Fool Me Twice by Lizzie Morton
Twenty-Three
Becket
To say the night didn’t go as planned would be the understatement of the century. I deserve every bit of Britney’s anger. I shouldn’t have done what I did, I humiliated her. That was Becket lashing out, not me, and now I know the truth. I’ve been punishing the wrong person.
Pacing the hotel floor, only the dim light of a single lamp illuminates the room. The storm that began earlier has picked up and lightning strobes across the sky. The lights flicker and my instant thought is whether Britney is ok.
I shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be alone when there’s a storm like this. I’m ready to march over to her apartment when I remember that this is what she wanted. I need to respect that. The least I can do is check on her and see if she’s ok. Pulling my phone out from the inside pocket of my tux jacket, I tap the screen, expecting it to come to life. Instead, I get nothing, it’s completely dead. Damn it. I smack my hand against my head in frustration. This is the worst possible time this could happen. I want to know she’s ok, but I can’t because all my things are at her place, including my phone charger. In a last ditched attempt, I shake the useless object in my hand as if that will somehow bring it back to life. It does nothing.
My eyes settle on the clock on the nightstand next to my bed. One AM. I could ring the concierge service, have them find out the number for her apartment, but she’s probably tucked up in bed fast asleep. All I’d be doing is waking her up and pissing her off even more than I already have tonight. I shake my head, trying to fight the urge to call and hear her voice. Don’t be an ass, Becket. Give her the time and space she needs. Maybe tomorrow when the dust has settled, she might see things from my perspective. She might understand that some secrets should never be told, like she never told anyone about her mom’s boyfriends. Until she told me.
My gut tugs and I struggle to swallow over the bitter taste in my mouth. I’m climbing into bed when the hotel phone on the other side of the room rings. So much for sleep.
I walk over and pick it up. Hesitantly I say, “Hello?”
“Good evening, sir. It’s reception. We seem to be having an influx of calls for you. They’re demanding we put their calls through to your room.”
“Did they leave a name?” I ask. Stupid question. It doesn’t take much to figure out who’s trying to urgently get in touch with me at this time.
“Coach Langford of the Jacksonville Jaguars.”
He’s the last person I want to talk to right now. Having my ass chewed over my little performance on stage, is not on the top of my list of things to do. “Don’t put him through,” I respond bluntly, “and please don’t call again.”
“I’m sorry, sir, it’s policy. I have to at least attempt to get in touch if they say it’s an emergency.”
“Attempt?” I say, picking up on their careful choice of words.
“Yes, sir.”
“Attempt all you like. I’ll be going to sleep now. Thanks for letting me know.”
I place the phone down to end the call, then pick it back up and leave it hanging off the receiver. I’ll deal with this crap in the morning. The dial tone fills the room, so I place a pillow over it to muffle the noise. Then another. When the room is silent, I grumble while climbing back into bed, then settle between the sheets. I toss and turn, trying to get comfy, but I can’t without a certain blonde tucked into my side, like she has been each night this week. I miss Britney more than anything and we’ve only been apart a few hours.
This wasn’t meant to happen. She’s gotten under my skin. Somehow, she’s become everything and instead of having her with me, my bed is empty, the way it’s always been and might always be.
***
Britney
Coming to, I feel like I’ve been part of a train wreck. Everything hurts. My head is the worst. It pounds so hard that I can barely hear myself think.
Open your eyes, Brit.Blackness.
I close, then open them again. All I see is black.
My breaths come out ragged as I struggle to breathe, the weight of the situation pressing in, as everything comes flooding back. Where am I?I try to move, but I can’t. Starting to panic, I attempt to cry out for help. But like I can’t open my eyes, I can’t open my mouth. There’s something there, stopping me from doing so. My whole body aches. My muscles burn, screaming for me to move them. But I can’t. I can’t do anything.
Muffled voices reach my ears and I hold my breath, wishing my heart would stop pounding, so it doesn’t give away that I’m awake. The voices get closer.
“She’s coming round. What do you want me to do?”
“It’s not time.”
“What do you mean it’s not time? What exactly do you want me to do with her?”
“Give her more.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. The longer she’s here, the more chance there is of him coming.”
Becket. They’re talking about Becket. I might be in trouble, but the sinister tone of their voices tells me if he comes, it will be so much worse. Don’t follow me. I’m not worth it.
Silence.
There’s a shuffle of footsteps close by, then a hand pats my head and starts to stroke my hair.
“I can see why he likes you. You’re a beauty.”
I whimper, it’s all I can do.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. Not yet.”
My pulse starts to race when hot breath tickles my ear.
“It’s time to play a game …”
Footsteps. A prick in my neck.
The voices disappear.
***
Becket
Sunlight beats against my skin—it’s like I’m in a sauna. Rubbing away the sleep from my eyes, I sit up and look out of the hotel windows overlooking New York. The view is amazing. Shame. The NFL shouldn’t have wasted their money. My eyes stray to the other side of the bed, looking for Britney. I curse when I find she’s not there. She’s not there because right now she despises me. I need to find her and make things right.
