Waiting For A Star To Fall (Autumn Brody Book 2) (23 page)

"Shut up!" Autumn hissed.

"That's fine," Kevin reassured Gabriel. "That's a really good place to stop. There will be places to pull over. I want you to get into the far lane for the EZ-Pass, alright?"

"Okay, fine. I was already in that lane... I can't stop, can I? Oh shit, oh shit..."

"You damn well can stop, but you
have
to listen to me!" Kevin commanded. "If you do everything I say, the car will stop safely. Okay?"

"Listen to him, Gabriel!" Autumn echoed. "It's going to be fine. They teach defensive driving like this in the military." She had no idea if it was true, but she assumed that a personal protection officer would master evasive driving.
Close enough
.

"Okay man, the line-up's about 150 feet away..."

Kevin’s voice was firm and steady. "First step: take your foot off the gas
slowly
. No brakes. A smooth lift off the pedal, alright?"

"Okay... okay, I did that."

"How fast are you going?" Kevin asked.

"Fifty-five... fifty-three..."

From outside, the sound of police sirens grew from a hushed whistle to a clamor. "Automatic car, right?"

"Yes! Fuck, they're too close..." Gabriel was beginning to panic.

"Downshift one gear, Gabriel. Prepare to steer off onto the shoulder. What's your speed now?"

"Forty... Thirty-nine... I should turn off—"

"Not yet," Kevin insisted. "Downshift again and keep straight as long as it's safe. It'll prevent sliding out. We want to stop your car with control. We're in control, Gabriel."

Andrew was behind her now, rubbing her shoulders as they collectively held their breath, praying and wishing for their friend's safety. Veronica was curled up in Evan's lap, tears silently streaming down her cheek. She listened intently to the other end of the line, seemingly memorizing every moment of her roommate's ordeal.

"Thirty-five... I can shift down one more..." A horn blasted over the phone and Gabriel cursed.
"Cabrón!"

"Shift it down... How close are you to the next vehicle?"

"Maybe twenty feet?"

"He doesn't have enough space," Evan murmured.

"No, he doesn't," Kevin agreed. "Gabriel, turn the wheel slowly and veer towards the shoulder. Throw on your hazards and when the speed drops below thirty, I want you to try the
parking brake
. Not the standard brake. Do you understand?"

"Okay, got it... Shit, shit, shit..." More honking, more choice words in Spanish as Autumn listened with baited breath.

"Count the speed out for me!" Kevin yelled, waving Andrew towards a growing commotion outside of the apartment.

"Thirty-three.... Crap, crap, crap... Thirty-one..."

Autumn was drawn in several directions at once: Gabriel's voice; Veronica's growing panic; Andrew doing his best to dissuade the cops from entering, urging them to keep quiet. Jeremy was trembling in his chair, leaning closer and closer to the phone as Kevin confidently stood over it, glancing occasionally at his tablet screen.

"
TWENTY-NINE!
" Gabriel screamed.

"Hit the parking brake and pull over!" Kevin's order evoked every memory of every military movie Autumn had ever seen.

As the police forced themselves into the apartment, oblivious to the very real and immediate danger somewhere on the Jersey Turnpike, the room was filled with a terrifying sound:

A dial tone.

"NO!" Veronica screamed, lunging for the phone. "No, no, you get back on this line!" She redialed quickly, her body swaying side to side. "Gabriel Medina, you will pick up this phone and tell me you are
fine
and
safe
and... and..."

From beside her, Autumn could hear his voicemail kick in.
We were so close... There's no way he... He can't be gone...

"He could survive a crash at that speed," Jeremy whispered.

"He did not crash!" Veronica yelled, dialing again.

An officer edged forwards, the bolder of the pair. "What's going on? Your colleague said something about a tampered car."

"What's going on is my friend is going to pick his damn phone up and
tell me he stopped the car
," Veronica snapped, redialing a third time.

Evan’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. "Maybe he dropped it while pulling over.”

"Maybe you're calling each other at the same time and getting voicemail?" Andrew theorized.

Hurling her phone onto the couch, Veronica growled. "Kevin! Can't you track him? Call someone? Can't
you
call someone?" she asked the police. "He's at the exit for the I-195 west off the Turnpike."

"This is connected to the ongoing investigation into your stalker, Ms. St. Clair?"

