By Degrees (35 page)

There’s a tall girl in shorts, a t-shirt, and white cheer sneakers standing in front of Tarin’s dresser and one of the drawers is open.

“Posey?” I say, my eyes practically bugging out of my head.

She whips around, one of Tarin’s t-shirts in her hands as she holds it up to her chest.

She screams in surprise for a few seconds and then stops to yell at me. “What are
you
doing here?” She actually has the nerve to sound annoyed with me.

My heart is pounding almost painfully in my chest.
 
This girl’s just gone from crazed fan to criminal stalker in my mind, and I’m alone with her.
 
Holy bad luck.
 
“The better question is what the fuck are you doing here?”
 
I look at my phone and press the green button.
 
Fucking lunatic.
 
Way to blow everything I’ve been working on.
 
I quickly add up the cost and hassle of all the extra security we’re going to need to bring in.

“Who are you calling?” she demands to know, flinging her arms down to her sides.
 
The t-shirt dangles near her knee.
 
“Are you calling Tarin?
 
Because
good
.
 
I hope you are.
 
I need to talk to him.”

“No, Posey, I’m
 
not calling Tarin.
 
I’m call the police.”

I’m completely unprepared for her reaction.
 
She bum-rushes me and rams into my torso like I’m some kind of football tackle dummy.
 
Her boney shoulder hits me full in the chest, taking me down in a big way. Tarin’s t-shirt goes up to cover my face as I’m slammed into the open door behind me.
 
I hit it hard enough to lose my breath and fall to the floor gasping for air.

Posey's still on her feet, and her pointy shoes dig into my face and ribs as she kicks me over and over.
 
“You bitch!
 
You horrible ugly, sweaty bitch!
 
You’re ruining
everything!
 
You don’t belong here!
 
You don’t belong
anywhere!”

I curl into a fetal position to protect my soft parts, still not able to catch enough of my breath to fight back. I hate that I’m so vulnerable to this bimbot’s attack, but until my lungs cooperate, I’m a sitting duck.
 
Or a lying down one.
 
The pain is relentless.

Posey's voice has entered a new, higher octave.
 
“I hate you!
 
I hate you!
 
You’re nobody to Tarin,
nobody!
 
No one loves him like I do, do you hear me?
 
Do you hear me?”

I’m finally able to pull the shirt off my face, and I catch a glimpse of her red-mottled face before her sneaker catches me in the chin.

I reach out and grab the closest thing I can find as bright specks of light swim before my eyes.
 
A baby song trickles into my head …
Twinkle, twinkle little star…

Her ankle is suddenly in my grasp, and I hang on for dear life.
 
As the flow of air re-establishes itself inside my lungs and the stars fade away my strength comes back and I yank on her with everything I’ve got.
 
She stumbles and then goes down next to me on the floor.

Spinning partway around on my back while still holding onto her ankle, I use my feet to defend myself.
 
My ribs are aching too much to throw a punch, so I kick the ever-loving shit out of her thighs and crotch and don’t stop, even when a voice finally comes over my cell phone.

“Nine-one-one … what is your emergency?”

I don’t know exactly where my phone is, but it’s near my head somewhere, so I just start yelling.

“Intruder in the house! Tarin Kilgour’s residence! The musician from the band
By Degrees
!
 
Beverly Hills!”
 
I can’t for the life of me remember his address.
 
I hope I’ve given her enough information to find me.

“I need your name and a description of the intruder, ma’am.”

“Fuck you!” yells Posey.
 
“Give me that goddamn phone, dammit!” She struggles to sit up and reach for my cell, but I give her a running shoe to the face, making her fall back again.

I keep kicking, but her foot slips out of my sweaty grip. She’s crawled out of my way, but I can tell by the way she’s eyeing my pinwheeling legs, she doesn’t want to eat any more of my sneakers than she already has.
 
All those hours on the stationary bike are paying off.

I yell again, hoping the operator can hear me. “My name is Scarlett Barnes and I work with Tarin Kilgour!
 
The intruder’s name is …”
 
I’m cut off by her struggle for my phone.
 
When I kick her away, I continue.
 
“She’s an unwelcome fan of Tarin’s!
 
She broke into the house while he was out and she’s in the process of taking some of his things!”

“I was not taking anything!” she screeches as she stands somewhat unsteadily on her feet.
 
She sways there, out of her mind with anger.
 
“And I’m not an intruder!
 
Tarin loves me and I love him!”

“Get over it, freak!” I yell at her.
 
I’ve officially lost my cool and I don’t care about her delicate psyche anymore or the fact that all of this will be on the operator’s recording. “You’re just another bimbot deluded fan!
 
He doesn’t give a shit about you!”

She freezes in place, hunched over, her make-up starting to smear a little and her hair a crazy mess.
 
Backing up, she points a shaking finger at me.
 
“You don’t know anything about Tarin and me.”
 
Her voice is quavering.

The operator speaks again and I can barely hear her.
 
I look over and see my phone turned upside down, the speakers facing the carpet.
 
I pick it up in time to hear her say, “We’re sending someone to the house now. My advice is to not engage with this intruder and just leave the premises until she can be apprehended.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea,” I say, attempting to stand.
 
My ribs are aching, and as get more upright, I shift to the side a little.
 
A sharp, stabbing pain sears into my guts and makes my breath catch in my throat.
 
“Fuck,” I grunt out, bending towards the pain, trying to make it stop.
 
“You fucking broke my ribs, you freak.”
 
I look up in time to see her nostrils flare.

“You broke your own ribs, coming after me like that.”

