Chapter 32: Wake-Up Call
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"Frank, don't! It's me, it's Fletcher!"
"Fletcher?"
Frank flipped the light switch on in the hallway to find the boy in the doorway, dressed in a black sweatshirt and track pants, two overstuffed backpacks in tow. Frank's knees practically gave out with relief. He set the rifle back on the kitchen table and quickly went to the door to help him inside.
"What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"
Breathing shakily, Fletcher said, "There were people taking pictures outside my apartment, yelling up at the window. My roommate Thomas is having a fit. He kicked me out."
Frank's stomach dropped. He'd known it was only a matter of time before this happened to Fletcher.
"I sent you and Mom a bunch of texts hours ago, but you were both asleep," Fletcher explained. "I didn't want to call and wake you, so I got in touch with Scott." Fletcher leaned against the door and stared up at the ceiling as he ran his hand over his face. "Thank God I'm already done with finals."
Frank turned at the sound of Rachel shuffling down the stairs in her robe and slippers. "Oh, baby, of course you can stay here," she said as she roughly embraced her son. "I can't believe those jackasses are harassing you now, too. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just shaken up."
Frank watched as the boy leaned on his mother's shoulder while she tried to console him. Though he appeared to be a grown man, moments like this reminded Frank just how young and helpless Fletcher still was at only eighteen years old.
"Fletcher," Frank addressed, waiting for the boy to make eye contact with him, "Did they ask you anything?"
"They kept asking me stuff about you and Mom. I can't really remember. I was so out of it." He bit his lip, cowering a bit under Frank's intense stare. "I didn't say anything to them," he added hastily. "I just knew I had to get out of there."
Frank wanted to continue interrogating him about the faces of the individuals who had accosted him, about the specific questions they had asked him, about whether a red Nissan Sentra had been spotted at the scene. If Frank himself had been in that situation, he may have picked up on those details, but he couldn't expect anyone else to do the same. Fletcher was clearly rattled by the events of the evening, and so Frank decided to leave him be.
"It's alright," he said softly. "You okay?"
Fletcher hesitated before responding, his eyes taking in their first view of the gruesome scar on Frank's left arm. "...Yeah."
"You got anything else in the car?" Rachel asked him.
"Just my suitcases," he replied.
"Let's go grab them," she said, about to head out onto the porch. Frank caught her arm and pulled her back.
"I'll get everything out of the car," he said firmly. Rachel's eyes lingered on his for just a moment before she looked away, knowing it was useless to protest. "Take her back upstairs," he instructed Fletcher, holding his hand out for the car keys.
Fletcher nodded and gently tugged Rachel's arm in the direction of the steps.
Frank waited until they had disappeared upstairs before exiting the house and quickly gathering up Fletcher's belongings from the car. On his way back inside, he punched in the code to arm the house, then stalked the bottom floor for fifteen minutes, checking to see if anything was out of place. A deep part of him knew it was completely unnecessary. It was ridiculous, really. No one else was out here. There were no other cars, no signs of life apart from the crickets chirping in the hedges that wrapped around the house. But he knew that he would not be able to fall asleep unless he completed this very unnecessary and paranoid task.
Perimeter. Perimeter. Perimeter.
His mind assaulted him with the same word, over and over and over.
Not one corner left untouched.
One unfamiliar shadow made his fingers twitch for his gun.
He was going to go mad out here.
When he finally went back upstairs, he heard Rachel and Fletcher speaking quietly in the guest bedroom. He had no doubt she would be sharing a room with her son for the rest of the night. He would not have normally minded, but the idea of his pregnant girlfriend subjecting herself to a mattress on the floor made him irrationally upset.
Deciding to leave them alone, he went back into the master bedroom and took his cell phone off the charging cord. The missed texts from Fletcher went back all the way to midnight. He could barely bring himself to read them, sensing the contained distress of the boy's carefully chosen words, not wanting to make them worry. In the line of missed texts he saw one from Pettigrew which had been sent just twenty minutes before Fletcher's car had arrived at the house.
Paps found Fletcher. He's coming to your house. I gave him the code.
Frank texted him back. He made it safe. Will stay here tonight. We all may need to find another place to stay soon.
Though Frank expected the man was exhausted, he was surprised when Scott texted him immediately back.
Already looking into it.
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Frank slept for another thirty minutes that night.
