Chapter Five
Aubrey
The alarm clock cut through the silence of the morning, and Bree groaned, hitting the snooze button and tossing a pillow over her head to block out the sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains on the window. Alarm clocks should come from the factory sturdy enough to be thrown across the room. Or at least come equipped with a less annoying sound option. Forget being a morning person; that’s what blackout curtains were invented for.
Reading until after three a.m. was definitely not her best idea. At least not until looking like a zombie became trendy. The video from last night played repeatedly in her head and the only way she had been able to get any sleep was by reading until she literally couldn’t keep her eyes open. She needed to get up, though. Zombie or not. The local hotel had hired her to paint a seascape for the lobby, and she needed to get into her studio to work on it.
Bree stayed still for a few more minutes before dragging herself out of bed. She threw on a comfy pair of jeans and a t-shirt before pulling her hair back in a ponytail and slipping on a baseball cap. She unlocked her bedroom door and opened it slowly, listening for any noises in the house that didn’t belong. Bree shook her head. She was being ridiculous.
She walked into her kitchen and turned on her coffee pot so it could percolate while she ran out to grab her mail from the day before. She gathered the mail and the newspaper lying on her driveway, waving to Mr. Robinson before hustling back into her house and locking the door securely behind her.
Bree sat on her favorite spot on the couch and sipped her coffee leisurely while she read through the newspaper. Her dad read the paper every day when she was growing up and stressed the importance of being well-informed about what was going on in the world. He seemed to like seeing her read the paper so she had read it every day since she was eight years old.
She turned to the social pages and immediately choked on her coffee, spluttering it all over the crisp pages. Crap. Bree hastily wiped the page with her sleeve, sure her eyes were playing tricks on her. She looked closely at the newspaper and groaned, throwing it aggressively onto the coffee table, and glared at it for a moment before picking it back up.
There was a large picture of Bree at the art museum, a smile etched on her face as she greeted the Millers on the front page of the social pages. The article title “Superstar Aubrey Gray Slated to Speak at Annual Fundraising Gala for Families Affected by Drug Addiction” was in large letters across the front.
The blood drained from Bree’s face as she began reading:
Former superstar and social media sweetheart Aubrey Gray has found a meaningful life post-stage in the quiet town of Rhodes, Tennessee. Not one to stay out of the spotlight when it comes to good causes, Gray has already hosted a small benefit to help raise money for families of individuals who struggle with addiction. Jim and Caroline Miller, of the Clarksville Millers, are two of many donors who hold this cause close to their hearts. The Millers both sit on the board of Families Affected by Addiction, which throws the Annual Thanksgiving Gala to raise money to help families whose loved ones need rehab or other financial assistance after facing addiction. It is rumored that this year’s gala will be held at The Trenton Center for the Arts in Trenton, Tennessee, at the recommendation of Aubrey Gray and pending the approval of the board. An invitation to the event is highly coveted, and those who will be in attendance are looking forward to hearing Ms. Gray’s speech at the Gala.
Bree slammed the paper down on the table and focused on her breathing so she wouldn’t burst into tears. They had infiltrated one of the few spaces she felt safe and happy. She expected to run into the occasional fan at the museum but not the press. She read the article again, her heart stuttering in her chest as she took in the first line. Rhodes. No. No. No.
Bree struggled to hold back the tears threatening to fall. The sheer weight of the violation was enough to take her breath away. How could they post what town she lived in? How did they even know? What if the person who had threatened her on social media realized where she was from this article? What if the man who ripped the head off her bear found her? What would he do to her? Bree held in a whimper. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She had been super intentional about staying out of the news.
Bree grabbed her phone from her pocket as it rang, expecting a call from Rae or Steph, surprised when it was from an unknown number instead. She pressed the side of her phone to silence the call and dutifully ignored it. If it was important, they’d leave a message. The phone rang a second time from the same number. Maybe it was the library checking on the painting she was supposed to get to them later this week. She should get a business line. It also could be the hospital. On the third ring she begrudgingly answered it, not wanting to leave a bad impression on a prospective client or miss a call from the doctor.
“Hello?” Bree said, waiting for the person to speak. Quiet breathing was all that was on the other end of the line and her stomach did a small, anxious leap. “Hello?” She tried again. The line went dead, and she frowned at the phone in confusion, followed swiftly by annoyance. Freaking Paparazzi.