Veronica was clearly exasperated. "Yes, not that it matters. Gabriel had no brakes! What if he couldn't get the car onto the shoulder? What if the parking brake didn't work?"

"I can radio into dispatch and get them in touch with the toll station, but it may take—"

“Already on it,” Kevin snapped. “Don’t strain yourselves.”

From the couch, a small electronic burst of song. Veronica scrambled for it, swiping three times before her gesture registered.

"Gabriel? Is that you?"

A voice, shaky but struggling to be lighthearted, came over the speaker. "Having a little car trouble, Veronica. Any way a friend can get a ride?"

Relieved shouts and cheers flooded the apartment as the police stood aside, bewildered. Jeremy was perhaps the most enthusiastic of all, vigorously shaking Kevin's hand and walking in literal circles, grinning.

"You bet your sweet Latino ass." A giggle slipped from Veronica's lips as she beamed from ear to ear. "I love you, Gabe."

"Love you too, girl. Now hurry up: it's damn hot out here without air conditioning."

"I'm sending Mirza for you right now," Kevin called out, tapping on his ear piece. "We're coordinating with state police."

Arrangements made, Autumn embraced her friend as tightly as her ribs would allow. "We did it," Veronica told her. "He didn't win this time."

"He's just a person," Autumn replied softly. "And people make mistakes. Maybe this is the one that finally nails his ass to the wall."

Veronica broke their embrace first, stepping backwards. It was in that moment that Autumn knew her friend had been irrevocably changed by her stalker's onslaught of unwanted attention. Where once her blue eyes sparkled with a zest for life, they were flat and icy, her pupils coal black.
Rage.
Autumn was intimately acquainted with it.

"It will be. And I plan to be holding the hammer."

Shaken by the intrusion on her home, Veronica packed her belongings in haste, returning to the hotel with her friends. With a little luck (and pressure from her security detail), they checked in on the same floor as Autumn and Andrew’s suite. A look exchanged between Autumn and Evan assured her that he would draw Veronica out of the cold shell she'd been hidden within for hours.
She can't hide forever
. Unfortunately, neither could Autumn: tucked in bed at nine-thirty with her laptop, she heard her proverbial toll of the bell.

"It's your Mom," Andrew said, handing over her ringing phone.

"Damn it!"
Murphy's Law: take a painkiller, mother calls.
Inhaling a small, steadying breath, Autumn answered the phone as cheerily as she could. "Hi, Mom. How are you?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm currently looking for flights to New York so I can throw you over my shoulder and bring you home!"

Autumn winced, resisting the urge to tug the blankets over her head. "Mom, please calm down."

"Calm down? Are you serious? Autumn Marie, your name is plastered all over the news alongside Veronica's. We knew she was being harassed, but you said nothing about murder!"

"Technically, no one's been confirmed dead," Autumn countered weakly, looking to Andrew for help. He threw his hands up in defeat, waving the ice bucket at her before walking away.

"Baby, you sound exhausted. Are you okay?" A loaded question, coming from her mother. "Is Andrew looking after you?"

It took very little debate—likely because of the narcotics flowing in her veins—to decide that honesty would be the best policy. "I had a bad flashback," she admitted. "Like right after the hospital. I took a fall..."

"How bad of a fall?" her mother demanded.

"I sorta bruised my ribs?"

"That's it: I'm coming out there."

"Mom, no. I've been seen by doctors and I just need rest, I promise. There's really no need—"

"Then you're coming home tomorrow, Autumn. I'm not letting you risk your safety. Not again. Not after what happened before."

She winced at her mother's words, the full weight of them pressing upon her aching chest.
Like I risked my safety by not reporting my abusive ex, or risked my safety trying to solve murders on campus.
Really, she couldn't fault her mother for worrying; she was lucky to have parents who cared so deeply.

"Our flight is Friday, and we're sticking to it. Veronica is scared. She was there for me during the worst time of my life. I won't abandon her."

A begrudging sigh on the other end of the call. "Your father may come and forcibly drag you home. He's not rational when it comes to his little girl. You know that."

"The doctor wants me resting until Tuesday. Tell him it's against medical advice for me to travel." Noticing Andrew hadn't yet returned, Autumn decided it was as good a time as any to ask questions. "Mom? Was Great-Grandma Louise in a war?"

