Chapter 5
Chapter five
A Crazed Fan
The pendant is ice cold against my palm as I cling onto it in the empty parking lot. I’m fixated on the scent of mouthwatering garlic and tomato sauce wafting from the restaurant I just walked out of.
Knowing my luck, my twenty-two dollars’ worth of pasta has just arrived at the table.
As I try to get my bearings, a sudden, blinding glare casts onto me. My feet pivot to the source, casting from the stainless-steel dumpster.
A shadow in the shape of a young woman is reflected back at me in the warped metal. Wearing pink trousers and a white crop top with a tight top bun, she stands there, amused.
Her eyes watch my every move like a creepy painting. Wherever I go, her eyes follow.
“Nice to finally meet you, Charlotte.”
A wide grin displays on her face that leaves me feeling unsettled, causing my heart to slow down. My imagination goes wild.
This could be an axe murderer, a crazed fan, or perhaps another lackey Chris sent to find Holden because trust has never been his thing.
I slowly turn to look behind me, letting out shallow breaths.
From behind, I catch only a seagull on the sidewalk eating scraps of pasta that had just been thrown out.
“I am a completely sane person,” I say out loud, as the only activity in the parking lot of the restaurant is a plastic grocery bag rolling in the wind like a tumble weed.
“I am not sure normal people say that.”
The low timbre in his voice makes me jump, landing me straight on my ass, which is now bruised and forever embarrassed someone had to witness that.
“Let me help you,” the man’s voice says. I catch a glimpse of his hand extending out to me. When I blink, the details of his face are clearer.
“You’re here,” I say, way too eager.
“Yes, I am still here. Miss me already?”
Holden Strauss, the man I’ve been trying to find, is towering over me as I lie helplessly on the ground.
I shield my eyes from sunlight as I finally push off the cement, avoiding his hand. Only to notice black residue lingering on my new beige linen pants.
Great.
His eyes are watching me. I desperately want to tell him to just look away.
“Just checking in on our favorite client.” I nervously laugh while springing to my feet. The pendant is glowing intensely again as the temperature drops. A cold gust of wind hits us both, leaving us shivering in ninety-five-degree weather.
All I want to do is look at the dumpster behind me as her voice appears again. “Of course you were. I mean, look at him—they don’t just label it ‘movie star good looks’ for nothing.”
Gnawing on the inside of my mouth, I pull my black aviator sunglasses from the top of my head, trying desperately to slow the thumping in my chest.
“Ahh, so you want to ask invasive questions too?” Holden scoffs.
His question hangs, waiting for me to fill in the blanks, clearly enjoying how he is testing me, purposely not making this easy for anyone.
“No, I want to pitch a bad idea like everyone else in there.”
His smile drops. My lips tighten together, afraid to say anything else that might scare him away from where we are standing. After all, he’s good at walking away.
“Can’t be worse than a reality show.”
Holden rattles with his keys in one hand, unable to stop himself from throwing it in the air and catching it as it falls. He does this for a while as the silence builds. My hair catches in my mouth as the wind picks up.
“Show him the list on your phone,” the voice rasps in my ear, as I look down at my phone. Just like the coffee yesterday, it’s having a mind of its own as it flickers to my notes app, landing on my bullet-point list of research I did this morning.
This time, I force a blank stare, refusing to react.
“I was hoping to talk to you about a few ideas I had.”
Holden shrugs as he takes a few steps backward.
“So, tell me…” he says as he walks toward the middle of the parking lot. With each step, I can see the pendant glowing brighter than ever before. The echoes creep in louder: “A luz sabe.” The chant returns, followed by a teenage girl’s voice.
“Just follow him, Charlotte. He clearly wants to be mysterious…”
Bringing my fingernail to my mouth, I imagine what would happen if I did follow him, blindly listening to the voice in my head.
Dropping my head toward the ground, I stare at my feet, feeling the gravitational pull in his direction.
I turn off my location on my phone.
As I make my way over to him, he is standing by the passenger side door expectingly, catching my eyes and then looking me up and down. We both reach for the door at the same time.
The electric current passes quick and fast through us as our fingertips brush up against each other. One touch is enough to pick up my heart rate.
A slight, awkward grin pulls at my lips as I slide into the seat. Holden moves in a slow-paced jog to the driver’s side, immediately tinkering with the radio to find the perfect station before we can leave the lot.
Every salacious headline of his comes to mind. Every set, every drug, every girl that was just a stop for him on the way to something better…
His problems itch away at me as his chosen station, old-school ’90s rock, plays in the background. We leave the lot.
With everything I know about him now, it brings up the unavoidable question in the room.
Why now?
Nobody has asked since he walked into our offices. I find it hard to believe that someone who has had this branded on him for years thinks this is suddenly a problem.
But hey, that’s a question that is well above my pay grade to even ask, so I stay quiet. I hear Chris’s voice in my head as his familiar words tug at me: “It is important to put clients on the shiniest shelf, no matter how far their star has fallen.”
My job right now is only research.