His dreams were filled with unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar voices peppering him with questions from every angle as he dodged them like bullets. The flashes of cameras converged into one naked incandescent bulb directly above him, where he sat at a stainless steel table, interrogated by a blue vested young man with frosty eyes and a smug grin.
At six A.M., the crack of dawn, Frank threw the blankets off his bed and went downstairs.
Without a rational thought in his head, he grabbed his rifle, threw open the front door, and ran out into the yard to fire five shots at the empty sky.
The scattering cries of a hundred birds lifting into flight from the field was oddly satisfying.
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"You about done scrubbing away the stench of testosterone yet?" Rachel's voice was severe as she busted through the bathroom door.
"What?" Frank called over the rush of water in the shower.
Her hand shot through the shower curtain to shut the water off with an aggressive yank.
"Hey!"
"I didn't appreciate your little 'wake-up call' this morning!" she said hotly.
Frank stumbled slightly as he stepped out of the shower and harshly wrapped a towel around his waist. "Jesus, Rachel."
"What are you doing, Farmer?"
He stared at her in silence, still dripping wet with cold water, clutching the towel with one tense arm as if afraid she could strip him bare with her eyes alone.
"It's the press," she emphasized the word with an upward extension of her lovely arms, causing the delicate sleeves of her robe to gather at her elbows. "Not Al-Qaeda!"
"Don't say that too loud," he hushed her with a mocking frenzy, "the government probably has us bugged."
She groaned loudly and followed him around the bedroom while he gathered up his clothes. "You have to learn to cope with this shit, Frank. If this is how you handle a little paparazzi and gossip, God forbid you end up with death threats like I did."
He shot her a dark glare as he slammed the dresser drawer shut. "I'll shoot first."
"Oh, no, no!" Rachel shook her head with a bitter laugh, "You're not shootin' anything. With the climate the way it is in this country right now? You'll be lucky to make it through another week without gettin' your pretty ass thrown in jail."
"Well, I guess it's a good thing my girlfriend has enough cash to bail me out…" He stuffed himself into his undershirt, tugging it violently down over his chest. "...multiple times."
She glared at him before helplessly adjusting the uneven end of his shirt. He half-heartedly swatted her hand away and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull his jeans on.
"Think of the baby."
It was a string of words he'd waited his entire life to hear, and in her soft, musical voice, it had the power to cut his pride in half.
He looked up at her, taking in her devastatingly gorgeous face, bewildered that his future son or daughter would share those features – and like ice under the hot sun, his stubbornness melted away.
He breathed deeply for a solid minute, just staring at her, until she moved to his side and took his large hand in hers.
"I need you to calm down, Farmer," she whispered. Her insistent use of his surname was strangely comforting. "Can you do that? For us?"
Her use of the word 'us' was cryptic. It could have meant them as a couple. It could have meant her and Fletcher. It could have meant her and . . . their child.
His lips parted to speak, but he couldn't find the words. He nodded instead, hoping his facial hair did its job to hide the twitch in his jaw.
"Thank you." She leaned in to kiss his forehead, then his eyebrow, then his temple. Her hand grasped the fabric of his cotton undershirt on his shoulder with carefully contained passion. He closed his eyes, allowing himself a precious moment to savor her touch without an ounce of stress, listening to the peaceful chirping of birds outside the open window.
"Are you going to take me to the doctor today?" she asked him softly, her lips tickling his skin.
He straightened his posture, still seated on the bed as he reached over for his socks. "Yeah."
"Scott wants to know if you want him to come with us or stay here with Fletcher," she murmured.
All at once the stress came flooding back into his chest. Frank stared out the window for a moment before responding, "Tell him to stay with Fletcher."
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Rachel couldn't recall a time in her life when her heart had beat this hard. As she walked through the large building that housed her OB-GYN's office, she couldn't help but notice her face on the magazines in the lobby waiting area.
Rachel's New Boy Toy: Bodyguard or Booty Call?
Marron's Manic Mister: Manhandling the Media
The receptionist refused to make her wait one more second before leading her into the back hallway. Every pair of eyes in the waiting room was fixed on her and Frank.
Her doctor was thrilled to have her back so soon after the miscarriage, her excitement palpable as she made eager chit chat with Rachel while preparing the exam room.
"So, is this the father?" Dr. Lacey asked Rachel with a grin as she fitted her hands with latex gloves.