Bree tossed the paper back onto the coffee table and grabbed her coffee. She went out the back door and sat down, swinging slowly on the porch swing while she stared at the lone oak tree in her backyard. She could admit that the buzz around the gala was a good thing, and she was happy to have the opportunity to use her status as a famous musician to bring attention to a cause that oftentimes was swept under the rug because it wasn’t something the general public really liked to talk about—or think about.
Her social media accounts had been popping off since the fundraiser and Bree was sure there would be more attention now that the article was released. There was already a flurry of excitement around Bree being in the public eye mixed with some judgement from people who didn’t agree with the cause. Which was fine—everyone was entitled to their own beliefs and opinions, and no one was forcing them to donate. Why couldn’t they all just agree to disagree? They didn’t have to have the same interests, beliefs, or priorities. Bree sighed as her phone vibrated with another notification.
She swiped open the app and frowned when it took her back to the comment threatening her life. The original poster replied to their original comment with a picture of the article from this morning, Rhodes, Tennessee, circled several times. Bree felt the hair on the back of her neck raise.
“Got you.” The comment said.
Her pulse quickened and she took a screenshot of the chat to send to Rae for her file and for her own records as well. She reported any threats to law enforcement, the vast majority of them filed away as likely nothing more than the vileness that gets spread on the internet. Filing them at least made her feel like she was doing something. Like if this random anonymous user did decide to come after her she’d at least have some sort of digital trail to prove that it was not a one-time occurrence, but a pattern. Not a crime of passion, but intentional. Methodical. Premeditated.
She shivered. She was watching too much crime TV. Bree flagged the comment in the app and sent it off to Rae before emailing her contact at the local police station. She’d met Detective Ramirez when she first moved into Rhodes and gave him the rundown of her desire to stay out of the spotlight. She also mentioned the threatening notes left in her dressing room and the hateful threats she received on social media. Detective Ramirez told her to go ahead and send any screenshots, and he’d file them away for her so there was always a record. Better to be safe than sorry.
Her phone began vibrating as concerned messages flooded in from Steph and Rae. Bree replied, reassuring them she was okay, and then hesitated, her finger hovering over the share button as she considered sending Noah the video of the bear and the comment from her socials. She quickly dismissed the idea. She already had the police involved—she didn’t need to bother Noah, too.
***
Three days later, Bree pulled into her garage after grabbing a latte. She was ready to put the final touches on the painting for the library. She hoped they loved it as much as she did. They asked for the Cliffs of Moher on a foggy day, and playing with the shades of blues, grays, greens, and browns had been a lot of fun. Not only was it fun, but it was shaping up to be exactly what Bree had envisioned.
Bree grabbed the mail and packages she’d tossed on the passenger seat earlier in the week and walked into the house, the blast of AC sending a chill down her spine. Summer was swiftly setting in and it wouldn’t be long before the sun would become sweltering. She set down her latte on the kitchen table and quickly sorted through the remaining mail.
Letters were set aside to be answered later, but the packages called to her. While she didn’t expect any gifts, she always loved getting them. She didn’t get very many presents growing up, so any time a fan took the time to send one she felt the same joy she had when she was eight and Nonna had given her the stuffed bear…memories of the headless bear surfaced and Bree immediately shoved them back down. She didn’t have time to break down today.
There were three boxes from her fan mailbox, and Bree took a sip of her latte before opening the first one. She opened the box, a large amount of intentionally layered tissue paper covered the contents. Bree carefully peeled each layer back, suddenly nervous about what she would find. Memories of her poor bear and the threats on her socials were at the front of her mind. She slowly opened the gift layer after layer, her pulse increasing as she peeled back each thin piece of tissue. A pair of gray eyes looked up at her from the bottom of the box, and Bree jumped back, her heart thundering in her chest.
She reached into the box gingerly and pulled out the mirror, scoffing at herself internally. She was going to give herself a heart attack. The mirror was gorgeous. It had a black frame around it that really helped the etching on the mirror pop. There were several staffs and the notes to one of her most popular songs, Narcissistic Love. The notes and lyrics flowed beautifully, and the entire chorus was etched into the mirror. She reached inside and pulled out a small envelope holding the card that went with the gift.
