The Travelling Man (12 page)

He shoved the body into the chute and closed the cover again. His mind had been in turmoil over his actions but now his thoughts were calming. He was starting to realise that his fears had centered more on getting caught than what he had done.

He looked down as his huge hands throbbed with a power that he had always known he possessed, but now he had shown. He thought of all the other throats that he might like to see beneath his mighty grip and felt his pants grow tight at the prospect. He was only indulging his base desires, instincts buried deep beneath a wall of
civilization but undeniable just the same. He thought of Granton and her residents who leered and laughed at him behind his back and thought that, in the end, everyone deserves a little killing in their life.    

----------

Becky James woke when her cell phone rang with annoying persistency, the chiming bells ripping her from a deep sleep that seemed to go on forever.

“Hello?” she answered grumpily.

“Becks? Is that you?” a woman’s panicked voice positively screamed down the line.

“Who is this?” Becky snapped, thinking that the morning was entirely too new for people to be pulling this shit.

“Don’t play games, Becks, we don’t have the time. I’ve got Letterman’s people wanting to know what time you’re going to be there, I’ve got some photographer from Cosmo freaking out because you should already be there. What the hell is going on, babe? Nobody’s seen or heard from you since yesterday. You know that you can’t start disappearing. Not now, not after everything that’s happened.”

Becky’s head spun as she looked around her small apartment’s single bedroom. The peeling walls were the same as last night, as were the sheets on her bed and the cheap
pajamas that she wore. The only thing that was different, apparently, was her. Her mind immediately harked back to the strange night and the stranger man that she had met. Her memories were like some kind of drunken fog that she could barely decipher but she knew that something had happened.

“Becks, you still there? Hello? HELLO?” the woman bellowed down the line, making Becky hold the phone away from her aching head.

She checked the caller ID and saw the name Sam illuminated in green on the small screen. “Yeah, Sam, I’m still here but I’m not going to be able to make it.”

“Which one?”

“Either,” Becky had to hold the phone away again as Sam shouted even louder down the line. “I’ve got some stuff to take care of. Give me a couple of days; I’ll call you back.”

“No! Don’t you hang up; tell me where you are!”

Becky hung up the phone quickly. Before she placed it back on the table, she turned it off to avoid any more calls. With a flash of inspiration, she walked to the kitchen-come-diner-come-lounge-come-everything-else and turned on the laptop. She did a quick search for herself and sat back as the pages rolled out before her eyes.

Becky James was an actress of some fame and fortune. She was a three times Oscar nominee and one time winner. Apparently she lived in a cliff top mansion out in Malibu and was much sought after by directors and Hollywood hunks alike.

She devoured every story on her from every source, discovering the life which she had always dreamed of. Looking at the pictures of the actress Becky James, she found them unrecognizable from the face that she saw in the mirror every day. She looked down and saw that her pajama bottoms were loose, certainly looser than they had been yesterday. She pulled the waistband away from her and lifted her top slightly. Her stomach was now concaved and toned with narrow hips and a tight butt. She lifted her top further and found two impossibly perky surprises that had to have come from a surgeon’s hand. She rushed to the closest mirror and found a beauty staring back at her with high cheekbones and lusciously thick long blonde hair.

Whoever the guy last night had been, he was clearly a worker of miracles and she was eternally grateful, whatever the cost may have been.

A knock at the door startled her and she turned towards it.

“Miss James?” a voice called out softly.

She recognised the man as Dean Singer, her old landlord.

“Miss James, it’s only me,” he whispered again.

She walked to the door and opened it a crack, peering out around the corner.

“Is everything alright in there?” Singer asked quietly. “I must say that I was shocked when you turned up out of the blue last night; I didn’t even think that you’d remember me after all this time,” he blushed.

“Everything’s fine,” she bluffed.

“The girl who lives here now put up a bit of a fuss, but when I told her that you used to live here and wanted to spend the night for old time’s sake she agreed, although I’m sure that she’s going to want an autograph and photo and whatnot.”

Becky took a quick glance behind her and now saw that although the apartment hadn’t ostensibly changed, it was full of someone else’s’ things. Picture frames and ornaments were new but the furniture was old. “I’ll be out of your hair soon,” she managed.

As she tried to close the door again, Singer placed his foot firmly in the gap. “I’m sorry but I’ve been getting calls for the last few minutes from a…” he dug out a piece of paper from his pocket, “...Sam Chase. She says that she’s your agent. I tried to tell her that you weren’t here but she said that your phone has some kind of GPS tracking device and then she started making all kinds of threats. She was really quite rude.”

“That’s okay, Mr Singer, I’ll take care of it,” she replied, eager to have a little silence to figure things out.

“I loved you in Freight Train Blues,” Singer said blushing again. “I always knew that you were going to make it,” he enthused.

Becky managed to get the door closed on the landlord while he was still speaking. She had only ever known him as a royal pain in the ass. He was always complaining about the noise and the rent being late; he was always letting himself into her apartment under one pretence or another, often when he heard the sound of her shower going. But even after all that she thought that she preferred his creepy face to the desperate gushing fan that she could still hear breathing hard outside the door.

She looked around the crappy apartment and realised that this was now her old life and she had a brand spanking new one out in Malibu waiting for her. She wondered how far she could get on the
meager money in her bank account before she remembered that she was now rich.

She checked her purse and found a mountain of plastic but no cash. She was starting to try and plan a route back to her new home when she suddenly realised that she now had people to do that for her.

She turned her phone back on and saw that her inbox was almost full. The phone rang a second later and she knew who it was. “Hi Sam,” she said answering it.

