4-23-10 Chapter 4

Dave leaned away from the screen, confused with himself. He had basically admitted, to himself and to a total stranger, that he believed a stalker when they said, "You are writing about me and my friends. Drop everything and run, or be killed."

But I don't! he cried softly to himself. I don't, I don't, I can't!

Then why are you arguing? a voice whispered.

He saw all the papers in front of him, lying slightly crumpled on his bed spread, but they were slighty blurry with the tears that tried to pool in his eyes. To think, just a few moments ago, he was worried about appointments with publishing companies. Now he had a stalker, and he was ready to break down. A few tears slid down his face. What was he crying for? "Too much stress," he whispered to himself. "You've been high-strung for weeks, you fool. Now stop."

Make the appointments. Offer to squeeze them in between two of them, or meet them for lunch or something.

"Why should I?" he pouted quietly. Fantastic. Now he was talking to himselfl.

Because people will expect you at a certain time, the voice hissed. They'll know to call you to see where you're at, then call the school, and then home and friends. If they can't find you, they'll send a search party. NOW DO IT!

The scream startled him; he jumped a foot off his bed. And he still wanted to know why he should meet with this person (or people, if Cougar23 and Dr.Snow were coming). The voice hadn't told him why, only offered a compromise to a problem that shouldn't exist.

But maybe that's it, he thought suddenly. This guy started harassing me a month ago, but he stopped, and I didn't say anything to anyone. Now that he's back again, and I don't have the courage to tell him to leave again or call the police. So my subconscious mind offers this weird, improbable, no, impossible solution that will never happen in a million years!

At that point, he stopped thinking about it; it was driving him insane.

He thumped down stairs, not giving a rat's ass that his mother was asleep. Let her wake up, let her scream, let her shout; he didn't care. Humming pleasantly, he dialed the number for Pheonix Express.

"Hello, Pheonix Express Publishing, how may I help you?" a woman answered politely.

"Hello," Dave answered cheerfully. "I need to make an appointment with Miss Natalie Flite."

"Okay," the secretary replied equally cheerfully. "Name?"

"Ash."

"Oh, yes, Miss Flite was expecting your call. She wants you to come in as soon as possible, maybe even today; she said the letter should be there by now."

"Yes, it did." He tried to smother his laughter; Natalie was forever predicting--correctly--when her offers would arrive to her writers, so they could discuss contracts as soon as was humanely possible. She had done that in Wyoming, too; she had the offer sent and followed it up the day it arrived. She had talked to him personally, chuckling at his shock. It had been the start of a great friendship.

"How's four 'o clock sound?"

"Great. I'll be there."

"Miss Flite requested that I remind you not to be late this time." The secretary must be new; her tone suggested a question.

"I won't be," Dave promised. He had been late for their first appointment. How like her to remember. He said a quick goodbye, and hung up.

The first time, his father had driven him down to northern California on a sunny saturday morning like this one. Noon had been the expected time then. Typical; now that he was closer to the office, Natalie gave him more time than was needed.

He looked at the clock; it read eleven forty-five. He should get going; the buses took forever.





After a few hours running around, trying to deal with California's crazy bus schedule, he stepped off his last bus with an hour and a half left to kill.

He was a few blocks away from the publishing company. The street he was on was full of fast-food restaurants and coffee shops. A Starbucks sat in front of him, with a McDonald's at his back. Next to the Mickey D's was a coffee house called Java Juice; they offered free WiFi and two free refills for a purchase over ten bucks. He raised an eyebrow at it, but walked inside. The signs practically shouted,"We're desperate for business!" But it still looked well-off and clean, so he stepped inside. Free WiFi; maybe he could chat with K for a while...

He bought a mocha shake and sat down at a table next to a large, floor-to-ceiling window. He was facing a clock, so he wouldn't lose track of time. He signed on and typed up a greeting.



[Ashes&Embers has logged in]

Ashes&Embers: K r u there?

[_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_ has logged in]

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: hi Davey!



Dave stared for a moment before typing back. "Hi Davey" was a sort of unofficial code for "Something's fucked up beyond all recognition, desperately wrong, so HELP ME!"



Ashes&Embers: hey K what's up?

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: nothing much. some1s looking for u tho

Ashes&Embers: crazy fans. who is it?

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: dont know wouldnt give me his name but said u

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: knew him.