All I can think of doing in this car ride is to go to WebMD to diagnose my symptoms. Mentally ill, or really bad food poisoning? An important question that only the internet can decipher on why I am seeing and hearing things that aren’t really there.
My first result pops up with “Signs you may need to seek professional help.” I read each item on the checklist: persistent sadness, overwhelming anxiety, changes in sleeping patterns.
If I wasn’t taking showers and my hair was a bit more disheveled, it would be obvious to everyone about my mental state.
“So, do you always get in strangers’ cars?”
His question feels pointed, as if he has infiltrated my thoughts for the last ten minutes. I find myself stuttering to get my words out. “Of… of course. A girl has to get a ride somehow.”
His eyes lazily shift between me and the road.
“Ah, so you’re a natural hitchhiker.”
“Yes, totally. My thumb was made for it. Plus, driving when I am not the one doing it sounds more appealing.”
“You don’t drive?”
“My philosophy on driving is: if you want to get somewhere safely, someone else should do it.”
“I guess today is your lucky day.” Holden presses quickly on the brakes, jolting me forward in my seat.
I narrow my eyes on him. “I spoke too soon… I should’ve caught a ride with Chris.”
Without skipping a beat, he retorts, “It was a little funny. Also, I am just teaching you a lesson not to get in cars with strangers. You never know if they could be insane.”
My eyes twitch when he lands on that word, “insane.” A word that cuts deep at this very moment.
“Besides, you’re not a stranger,” I bite back. “Everyone in America knows you.”
In my peripheral vision, I can see him run a hand through his hair. I see his chest rising and falling as he reaches for the radio dial to turn up the volume. My phone vibrates on my lap.
Five messages waiting for me.
Aidan: It’s just easier to sleep in my bed and we always meet up later…
Aidan: When this deal pans out, we should throw it back to our pub crawl days.
Aidan: Is Chris making you pull an all-nighter?
The most recent one:
Aidan: I wish you didn’t work so hard.
I type and type, but every message I write to him seems to fall flat. The only thing I can manage to send is: Yes, long day again. Sorry. I miss you.
Holden’s voice cuts through. “Are you okay?”
I drop my phone back on my lap, straightening my posture to look up and get a better look at him.
“I should be asking you that…”
“It’s impolite to answer a question with a question. However, since I am a gentleman, I will answer.”
He abruptly stops at a red light, turning his body to me when he makes a full stop.
“I’m fine, just a little hungry. Didn’t get to eat my food…”
A slow smile spreads across his face. All I want to do is understand what is going on in his head. I’m a walking archive for his past, but present Holden? I’m clueless.
In my head, I go over every detail.
His only major long-term relationship was Sloane Swanson. The career deep dive boiled down to one teen drama, two indie films, five guest spots and one terrible blockbuster that has a script just as horrific as the reviews.
After The Final Countdown: Ninjas vs. Aliens flopped spectacularly, he was never the same. It was only recently, during preproduction of his new film, that the videos leaked. The leaked videos that led him to our office.
Holden Strauss, the version of him I witnessed for the last forty-eight hours, seems stable. No telltale signs indicating he is an addict…
Just a guy that looked like he hadn’t slept for days and didn’t keep up with himself like he used to.
When the unrefined Holden announces, “We are here,” his car pulls up to a driveway that is in a whole other tax bracket.
“You live here?”
“I think so, or this will be an awkward conversation for the owner.”
“Oh, it’s not yours?”
“Relax, I bought it,” he quickly says before I can say anything else.
Even though I had become accustomed to being around wealth when I visited Aidan’s family, the environment never failed to make me antsy whenever I was around nice things.
I walk over to the door’s threshold to experience the warm colors everywhere in the entryway. From the artwork to the furniture. Even his random air hockey table in the middle of the living room confirms he’s just a twenty-six-year-old who was single and had the money to hire an interior decorator.
Gliding through the entryway, I started to realize how crazy this all is. How odd I must seem to him to walk outside of a restaurant to find him and follow him to his house.
“You know, I was just trying to make sure you were okay. I wasn’t stalking you or anything.”
“I know. If you were truly a stalker, I would never let you see where I lived.”
Rolling my eyes, I find myself wandering the thousands of square feet, stumbling across his old records, an assortment of science fiction books and a heavily dusted photo album just waiting to be opened.
“I am going to make some food. Help yourself to my place,” he shouts abruptly, walking away toward the kitchen.
“Sounds good to me!” I yell.
The lineup of movie posters is perfectly placed in frames along the left-hand wall of the living room.
An assortment of empty Coke bottles are scattered around, clearly indicating his dependence on caffeine.
In the corner of my eye, I catch a small hole that sits unpatched beside the TV, left completely exposed.
As I move closer, I catch the edge of a picture frame tucked behind the window curtains, hidden from view. Holden looks young, clearly a teenager. He is standing next to his mom. The same nose. The same eyes. She is smiling brightly, while his whole body looks stiff next to hers.
Running a finger across the edge of the frame, I cock my head to the side, seeing my first real glimpse of him.