“What the hell are you playing at?” her agent demanded. “You pick now, of all times, to run off when everything’s happening?”

“Hey, it’s just a chat show and a photo shoot,” Becky said casually thinking that she could really get used to this new life.

“I don’t mean work, I mean with this whole stalker business.”

“Stalker? I’ve got a stalker? That’s pretty cool,” Becky grinned, as only the A-listers had their own stalkers.

“I’m glad that you think so. Now, tell me where the hell you are and I’ll have Jeremy come and collect you before the insurance company find out that you’ve gone AWOL.”

“I’m in Granton.”

“GRANTON! What the hell are you doing back in that cowpoke town? I thought that we’d finally gotten that small girl twinge out of you?” Sam raged.

“I just needed to see home one last time,” Becky said meekly. “But trust me, I’m all done with it now.”

“I should bloody well hope so. Look, just stay put and I’ll sort out the travel arrangements. Stay off the streets and keep out of sight.”

“I thought that I might take in some of the sights and rub a few noses in the dirt,” Becky said, warming up again.

“You listen to me, Rebecca James,” Sam said firmly. “There’s some freakazoid out there who’s been sending you all kinds of nutty crap in the mail including vials of God knows what. We have no idea where he’s from or where he is. You stay put until I tell you otherwise.”

“Okay, okay,” Becky reluctantly agreed.

“Now, is there anyone else there with you?”

“Just the landlord buzzing around.”

“Alright, stay there until I call back in a few minutes.”

Becky sat and waited. Her mind was already racing with just what tomorrow would bring. She wondered if she would have to fake a little amnesia to excuse her gaps in memory. Hell, she didn’t know her bank account numbers or pins. She didn’t know how to act around people or even how Becky James, the actress and Hollywood celebrity dressed. She had little qualms about her acting ability as she had always known that all she needed was a break; it was all the other little bits and pieces.

A soft knock at her door disturbed her again. “Miss James, I’m sorry to disturb you again,” Singer whispered.

“What is it, Mr Singer?” she said, tiredly wondering if all fans were going to be as bothersome.

“It’s just that I think there’s a man lurking around outside. I thought that I saw someone last night and then there he was again this morning.”

Becky started to panic a little. It would just be her luck to finally have everything that she’d ever wanted only for some lunatic to snatch it all away at the finishing line.

She ran to the door and opened it quickly. “Where is he? What did he look like?”

“I didn’t get a good look, but he was skulking around in the shadows behind the building. He gave me the creeps, I don’t mind telling you,” Singer said with a shudder.

“Does anyone else know I’m here?”

“Only me and Julie; she’s the girl who lives here. I told her not to tell anyone and I’d let her off the back rent, but I can’t be sure that she didn’t blab,” Singer shrugged.

“I’ve got a stalker,” Becky said, thinking that it no longer sounded all that cool.

“Maybe you’re not safe here.”

“My agent’s sorting out my travel arrangements as we speak. Would you wait here with me? Or better yet, could I wait at your place just to be on the safe side?”

“Sure, this way,” Singer motioned.

Becky followed the man down the stairs to his apartment, listening out for telltale noises as she went, her head flicking from side to side trying to watch all corners at once. She hadn’t bothered to dress or even grab a robe and now she felt vulnerable with only a thin cotton layer between her and nakedness.

Suddenly, there was a loud crashing sound coming from the rear of the building. A metallic clanging rang out loudly from the trash area and she grabbed Singer’s arm trying to hurry him as he pushed his key into his lock.

She positively shoved him inside the apartment, stumbling in after him and slamming the door shut behind her. She pressed her eye to the peephole, staring out through the fish eye lens up and down the empty corridor, looking for her stalker. In her mind, she knew that it was ridiculous to think that whoever he was he could have found her here, but still her pounding heart told another tale altogether.

Eventually, she let out a deep breath remembering to breathe again. She turned around and stared into Singer’s apartment and her blood ran cold. The walls were smothered with images of her torn from various magazines and newspapers, photos depicting her in multiple poses ranging from innocent to borderline indecent. There was barely an inch of empty wall to spare and Singer stood amidst his collection with his head cocked to one side, his eyes boring through her, wide and hungry. “What do you think of my collection?” he asked.

Becky reached for the door behind her but Singer moved too quickly. He grabbed her arm and spun her around with dizzying speed. She staggered further into his apartment and fell forwards onto the floor. She rolled onto her back as he towered over her.

“Why are you trying to run?” he demanded angrily. “All I’ve ever done is love you, ever since you lived here years ago before you left me. Don’t you see, I loved you before all of the fame; that proves that it’s real, don’t you see that?”

Becky tried to crawl backwards away from him and the crazy look in his eye.

“DON’T BE SCARED OF ME!” he roared. “I knew that when you showed up last night you had come back to me,” he implored, kneeling down and moving over her. “I knew that you would come home if I kept on sending you letters and parts of me.”

Becky flinched as his rough hands touched the soft skin of her face and stroked. She looked all around for a weapon or for an escape but could see none.

“We can be together now,” he cooed. “Together forever and no one will ever separate us again,” he whispered as his hands closed around her throat.

Becky started to choke and the world faded around her, dimming into darkness. All she had ever wanted was to be rich and famous and drive the world crazy about her; it would seem that it had worked on Mr Singer all too well.

----------

Cassie was enjoying a morning coffee at the station. Tom had yet to leave after the night shift, Jeanne was sitting quietly at her desk and Kevin loomed large in the doorway filling it with his bulk.