Chapter Five
Ava Anderson
Wade casually stands at different parts of the house like some mobile palace sentry tasked with guarding every part of the house single-handedly.
It isn't the only thing he does, but when DJ got back from school once, he stood looking up at Wade with his mouth open and his eyes sparkling and wide with wonderment like the first time he'd seen a forty story-building.
Then he'd looked at me and pointed at Wade in a silent question. Do you see this man, mommy?
And I'd nodded with a quiet smile.
Yes. I see him. And, by God, I wish he'd leave.
It was like clockwork. The moment I thought that something switched on in my head, and I now heard a lispy inner voice telling me to become a devil and make him leave.
“What are you doing?” I’d asked him this morning and he replied in a monotone and with a face that tells me that he is still keeping an eye on me for whatever ideas may jump into my head.
“Searching for hidden doors,” he says.
“On the floor?”
He stops tapping the carpet with a heavy tool and says, “I’m searching for a trapdoor.”
“I think I would know if my house had a trapdoor.”
He ignores me.
Just yesterday, I'd seen my life flash in front of my eyes, and I'd come to understand that maybe, just maybe, when that assassin had gotten to the changing room and shot six bullets in Lynn's chest, he'd been expecting to see my face. And even when he'd seen Lynn's, maybe he hadn't instantly realized that she wasn't me. Just maybe.
But it still doesn't completely justify the fact that I don't want anyone in my home. Much less, this man whose history with me feels like one of those times when my decisions come back to bite me in the behind. Even though it's not as heavy handed as the cards some of my decisions have dealt me .
Still, 15 hours ago, all the worst-case scenarios had jumped into my head while Wade brought me back home and calmed me.
I shake the thought out of my head.
As lifesaving as it'd been, it's still embarrassing that I'd jumped into a car and nearly gotten myself killed.
Even though I'm beginning to believe that it isn't a coincidence, something at the back of my mind is still nagging at me, asking me one prominent question. What if it is?
Coincidence or not, I know I don't want him near me. It makes me too close and accessible. It brings back thoughts I don't want to remember and memories that consist of compounded emotions. Emotions that lead to me remembering how someone I loved ditched me and thought he loved me just as deeply in return.
“You’re in my way,” I say.
He's a few inches in front of the petit grand piano, positioning a wide-angle camera on the wall and checking the correspondence of its view on his phone.
He taps in a few commands on his phone and walks away.
I frown and sit in front of the piano, pushing a key that sends sound echoing around the room.
I push a couple more keys, playing a simple tune, but I’m not present.
I get up and go hunting for him .
He's near the front door fiddling with something on the wall and checking his phone at the same time. He triggers something because a loud alarm goes off. He stops it and nods with satisfaction.
“You do realize this is a residential area, right? Setting off needless alarms could give someone a heart attack or send someone running straight into the street and getting hit by a car.”
He says nothing but moves on to a different spot.
“Did you hear me?”
He says nothing.
In mock anger, “I’m calling your superiors and requesting for someone who has ears that actually work.”
My anger melts into disappointment when he doesn't react.
I walk up to him and push against the device he's studying, standing in front of him.
“You’re littering my home and defacing my walls with this junk,” I say. “I’ll rip them down at night.”
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
That little reaction sends a happy jig to my brain. He's not so immune, after all.
“You can't get rid of me,” he says, looking up at me, eyes unreadable .
Pfft.
“I can.”
“You can't.”
He brushes past me and I turn to watch him walking away.
“It’s not as simple as a phone call. You'd keep getting ignored. And if it becomes too much and unnecessary, your calls will begin to be ignored. Your cries for help would have to be double checked before any help is sent. Basically, you'd be setting yourself up to be in more danger and not getting immediate help when you need it.”
“Surely, you could just decide to quit this and go about chasing some bad guys. I mean, nothing ever happens here.”