Rachel watched Frank awkwardly shift from one leg to the other with a forced smile, his eyes darting between both women.
"Yes," Rachel replied, gesturing for Frank to sit down beside her.
Dr. Lacey was quiet as she began the ultrasound, her gaze fixed on the screen in the dim room.
For the first time since she'd received her positive pregnancy test, Rachel felt a twinge of worry as she waited with bated breath for the doctor to say something. She closed her eyes, praying silently to herself, until at last Dr. Lacey's voice sounded off with a perky, "There you are!"
Rachel opened her eyes to see her doctor tilt the ultrasound screen in their direction. She released a shaky, bewildered breath as she stared at a tiny white blob in the black void. "That's it?"
Dr. Lacey nodded, shifting the wand slightly to find a better angle. "That's your baby."
Having never had a single ultrasound with Fletcher, Rachel was overwhelmed. Her eyes welled with tears as she looked over at Frank. His pale gaze was transfixed by the image on the screen, an expression of tender confusion on his ever-unreadable features.
"And it looks… okay?" Rachel asked tentatively, barely able to believe it was real.
"It looks perfect," Dr. Lacey assured, glancing back at them from behind her glasses. "In fact…" She paused to touch something on the side of the screen and suddenly a soft thumping sound filled the room. "That's the heartbeat."
Rachel suppressed the urge to sob at the beautiful sound. Her doctor lifted one finger to the screen and pointed out a tiny movement in the image. "See that little flutter there?"
She glanced back at Frank again, finding his misty eyes focused on her instead of the screen this time.
They left the office in quiet disbelief, though Rachel was thrumming with excitement from the inside out. For a brief moment they shared alone in the elevator, his lips were on hers, and his heart was beating so hard she felt it could bruise her hand.
"Can you believe you're gonna be a father?" she asked him, her gentle fingers fondly caressing the back of his neck.
His eyes fluttered shut as he silently shook his head. She had grown to understand Frank's reactions better with time, in that he expressed several different kinds of 'silence' – the silence in which he was pondering something, the silence in which he was devising a plan of action, and the silence in which he was at a loss for words from restrained emotion. She suspected the latter in that moment.
As they left the elevator, he took her hand in his.
Rachel smiled shyly. Her heart had never been so full.
And neither had the parking lot.
"Rachel!"
"Rachel! Over here!"
"How far along are you?"
"Is it true the father is your former bodyguard?"
"Rachel!"
Rachel was no stranger to the incivility of the press, but in a rare moment of helplessness, she lost all ability to think on her feet. It had been ages since she'd been swarmed like this, much less in a setting so personal as her doctor's office. She had no limousine to hide inside, no entourage to mitigate the crowd. All she had was the man at her side – and though she knew he was armed, his weapon would have little impact on the media's thirst for information.
But he was not helpless in such a scenario.
Frank halted in front of the doors, quickly donned his shades, and pushed her behind his body to keep her hidden while dragging her past the crowd of people. He had learned his lesson in the power of ignorance well, but she was certain it would not last forever. The louder the voices became, the harder it was to ignore them. The cameras had already taken their shots – and she could feel Frank's fingers twitching with the temptation to fire his own shots back. But she had made him promise…
Rachel glanced behind her shoulder as she heard a commotion break out by the doors to the building. In her peripheral, she could make out two feisty midwives in scrubs who had rushed outside to come to her defense. One of the midwives ran boldly over to the man with the camera, wielding a speculum in her hand like a weapon. "I'm not afraid to use this thing!"
The crowd began to disperse at the scene – whether they were truly intimidated or just freaked out by the duo, Rachel wasn't sure – but she was grateful for the office staff's passionate intervention.
Frank managed to shield her the entire walk through the parking lot, making sure she was safely inside their vehicle before he sped off, driving directly over the median between the entry gates to bypass the bottleneck of cars that would've kept them trapped inside.
"I don't know how they found me there," Rachel said, head in her hands.
"I know how," Frank said darkly.
She looked over at him in confusion.
"I'm being followed."
She glanced at the side-view mirror to watch as a bright red Nissan Sentra rounded the corner behind them.
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"We have to get out of here," Frank declared as they entered the house, interrupting the conversation that Fletcher and Scott were having at the kitchen table.