Her mother coughed, a nervous habit Autumn had picked up on years ago. "Um... Women weren't soldiers back in her day."

"But women were nurses, weren't they?" Autumn prodded, remembering Louise's words.

"Why are you asking me this?" Her mother sounded even more upset now. The quiver in her voice sent a shiver down Autumn's spine.

"Well, was she?"

"She was, from what I understand, part of the Voluntary Aid Detachment in World War I. She'd been working in a hospital for a few years prior to signing up. I think she was at Gallipoli... Her knowledge of Greek and basic Turkish would have been handy, I guess..." A long pause. "You've seen something, haven't you?"

"Have you? Seen something, I mean?"

"Answering a question with a question simply answers in the affirmative, Autumn. Every mother knows that." Before Autumn could protest, her mother continued. "Your grandmother is very religious, as you know. I am quite the opposite. There were... stories growing up. About Louise..."

From around the corner, she could hear Andrew talking in the hall. She had to wrap this up. "And if I have seen things?"

Her mother's voice lowered. "I may have... I don't believe in those things, necessarily. But there was a time or two where I wonder... Things my mother said about not talking to demons when I got older. Does any of this make sense, sweetie?"

"Yeah. It does." A soft beep and a
click
as a maglock released signaled Andrew's return. "Mom, I'm really tired and want to get some sleep. I love you."

"I love you too. Please be careful. I know you're technically an adult, but you're my only child. I worry."

"I know you do."

"If you need me, any time of the day or night, you call and we will be there."

Her mother was clearly pained, torn between her nurturing side and Autumn's wishes. With a few final platitudes and her best impression of a normal teenager, she hung up the phone. Andrew hovered in the doorway, a can of Sprite in hand.

"Sarah's freaking out, isn't she?"

"She threatened to fly out here and drag me home."

"Not surprised. She loves you." Settling on the bed beside her, he offered his drink. "I have half a mind to do the same. I've just learned to resist it."

Sipping his soda, Autumn beckoned him closer. "I know it can't be easy for you. You've been looking out for me since the beginning."

"Nothing worth having is easy."

For all of the truth she sought, for all of the answers she needed, their bond was the one fact she held onto above all else. A glance in his direction told her that it was a mutual faith, palpable in the way he carefully curled around her frame. Secure in the arms of the man who loved her without reservation, Autumn pushed aside the weariness of endlessly pursuing a faceless man and surrendered to slumber.

* * *

1:37 in the morning.
Autumn rolled her eyes as she glanced at the bedside clock.
Stupid bladder. Stupid body
. Painkillers had always had the odd effect of making her wake up in the middle of the night to pee.

Gently lifting the covers off her body so as not to disturb Andrew, she rose gingerly from the bed. Her bare feet padded softly against the cool tiles as she entered the bathroom. Relieving herself was an awkward dance of dozing off and leaning forward, only to snap awake as her ribs contorted. Biting her lip to stifle a groan, she stood slowly and made her way to the sink.

It was somewhere between rinsing her hands of the citrusy hotel soap and patting them dry with the fluffy hand towel that she noticed the pulsing orb floating behind her.

Her hand clamped over her mouth as she spun around, staring at the golden-orange glow near the TV. Roughly the span of a tennis ball, it expanded and contracted, as if to sigh, before drifting towards the door. Beckoning her.

Do I follow?

Autumn glanced down at her attire: plaid pajama pants and a black cotton tank top. Not exactly outerwear, but not indecent by any means. The crux of her decision was whether it was safe to indulge...
it
.

In her head, she could hear Louise, urging her forward.
Listen.

With an apologetic glance at her sleeping boyfriend, Autumn grabbed her key card and followed the sphere out into the hotel hallway.

Ray was, thankfully, nowhere to be found at the moment. Whether this was fortunate happenstance or some distortion of reality, Autumn couldn't decide.
Hell, I could still be asleep in bed
, she mused, pursuing the floating orb towards a stairwell.
Astral projection is what it's called, right?
She'd read a teen horror novel at some point that mentioned it.

The orb led her up one floor, slipping through the 39th floor entry point and hovering near the elevator. The Up arrow illuminated, the button untouched. Obediently, Autumn stepped on board, gesturing to the large panel of numbered keys. The number 57 glowed and the elevator shot swiftly upwards, causing Autumn to stumble back against the mirrored walls. The orb turned cherry red, pulsing wildly as they drew closer to their destination.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...