“Trust me, I'd rather be chasing bad guys than being kept here…” He looks like he'd rather not say what's on his mind. “But even if I want to leave and go about chasing bad guys,” he scoffs and looks at me with that unreadable expression on his face, “I can't.”
“Why not?”
“I can't tell you why. But what you need to know is that I don't have the ability to pull myself out of your home and leave you alone. So you might as well get used to having me as your bodyguard.”
I stand there, watching him walk away from me.
I know he isn't bluffing .
Wade Cooper doesn't come across as the kind of man that would bluff to ensure my silence.
Looks like I'm stuck.
I sink into a sofa with a sigh. I hate this feeling of… helplessness.
Over the next few days, neither of us uttered a word to each other.
Not even pleases or thank yous .
If he's in the kitchen and I want to get something from the fridge, I wait until he's away from the fridge before I step in.
This consistent tiptoeing includes standing around and counting seconds before doing something. Anything. When he is close by.
He stays out of my way most times, but when he's around, it's as though there's so much hanging between us. At the same time, everything I can think of saying is completely unnecessary, and I won't start dumb conversations because I can't stand the silence and the tension which is as palpable as every atom of oxygen in the air around us.
“I’ll be attending Lynn's funeral tomorrow,” I say one day after counting one to ten and hovering around the back door.
From the tiny porch outside the back door, Wade sighs with resignation. “That’s a bad idea.”
It hits me like a slap .
“A bad idea to pay my respects to her and to her family? I owe them that much!”
“It’s a bad idea because it's predictable. Whoever painted a target on your back will be somewhere close by. And since it's not your home, it'll be hard to properly defend you. Anything can happen on the way there or even right on the premises.”
“I don't think anyone would try to kill me at a funeral.”
“People have varying morals, Miss Anderson. And these people don't seem like they have any respect for the dead.”
“I don't see why I should care,” I say.
“About your life?” His tone elevates. His nerves have been scathed.
“It’s your job to care about my life, isn't it? And it's your job to protect me. I'll attend Lynn's funeral. You do your job.”
He exhales with closed eyes—fighting a reaction, I can tell.
I turn away, pleased that I've caused him some level of discomfort.
One point for me. Take that, party pooper Cooper!
* * * *
The applause from the crowd ends and deathly silence sweeps through them as I ascend the stage where several people have spoken before me, each one giving a tribute to Lynn. In some cases, during the tributes of the others, people laughed softly at the light-hearted jokes while others presented with somber seriousness, wiping their noses and eyes every now and then.
The people here have their personal diversities, their individual beliefs, their own sense of fashion and so many other things that it seems as though no two people are alike. Still, the most apparent thing among the different people in the room—this diversity points to Lynn's loving and accepting nature of every single person—is love.
The people in the crowd, the people who came up on stage. Everyone loved Lynn. Even people she didn't talk to are in attendance. To show that her accepting nature transcended conversation and even shot right down to body language and her friendly smiles.
Everyone loved Lynn Watt. There's no two ways about it.
“Lynn Watt was not only a cheerful and generous soul,” I begin, “she also has the biggest heart…”
The crowd listens with rapt attention as I speak about her, trying my best not to stray off point and talk about all the times Lynn had come to my aid when it felt as though the world was crumbling. I spoke about her beautiful voice. Her intelligence. How willing she was to learn and evolve and how big on kindness and support she was .
“...and I hope that she's resting now and touching lives over there as she had over here. Lynn Watt will forever remain in our hearts as her impacts continue to remain useful here, too.”
I fight back tears that spring to my eyes, knowing that if I permitted one to drop, the dam would break.
The crowd applauds softly, and I descend the stage, going to stand beside Wade who is dressed in a clean and slick black suit. If I didn’t already know that he works with the police, I would have come to believe that he belongs to a secret agency of national spies. There's a mild expression on his face and I can tell that apart from being a bit sour that we are here, he would really rather not be tasked with watching out for danger in a place that's full of this many people.