“Coming after you?
 
After
you?
 
Are you fucking kidding me?
 
How deluded can a person possibly be?”

“Ms. Barnes, I suggest you leave the premises,” says the voice over the phone.

“Yeah, well it’s not that easy, actually.”

“I’m not deluded,” says the freak, lifting her chin, “I’m in love.
 
Love can make you do crazy things, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

“Yes, actually, it does.
 
What you’re doing is wrong.
 
You need therapy and medication.” I resort to begging.
 
The pain is bad. I can’t move enough to escape.
 
“Please just get out of here.”

She starts crying.
 
“Tarin loves me.”

I shake my head, backing up until I’m leaning against the wall.
 
“No, he doesn’t.
 
He doesn’t love anyone but himself.”

“No!”

I nod.
 
“Yes.”

She moves around the side of his bed, never taking her eyes off me.
 
“You don’t know about love.
 
You’re empty inside.
 
I can see it.”

“Wrong.”
 
I slide down the wall a little, my legs apparently deciding that injured ribs are too heavy.

She stops when she’s in front of Tarin’s nightstand.
 
“You want Tarin for yourself, don’t you?”

I shake my head.
 
“God, somebody shoot me.”
 
Her words combined with the pain make me nauseated.
 
I’m afraid I’m going to barf right here on Tarin’s silk carpeting.
 
With my luck I’ll probably fall in it too, making the thought of it doubly awful.

Her eyes flash anger, and her color goes up again.
 
“Oh my god!
 
That’s it!
 
You want Tarin for yourself.
 
That’s what this is all about!
 
This isn’t about him not loving me or me having problems … this is about you and your sick little infatuation with Tarin!”

My butt hits the ground, and I drop my face into my hand, using my other to prop myself up.
 
I half whisper, half moan, “Jesus Christ save me from delusional nutbags.” I swallow over and over to keep my stomach contents where they belong.

I hear a drawer open and lift my eyes in time to see her pulling a handgun from the nightstand.

My heart stops beating for what seems like forever.
 
My salivary glands go into overdrive.
 
The vomiting is near.

The gun comes up and she stares at it, almost mystified.
 
And then a big grin comes over her face as she looks at me.
 
“Tarin keeps a gun in our bedroom to protect us from people like you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” I lift the phone to my ear with monumental effort. It jitters against my head, I’m shaking so bad. My heart starts beating again, only now it’s going a mile a minute.
 
“She’s got a gun,” I say to the operator.
 
My voice is all over the place. “I’m pretty sure she’s going to shoot me.”

Chapter Thirty-One

GOD, IF YOU’RE OUT THERE listening, I seriously did not mean it when I said I wanted someone to shoot me.
 
If you get me out of this, I swear I’ll never be sarcastic again.
I hate the Fates for allowing my sarcasm to raise its ugly head at exactly the wrong moment, just when the universe was willing to grant me one wish.
 
I hope God doesn’t take my request itself as sarcastic and allow a bullet to enter my brain as a lesson in humility.

Everything takes on a surreal quality.
 
The details of the room fade except for two things: Posey and the gun she’s pointing at me.
 
Their focus is so sharp for me, I can see the nubbed texture on the grip of the weapon and the way her finger is hovering just in front of the trigger.
 
It’s like I’m in a movie, and I’m so into my role, it feels real.
 
But not real.
 
I’m so confused.

This can’t be real.
 
I’m just here so I can call someone on the phone.
 
I can’t remember who it is or why I was calling him.
 
I’m wearing jogging clothes.
 
Am I going jogging?
 
There’s a high-pitched ringing in my ears and it’s getting louder and louder.
 
Beeeeeeeeeeeeee…

The gun looks heavier than Posey expected it to be.
 
She goes from one-handing the weapon to using both hands.
 
She walks around the bed and stops at the far corner of it.
 
There’s still a lot of bedroom between us, but I’m a big enough target that I don’t think she’ll miss.

I hate the idea that I’m going to be killed by someone so stupid; it’s like an insult to my own intelligence or something.
 
Outrage over the unfairness of it clears my mind just a bit.
 
Why can’t it be a smart person about to murder me right now, dammit!

The ringing in my ears stops just in time for her words to come across loud and clear.

“I think I
am
going to shoot you,” she says, smiling like I just gave her the best idea she’s heard all year.
 
She reminds me of that guy in The Shining with her maniacal grin.
 
“Tarin will thank me.
 
He’ll be glad I stopped you from messing up his life.
 
What are you doing in here anyway?
 
Are you stalking him?
 
He’s not going to appreciate that. He’ll totally thank me for shooting you and stopping you in your tracks. This is totally self-defense.”
 
She points the gun higher, aiming it at my face.

“Tarin will
not
thank you.
 
Tarin will hate you until his dying day if you kill me, since I’m his … sister.”
 
I have no idea where that BS came from, but I feel inspired, like there’s a guardian angel watching over me and whispering in my ear.
 
And then I actually
hear
Austin’s voice in my head.
 
Easy, now, babe.
 
You can do this.

Tears leap to my eyes and my heart spasms painfully.
 
“Oh, God, Austin … are you here?”

Posey backs her head up, genuinely thrown off.
 
“Austin?
 
His sister?
 
What are you talking about?
 
Tarin doesn’t have a sister, he’s an only child.”

I shake my head, my hair turning into knots against the wall as it rubs.
 
“No, he has a sister.
 
Half-sister.
 
It’s me.
 
He’s my brother.
 
We’re totally close.
 
If you kill me it’ll break his heart.”
 
Please let her buy my bullshit!