Picking up my phone, I check to see if she’s gotten in touch, but nothing happens. Then I remember … my battery was dead when I arrived at the hotel. I have no charger, no clothes, nothing. I could ring the concierge service, but I’d just be wasting time. I don’t care about all of those things. I just need to see Brit. Everything and everyone else can wait.
Jumping out of bed, I quickly use the bathroom then put my tux back on. It’s a crumpled mess after being thrown on the floor in a heap and the material sticks to my skin uncomfortably because it’s still damp from the storm.
It doesn’t matter, none of it does. I could be walking out of here naked for all I care. I just need to see her.
When I get to the lobby, my sights are set on the exit, when the receptionist tries to catch my attention. They most likely want to relay the hundreds of messages Coach Langford and Shauna have left me. They can wait. Ignoring the receptionist, I walk through the revolving doors, out into the stark daylight. A cab screeches to a halt immediately when I raise my hand. Damn it. I pat my trouser pockets searching for my wallet, the same wallet I put in Britney’s purse last night. Sliding into the back seat, I say a small prayer to God, hoping that the driver likes football. I don’t usually play the fame game, so I’m due a few favors. Straight away my eyes zone in on the football memorabilia hanging from the rearview mirror. Today, the big man in the sky is on my side.
The driver turns around to ask where I’m going to and his eyes widen in shock when he sees my face. “Holy shit. You’re Michael Becket!”
Plaster on my best panty-dropping smile, I nod, “The one and only.”
“Where can I take you?”
I rattle off Britney’s address, and the cab screeches away into the mid-morning traffic.
Before we get too far into the journey, I say sheepishly, “I actually left my wallet with my friend and have no money to pay. I can run straight inside and get some when we arrive?”
The drivers’ eyes watch me through the mirror. “How about you sign something, and we call it even?”
I beam back at him, this time it’s genuine. “Deal.”
“Actually, can we get a picture together too? My friends won’t believe me when I tell them you’ve been in my cab.”
I shrug. “No problem.” I never do shit like this, but the guy is doing me a massive favor and I’m feeling in a generous mood.
Ten minutes, one signature and a photo later, I’m stepping onto the sidewalk outside Britney’s apartment block. Looking up in the direction of her apartment window, I take a deep breath. Here we go. I hope she’s in a good mood, but it’s not likely after how we left things. When I reach her door, I raise my hand and rap my knuckles against it lightly. No response. I knock again a little louder and listen for movement inside. Silence.
Maybe she’s in her bedroom or the bathroom? I bang harder so she can hear me if that’s the case. The door rattles from the force. There’s no way she can’t hear me even if she’s all the way in her room. “Brit!” I shout through the thick wood. “It’s me, open up.”
Nothing.
I frown. Where the hell is she? I briefly remember her mentioning that she might have to go into the magazine today because she had a lot of catching up to do. I was irked at the thought of having to spend a few hours without her. It all feels trivial now. Accepting she’s not inside, I make my way back outside. When I get there, the cab driver is gone and I’m in the same position as earlier.
I don’t want to push my luck. If Brit’s in the mood I think she’s going to be, I’ll be needing it if I stand a chance at winning her over. Estimating it’s going to take at least forty-five minutes to walk to her office, I let out a huff of air and start walking.
***
Britney’s boss and best friend, Jess, looks up in surprise when I knock on the door to her office. “Becket. Hi?”
The receptionist almost passed out when she saw me standing in front of her desk. It didn’t take much effort on my part for her to let me in.
“Is Britney around?” I ask, shoving my hands into the pockets of my pants awkwardly.
Jess’ eyes trail over my crumpled tux. “No … she’s supposed to be with you?”
I frown. “She mentioned yesterday that she was going to come in and get some work done? Hasn’t she turned up yet?”
She avoids my question by asking another. “Did you guys have a fight or something?”
“Something like that.” I shrug and look out of the window. She must have one of the best views in the city.
She narrows her eyes. She’s guarding her friend and I don’t blame her. I respect her for it and it makes me happy knowing Britney has such a loyal friend, but right now it isn’t helping. I need to know where she is.
“How about I give her a call on her cell and see if she’s on her way?”
“That would be great. My phone is dead, and all my things are at hers.”
“Must have been some fight …” she says, her face full of concern.
“I spent the night at my hotel. Don’t worry.”
“Ok.” She taps the screen of her cell then raises it to her ear, all the time keeping an eye on what I’m up to. Seconds pass by and she frowns, bringing the cell away from her ear. She taps the screen again, then raises it back up to her ear, holding a finger up as a gesture for me to wait.
“Is everything ok?” I ask when she lowers her phone, muttering to herself.
“I don’t know. Her cell is going to voicemail. It never goes to voicemail. She always has it charged in case of emergencies. She’s good like that. Overcautious. Safe.”
“Maybe she’s on the subway?” I suggest.
She frowns again, this time her brows draw closer together. “Yeah … maybe.”
I try not to let my mind run away and begin imagining all kinds of scenarios. Doing so isn’t going to help find Britney.
“Why don’t we go to her apartment together?” Jess suggests, pulling a key out of her bag and waving it in the air. “I have a spare.”