But that's what makes it fun for me. The fact that I know that being here isn't what he wants.
Today, I'd seen Lynn's coffin lying pristine at the front of the somber event hall and my eyes had grown heavy with unshed tears. Soon, we’ll have to move outside to see her coffin lowered into the ground, but I don't know if I'm ready to say my final goodbyes to my former co-star who's going six feet under.
I dab at my eyes with a handkerchief as stray tears begin to fall down my cheeks.
As people speak in soft voices all around the hall, the one thing I can focus on is Lynn's lonely coffin and my heart squeezes. I don't think I'm ready to say my final goodbyes yet .
But a man comes on stage and announces in a soft voice into the microphone.
“It’s time.”
* * * *
Having returned from the funeral ceremony, glasses clink as people stand around the hall with small plates of refreshment.
As most people are subtly reminded at every funeral, life has to go on somehow. Even with grief in our hearts. Because one day, we'll be where they are, several feet underneath the dirt, and we’ll also be celebrated while needing people to remember that their lives needn't pause or end because of it.
I'm standing at a table overflowing with hors d'oeuvres and I pick up a small plate of mini sandwiches, aware of Wade standing behind me, his eyes fixed on the table.
“You could get something to eat outside or eat when you're back home?”
Anger spikes through me. Like everything with this man, my reaction is instant.
“Hmm. Let's see. Insult the hosts by calling their food unworthy. Tell them you'd prefer the sandwich on the streets to the one they've already provided. Such a great way to end a meeting with people who've only been courteous and kind since we arrived. ”
“Then, don't eat,” he gently plucks the plate from my hand and replaces it on the table. “It could be poisoned. You have to consider the small things.”
I know he's right, but I wish he wouldn't tell me. My phone buzzes and I lift it out of my purse. There's a new message. I click on it and a chat from a private number appears. The words send me reeling and for a second, I think the whole world is spinning. I forget to breathe as I read the words.
“Next time, Love. Enjoy the funeral,” it says.
I can't call the number because it's hidden, and even if I could, why would I? I begin pacing, looking all around me to see if there's anyone with a weapon close to me or anyone leaving the party. I don't know why this is the first thing I think to do, but surely if whoever sent this is on the premises, then surely they won't give me any clue that they're behind it.
“Are you okay?”
“Do I look okay to you, Mr. Cooper?”
I take a huge gulp of air. I suck in air again and again.
Then I raised the phone to show him the bold text on it.
Without wasting a second, Wade guides me to the exit, and we are out of the building, heading straight to his car.
As soon as we're inside, he speeds off and a few minutes later, we're parked in front of my house .
Wade leads me to the front door. When we get inside, he tells me to stay by the door, then he goes through the whole house, checking for signs of any intruders before he returns to the front door and bolts it closed with the fancy new lock he'd installed.
I brought out my phone and looked at the text again.
Next time, Love.
Next time.
It sounds like a promise.
Like I am free for now, but not for long.
Like because of Lynn's funeral, they'd let me go after having me in their sights. But it doesn't mean they've put down their guns.
“Let me see that,” he says and I place my phone in his hand. His brows scrunch as he studies the text.
“I need to find a way to trace this back to who sent it,” he mutters audibly to himself and makes a phone call while I sit there, helpless.
He’s making calls and working on his laptop, no doubt trying to trace the sender of the message. After several minutes, he sighs and hands me back my phone.
“It’s heavily encrypted,” he says. “Whoever sent it knew what they were doing before they did. On two counts, they've proved themselves to be untraceable. They'll slip up sooner or later. ”
I look at the text glowing on my screen… Next time…
Knowing that someone is after my life… knowing that anything can happen at any day, at any time… knowing that the only place I can breathe easy is my home… All this makes me feel like a fugitive in a world I didn't create for myself. I'm trapped in a reality different from the one I worked hard for.
Enjoy the funeral…
I break down in uncontrollable tears…