Ashes&Embers: whats he look like?

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: he was on our chat.

Ashes&Embers: what was his username then?

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: SnakeBite98



He paused. It was a shock to him, this username; he had been expecting Cougar23 or Dr.Snow to finally go after Kelly. A friend of their's, or another derranged fan? A coincidence, or not? It was hard to tell. He glanced up, sipping his shake. A man across the room stared broodily back. He was handsome, with dark hair and startling yellow, deepset eyes, lightly suntanned skin and high cheekbones. He was thin and muscular, too. He looked like a stereotypical southern California native, very beautiful, but with an exotic hint about him. Exotic or unnatural; Dave was having a hard time deciding which. He smiled tentatively at the mysterious stranger, glanced at the clock (it had only been eight minutes--big shocker), and turned his attention back to his conversation with K.



_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: hello? u there Davey?

Ashes&Embers: yeah im still here.

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: whats wrong?

Ashes&Embers: some weird guy staring at me in the coffee shop.

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: is he hot?

Ashes&Embers: is that all u think about? its really creepy.

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: so leave. dont u have an appointment anyway?

Ashes&Embers: yeah but its not 4 another hour & 15 minutes.

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: would they kill u if u got there early?

Ashes&Embers: no but wouldnt it b weird 2 get there this

Ashes&Embers: early?

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: mayb but just tell them a creep was following u.

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: theyd probably just call security incase he shows up.



He looked up again, an uncomfortable, crawly feeling on his skin, like he was being watched. The man was still watching him, and someone else had joined him. A girl, attempting to flirt, but he wasn't interested. She finally glanced up, following his line of sight, catching Dave's eye. She backed off, sulking slightly.

Dave broke out into a cold sweat. Time to leave.



_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: Daaavey?

Ashes&Embers: im here. i think i should go tho.

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: creepy still there?

Ashes&Embers: yeah. think ill take ur advice and get there early.

_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_: ok tell me what happens later bye

Ashes&Embers: bye

[Ashes&Embers has logged off]

[_Love_ur_Vitamin_K_ has logged off]



Dave snapped his laptop shut, put it in his bag and zipped his it shut, sipping quickly from his shake. He didn't want to give anything away, didn't want the stranger to know he made him nervous, but it didn't seem to matter; the man stood, walking in his direction.

Dave's heart rate spead up suddenly, sweat pouring down his back, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The man smiled pleasantly at him, but veered toward the cash register at the last minute.

Dave took his chance, standing and pushing the door open. He walked quickly out into the street, hoping it would be crowded. He was disappointed; the street was crowded, but not enough to throw someone off if he needed to.

He continued walking fast, but not fast enough that someone would be suspicious; what if the guy had friends? What a freak, stalking a sixteen-year-old boy! It pissed him off as much as it scared him.

He neared the end of the street, shouldering his bag. He didn't want to glance back, but he had to know if he was still being followed, so he did--

--and there was no one there.

He breathed a sigh of relief, almost laughing out loud. No one there! The man probably hadn't even been stalking him. Sure, he'd been staring, but no one else in the shop was under nineteen; he'd probably just been curious.

This entire time, he'd been walking almost backwards, not paying attention to where he was going. He didn't see the man from the coffee shop was right in front of him until he'd plowed almost through him.

Dave yelped, stumbling back, tripping, and falling. "I'm so sor--" he started, looking up.

He paused on seeing who he was apologizing to.

The coffee shop man smiled his pleasant smile, and said in a voice just as sweet, "No problem."

The man offered Dave his hand, helping him up. He grabbed the boy by the wrist, scratching him, tearing through the cotton of his long sleeved shirt. Dave gasped at the sharp, sudden pain, his eyes watering. The man pulled him a little closer, much too close for comfort. Dave was ready to scream, but all the man did was say, "Just pay attention next time."

Dave was uncomfortably aware of the stares they were attracting. His eyes shifted around, watching people's uneasy faces, some of them going for cell phones. The man gave his affable smile, let him go, and shoved passed him. The onlookers drifted away, some glancing at the odd man, some at Dave's alarmed face.

A moment later, when he realized the psycho wasn't coming back, he started walking again. He glanced at his cell phone, discovering with a jolt that it was now three forty. Had he been standing there that long?

