into one of my pictures, so it looks like we're posing together. From the looks of it, he's standing where Jordan had been, so it's like we're dating.
This guy in the picture… he's dorky and tall and lanky, with dark hair and pale skin. But still, there is something familiar.
I try to imagine him muscular, blonde, tan and handsome. It's hard. It's not a good picture.
It's hard when I'm focusing on the picture as a whole. I try to focus in on each feature. The eyes. Are they Tad's eyes?
It's hard to tell with the glasses…
The nose… well, he could've had that fixed…
The smile…
And that's when I see it. The something that's familiar, I mean. It's there. In that wicked smile. I know that smile.
I take a deep breath. "It is Tad," I admit.
The drive home is relatively quiet. At first, Cooper calls Barrett to fill him in on what we found, and from the sounds of it, Cooper gets an earful about how we're supposed to leave the policework to, you know, the police, and how Cooper must be hanging out too much with me, because apparently Canavan told Barrett that poking around into police investigations was classic me.
I go upstairs when we get home, put my pajamas on, and crawl into bed. Except that I can't sleep.
I mean, it's one thing to think that your boyfriend might be your stalker, someone threatening to kill you. It's another thing to know for sure. It's definitely enough to keep you awake, staring at the ceiling.
A noise outside makes me jump, and I realize I'm not going to get any sleep this way.
I take my blanket and pillow and head downstairs, into the living room. I'm careful not to make much noise, but the floorboards do creak a little. Darn old brownstones.
I lay on the couch and feel a little safer, since I can see Cooper's room. His light's off and he's probably halfway on his way to dreamland right now.
Always out to prove me wrong, I see his light turn on and I still, pulling my blanket closer to my chest.
His door opens and he steps into the living room, toward me.
"Heather?" he whispers.
"Um… yeah?" I answer.
"I thought that was you," he says. "Why are you down here?"
"Couldn't sleep? Thought the couch might help… it's really comfortable," I lie. My dad and I constantly make fun of how totally uncomfortable this couch is, in front of Cooper.
"Listen, why don't… " he trails off.
"What?"
"Look, I'm too nervous to fall asleep, because I feel like if I do, something might happen to you upstairs. And you're too scared to sleep too," he says, all in a rush. "Why don't you come in here so we can both just sleep," he says.
I say nothing. I think I actually just died. I mean, did Cooper just invite me into his bed?
Oh. My. God.
"I promise to be a perfect gentleman," he says, playfully.
Damn.
"Okay," I agree regardless. I know, as well as he does, that this is the only way either of us will get any sleep tonight.
I stand up and grab my pillow and walk into his room.