When the door opened, the orb exited to the left, giving Autumn no comfort.
Evil goes left
. Her video game theory continued to hold true. Stepping cautiously out of the elevator, she was startled to find the ball of light had disappeared.

"Hello?" she whispered softly.

A metal door swung open in reply. The brass plate beside it indicated it was for
Authorized Personnel Only
.

Enter
, the floor seemed to command her.

Absently rubbing the amethyst stone of her great-grandmother's ring, she complied. The room was cold, colder than it should be. From what she could discern in the dim lighting, it was once some sort of meeting space. Now, it housed an assortment of holiday decor items and spare floor tiles.

It also housed the translucent form of a svelte woman, perhaps twenty-five years old. Her hair hung in loose, strawberry-blonde waves to the middle of her back, her make-up stark in contrast to her undead complexion. Clad in a silver evening gown, Autumn knew that in life, she had been highly desirable.

"Why am I here?" Autumn asked.

The spectre turned to her left, revealing what appeared to be a single gunshot wound to her head. Wistfully, she met Autumn's quizzical gaze.

"Did you do that yourself?" A violent shake of the head. "Murder?" A nod. "Here?" Another nod, coupled with a ghostly hand pointing to a far corner.

Curiosity spurred Autumn towards the indicated corner, her eyes widening as she spotted what could possibly be a fine mist of dried blood against the beige wall. A lightning bolt of pain shot through her temple and she buckled forward. It was suddenly difficult to breathe: the air was thin and musty. She glanced towards the ghost and understood that she was sharing how she'd felt as she died.

"What do you want from me?" Autumn whispered, her visions clouding over.

In her head, a venomous reply:
Revenge
.

"I don't do revenge," Autumn replied. "I'm sorry someone ended your life so young, but this... thing I can do... I'm not some vigilante for the dead. Messages, I can do. The truth. I don't know what you're looking for, but I don't think I'm the right person."

She'd taken only three steps towards the door before it slammed shut. Autumn's heart stopped as the noisy
clunk
of a deadbolt engaging filled the room.
Trapped. I'm trapped
.

The ghost—now her captor—fixed an angry stare on her as Autumn pressed her back to the wall, sliding towards the only exit from the storage room. More apologies spewed from her lips as she hurriedly made her way to the steel door, tugging pointlessly on the knob. The lock wouldn't release, no matter how hard she twisted the knob.

"Let me out of here!"

I need you
, the woman menaced.
I need to make them pay
.

"I said I wouldn't, and I meant it. Now let me the
fuck
out of here!"

Her ribs stung as she tugged and yanked, her eyes searching for some sort of latch or release. Surely, the door didn't lock from the outside? No one made an inescapable room! Glaring behind her, she fumed as the vicious spirit tossed back her head and laughed.

You can't leave. I couldn't leave.

"Get out of my head, you stupid bitch!" Autumn seethed.

But she was inside her now, and Autumn was helpless as a series of rapid-fire images flooded her: an angry shout; the glimpse of a man shoving the bitter ghost to the ground; a plea for forgiveness; "
It's over!
" A gun, gleaming as it aimed at a cowering woman in a silver dress. Blood. So much blood.

Someone needs to pay
, the spectre hissed in her head.

"Not through violence," Autumn whimpered. "Justice is different."

With one last, futile tug against the door, Autumn faced the poltergeist holding her prisoner. The intensity of her rage was overwhelming. The room seemed to vibrate with emotion, its walls pressing incrementally harder against her chest akin to a vice. Closing her eyes, she struggled through the haze of exhaustion and medication to find a solution.

"
Let her go
," a familiar voice demanded.

Autumn opened her eyes, relieved for the first time to find her ancestor standing beside her. Her lavender dress pristine and flowing, she edged towards the jaded spirit.

"
She's told you no. That is the right of a conduit. Now, let her go
."

A silent battle unfolded before her: each incorporeal woman challenging the other, adamant the other would relent. Inside Autumn's head, she heard Louise, her voice clear and frantic:
Get out of here, now!

Autumn thought back to Sophia's apartment, to the menacing figure cloaked in shadows.
Get out, get out.... Andrew
. He was her way out.