Scott rose from his seat. "I know, Frank–"
"They were at her doctor's office," Frank cut him off sharply.
Fletcher looked to Rachel, worry etched into his face. "Mom?"
"I'm okay, baby," Rachel waved him off, trying to stay strong for her son.
"It's not okay, Rachel!" Frank slammed his hand down on the table, causing a box of plastic silverware to fall and scatter over the floor. Startled by his rage, Rachel stiffened and backed away. "You no longer have privacy in a place where you have to go every month for the rest of your pregnancy. And we no longer have privacy in this house, where we were supposed to live for the next year!"
"Frank, calm down," Scott warned, raising a hand, which Frank shoved off.
"Pack your things, Rachel. We're leaving here tonight."
Rachel stared at him, mouth agape. "And exactly where are we going?"
Frank looked to Scott expectantly, chest heaving.
Scott let out a heavy sigh. "I have arrangements, but I wasn't expecting it to be this soon. Let me make some phone calls."
Satisfied for the moment, Frank tilted his chin up and looked to Fletcher, "You okay following me in your car?"
Despite the wariness in his eyes, Fletcher nodded fervently at Frank.
"Good."
Rachel attempted to pull Frank back before he could leave the room, but he again evaded her grasp.
"I said pack your things, Rachel," he warned from the staircase.
Rachel met her son's frightened, flickering eyes. "It's all gonna be okay, baby. I promise."
"Did your appointment go alright?" Fletcher asked in earnest.
Rachel smiled affectionately with a nod. "Yes, the baby looks great, honey."
Fletcher released a shaky breath of relief. "I guess that's one good thing that's happened this week."
"Yes, it is."
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"It's all settled. We can leave tonight," Scott confirmed quietly to Frank in the downstairs hall.
Frank glanced up at the shuffling of flustered footsteps on the floor above as Fletcher helped Rachel pack her suitcases. "Who is it?"
"Buddy of mine used to work the CIA protection circle. Maybe you know him. Liam Fitzgerald."
Frank felt a surge of relief. "Fitzgerald? Yeah, I know him."
"Well, he's been in the private sector for a few years now, himself. He's guarding a retired actress, Julie Pentecost, and her daughter Laura at their manor in Thousand Oaks."
Frank winced.
"I know it's not as far out as you'd hoped, but this keeps us in close proximity to L.A. while your whereabouts remain secret."
"Did you background check these women?"
"Yeah. Clean."
Frank clutched his jaw and turned to stare out the window at the twilit sky.
"It's the best we've got right now, Frank," Scott reminded him.
Frank nodded once, his eyes endlessly scanning the horizon.
They waited until the dead of night to make their escape. Not only would it be less conspicuous, but it would also minimize their risk of losing each other as they would be taking three separate vehicles.
Frank could not help but notice the way Rachel kept looking behind the truck to ensure that Fletcher was following closely. Under any other circumstances, he knew she would be fast asleep during a long car ride. Tonight was different, however, and she appeared to be on just as high alert as he was. Frank kept a steady six car distance behind Pettigrew's Explorer as they sped along the highway into the night.
"You're upset," Rachel stated in a tired voice. After driving in relative silence for the past thirty minutes, Frank was surprised by her quiet yet obvious observation.
"Yeah." His voice was gruff.
"With me?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically timid.
He glanced at her, catching the twinkle of her lovely eyes in the darkness. "No." He allowed her to sigh in relief before his gaze wandered back to the road. "With the situation," he clarified.
He could hear her swallow hard because of how quiet it was in the car. Her voice was pensive when she next spoke. "You know, Frank, I've been thinking a lot about this. I'm wondering if we should call in reinforcements."
His eyes twitched in her direction for a brief instant, entreating her to continue.
"Maybe we should bring Tony back to help Scott," she said.
Frank hadn't thought of it before, but in the bleak dead of night, her proposition sounded extremely appealing.
"Both you and I need protection now, Frank," she added gently. "Not to mention Fletcher."
Frank retreated into himself, as he was wont to do in moments like this. He was not keen on the idea that he needed protection, particularly that he needed it perhaps more than she did right now. It ate away at him to know that just his presence alone was no longer enough to sustain Rachel Marron in public now. He felt like a failure, and it was already keeping him awake at night.
Exhausted and out of excuses, Frank relented.
"Maybe I'll give him a call."