Aubrey,
Congratulations on your retirement! I”m so stoked for you. I was in a really bad relationship, and your music helped me through it and gave me the strength to leave my narcissistic boyfriend. Sending you all the good vibes for whatever you do next!
With love,
Chelsea
Bree wiped the stray tear from her cheek and tucked the note carefully back into the envelope. She would add it to her rainy day box, where she kept all the kind letters and messages she’d gotten over the years from her fans and friends. Whenever she had a really bad day—especially while she was in the thick of performing still—she would take out the rainy day box and remember that she was making a positive difference. And not just for Jess.
She carefully set the mirror aside and turned her attention to the next box. This one was smaller than the first and more square than flat. She opened it up and found a beautiful glass iced coffee cup with her name on it and a wooden lid that made it super cute. Another kind note accompanied the package, and Bree smiled, setting it aside near the mirror.
Her earlier nerves were gone as she eagerly opened the third box. It was brown and tied with a string that gave it an old-world charm and reminded Bree of her days watching The Sound of Music. Packages were definitely one of her favorite things. Bree eagerly untied the string, anticipation growing as she worked the knot. The best thing about fan packages is you never knew what cool thing would be in it. Coffee mugs, homemade bracelets, music samples, and more. Homemade gifts were her favorite. Bree finally got the knot untied and slipped the string off the package. She slipped her finger along the seam of the paper, gently opening the package and savoring the moment. She loved gifts.
Bree finished removing the paper and opened the box, reaching excitedly through the tissue paper. Her hand closed over something soft and fluffy. She gently pulled the item out of the box and screeched, immediately dropping it as though she’d been burned.
Sitting innocently on her kitchen table was the bear Nonna had given her…minus its head. Bree sobbed and wrapped her arms around herself tightly, the high level of excitement from receiving a gift crashing and burning as horror overtook her. The bear had a note pinned to it and Bree gingerly reached out to grab it. She unlatched the pin and carefully pulled the plain white square of paper off the pin.
Don’t worry. We came back to you.
Bree gasped for air, her breaths coming out quickly as sobs wracked her body, terror flooding her veins. She stood quickly from her chair, jumping and crying harder as it fell behind her and clattered to the floor. She paced around the room, trying to get her breathing under control. She was okay. She wasn’t physically harmed. The box didn’t come to her home address. She was fine. After a few moments, she had her breathing back under control, and the tears flowed quietly down her cheeks rather than the gut-wrenching ugly sobs from minutes before.
This could not be her life. When did her life turn into a real-life episode of Criminal Minds—minus the whole multiple deaths thing? The unfairness of it all crashed into her, sorrow coming in waves. She was supposed to be enjoying a peaceful retirement. Nausea ebbed and flowed with the sorrow. The straight audacity of some people. She couldn’t imagine what was going through their mind. In what universe would tormenting someone like this be okay? Bree’s brain felt as though she were trying to move forward through sludge while the world continued on at a normal pace. She needed to do something. Call someone.
She snapped pictures of the bear and note and emailed them to Detective Ramirez before going into the living room to think. She stared at the table, the horrifying bear sitting forebodingly in the middle of it. This wasn’t a harmless message from some nameless account on social media. The pictures that had been taken in her old house. The bear from Nonna. These things were personal.
Bree turned her thoughts to the messages and the gifts and felt a heaviness settle over her. Retirement was supposed to be time to focus on herself. She wanted to be left alone. What would she do if someone broke into her home? Attacked her on the street? What if the person who threatened her online really did come to Rhodes to put an end to her ‘self-indulgent’ existence? What if the person who beheaded her bear really was in town already? What if they were the same person?
She sighed deeply. Maybe it was time to ask for help. She stared at the bear and felt resolve flow through her. She wouldn’t cower, but she also wouldn’t be too stupid to live. She grabbed her phone and scrolled through the list of contacts, stopping when she came to Noah’s name. She could ask for help. Even from someone like Noah Hawthorne. Hopefully, he was in a congenial mood today. She didn’t have the mental energy to deal with an overbearing man right now, but she also didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with whoever was harassing her and trying to steal her peace.
Decision made, Bree clicked on Noah’s name and waited for the call to connect. The phone rang a few times before a deep voice on the other end of the line answered, and she felt the tension melt from her shoulders for the first time since seeing the article.
“Noah Hawthorne.”