He shook himself and rounded the corner, starting off at a jog. He still had time to get there, but he'd be cutting it really close.

Who was that guy? He glanced at his cut wrist, shocked to see how deep it was; deeper than a simple scratch or scrape, but just shallow enough to avoid needing stitches. Blood had welled up, sliding down his wrist and soaking his sleeve. Maybe he should cancel and get to a walk-in clinic or something; maybe it was deep enough for stitches; it didn't quite look it, but he was no doctor; who was he to judge?

But even so, there was no clinic nearby. Maybe he should just go to his appointment anyway? But that was stupid; the cut bled openly now. He paused on the sidewalk, dropping his bag and opening it. He had a swiss army knife in here somewhere, he could cut his sleeves off and use that as a bandage for now.

Huh, he thought dazedly, boy scouts was useful. Dad would be so proud.

He found his blade, made his bandage, and moved on, still moving at a jog. Doubts still plagued his mind about his decision. He rounded one last corner and stopped in front of the Pheonix Express office building, deciding to go to a doctor if Natalie recomended it or the cut started getting infected. He cut his other sleeve, evening his shirt out, and stepped inside, wondering what his publisher would say about it.

The clock on the lobby wall said three fifty-eight. A few minutes to go, then; he was cutting it close. He walked up to the front desk, trying to ignore the secratary's open-mouthed stare. He injected false cheeryness into his voice when he spoke, like this was an everyday occurence.

"I'm here for my appointment with Miss Flite," he said politely.

"Name?" the woman asked faintly.

"Ash," he answered, his smile an almost exact copy of the coffee shop stranger's.

The poor girl notified her boss and sent him back, glancing nervously back at him. I'd bet my new computer, he thought idly, that a security gaurd will be posted in the lobby when I get back. He entered the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor.



A few minutes later, he stepped off, heading to Natalie's office, glad to be free of the employees' stares. On almost every floor, employees got on and off, but never leaving without gawking at him first. He knew it was a natural reaction, but did they have to be so open about it? He'd stare too, but he liked to think that he'd at least have the courtesy to--

"Excuse me!"

He glanced around, saw a security officer heading his way, and stopped, allowing him to catch up.

"Promblem?" he asked, once the gaurd reached his side.

"I'm gonna have to ask you to leave," he said firmly.

Dave was a little shocked at first; there was no reason to go; he was here at Natalie's invitation, and told this man as much.

One look told him he hadn't been believed. The officer grabbed him by the upper arm, attempting to lead him back to the elevator.

He yanked away impatiently. If there was going to be a problem, then so be it; maybe Natalie herself would come out here, give him a hand.

"Don't be foolish," the gaurd warned.

"Is it a sport to you?" he asked, stalling for time, inspiration striking him suddenly. Maybe, with a little time, he could find a way to convince this guy to ask Natalie directly.

"Is what a sport?" he asked back, annoyed but sufficiently delayed.

"Keeping people from their appointments," he snapped, injecting anger into every word. "If you don't believe me, ask your boss."

He quickly realized his mistake; this man was not about to bother his boss over a difficulty so small. That a kid had suggested he do so must be somehow insulting. The man grabbed him again, squeezing his arm with unnecessary force, dragging him back the way he came.

"If you're gonna make this difficult, fine." the gaurd pulled him into the elevator and hit a button labeled B2.

Dave's stomach jolted uncomfortably. Why was he going to the basement? This guy wasn't detaining him, was he? Why? All he had to do was confirm his appointment. Ask the secretary, she'd let him in!

Then it struck him; the secretary had probably called security in the first place. What had she said to get him detained? "Some kid's heading up to the top floor. He's all cut up. He'll probably be starting trouble"? That pissed him off. Why even let him in, then?

Then he glanced down at himself. How bad did he look? Bad enough that they had thought he was some homeless kid off the street? Maybe it was the sleeves and the cut; he looked at it, shocked to see the bandage soaked in blood.

He looked at it uneasily; maybe he should have canceled after all. His bright idea to wait until later didn't seem so great after all.

The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and they stepped out. The gaurd continued dragging him along, ignoring his protests. The floor was brightly lit, with a few cells along the wall. Dave gulped; in the movies, this would be where someone was kept until the police arrived for them. Were they calling the police to come get him? What happened to escorting him out of the building, which the security officer had implied when he told him to leave?