Standing up from her desk, she plasters a reassuring smile on her face, but I see it falter when she thinks I’m not looking. My stomach flips. Brit, where are you?
When we get outside, I look at Jess guiltily and rub the back of my neck. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t have any money.”
She raises an eyebrow, then refusing to pass any comment, raises her arm in the air to hail a cab. It doesn’t take long for one to pull up and soon we’re on our way. When we get to the apartment, Jess politely knocks on the door and waits for Britney to answer. I shift my weight from side to side impatiently, trying not to get too annoyed that she’s wasting so much time. I want to get in and check that everything’s ok. When there’s no answer, Jess presses her ear to the door for a minute. She sighs and pulls the spare key back out of her bag, slips it into the lock, turns it and opens the door.
She steps in first and I look over her shoulder, expecting to find the worst. There’s nothing. Everything is exactly how it was when we left for the awards. I don’t know what would be more unsettling, finding something wrong, or finding nothing wrong that could explain Britney’s whereabouts.
“Brit!” Jess calls out.
There’s no answer.
I step around her and stride through the apartment looking for any sign as to where she would be but find nothing. I’m walking towards the living room window, when I step on something and stop. Looking down I find a photo frame face down with glass shattered around it. I pick it up and frown. I’ve looked at everything in her apartment while I’ve been here. This, I haven’t seen. In the picture is Brit, but a much younger version.
Jess walks over and says, “Her mom.”
“Right ...” Something doesn’t feel right. “I’m going to put my phone on charge,” I say. It’s the only thing we haven’t tried and I’m praying Britney’s tried to get in touch and there’s a simple explanation for all of this. Walking into the bedroom, I find my bag and retrieve my charger. After a few minutes, my phone lights up and the loading sign remains on the screen.
“Come on, you piece of shit,” I mutter to myself. Sitting on the bed, I stare at it, waiting. The loading screen disappears, replaced by my home screen and a few seconds pass before it begins bleeping incessantly.
“What’s that noise?” asks Jess, walking into the bedroom and looking at me bewildered.
“That’s the sound of the big fucking mistake I made.”
“The awards …”
“You watched them?”
She nods. Of course, she did. Half the country did.
“You have that many messages?” she asks, peering at my screen as the alerts continue sounding out into the silent room.
“And missed calls,” I reply.
“Who are they all from?”
“People I don’t want to hear from.” And that’s the truth. There’s too many to even process. Most with No Caller ID, probably the media. But there’s nothing from Brit, nothing at all.
While we’re both still looking at it, a No Caller ID starts ringing through again. Usually I’d ignore it, but I can’t because it could be Britney.
“Hello?” I answer hesitantly.
“Thank fuck! Where have you been? Why aren’t you answering your other phone?”
“Evan? How’d you get this number?”
“Do you really need to ask that question?”
He’s right, he could get in contact no matter where I was.
“Why are you calling?” My voice falters even though I try to keep my tone even. He never gets in touch with me, it’s always the other way around.
“I’ve been trying to call you all night,” he sounds as stressed as I feel.
“My phone died,” I explain, “and I couldn’t get to my charger.”
“Great fucking timing,” he grits out, then the line goes quiet.
“Are you there?”
“He got out …” he says quietly.
Nausea hits me, full force. I know the answer but still, I ask, “Who got out?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
I start pacing the floor, frantically. This can’t be happening. “They can’t have let him out, he’s in for life …”
“Listen to what I’m saying. He got out. Broke out. Nobody knows how.”
“How? How is that possible? He was under maximum security?”
“In the same way he managed to fly under the radar all those years. When he has something in his sight, no one can stop him.”
“And who does he want?”
“You. Where are you right now?”
I swallow. “I’m in New York.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” he bellows down the line.
I run a hand over my face and groan. “I shouldn’t have come back.”
“No, you fucking shouldn’t.” When I don’t reply he says, “He would have found you wherever you were. Be on alert. I’m coming to New York. You can’t be on your own right now.”
Britney. The broken glass. Please. God. No.
“Are you there?”
“I was with someone last night … We had an argument and I left her alone. I haven’t heard from her since and now I can’t find her.”
“Damn it,” he hisses down the line.
“Why would he take her?” I ask, even though deep down I know the answer.
“To try and get to you.”
***
Britney
Stop, I tell my heart. It hammers in my chest. Whatever was covering my eyes has been removed. I can just make out my surroundings as I stare straight ahead. I want to look around. Figure out where I am. But I’m terrified someone will hear or see me moving. Eventually I work up the courage to move my eyes. I dart them from side to side. The piercing beam of light through the cracks of a boarded-up window is the only thing that illuminates the room. Sweat trickles down my spine. My eyes burn with tears.
Footsteps sound. My blood runs cold. The figure in the black, hooded jacket steps through the door. Their movement is slow, but all to soon they’re uncomfortably close. I scream into the gag that fills my mouth. I writhe against the ties that secure me to the chair. It’s wasted effort. The only thing it achieves are burns on my skin from the friction.
“Quiet.”
I scream again.
The figure raises its fist in the air. It swoops down. A resounding crack fills the room as it connects with my jaw. I’m stunned into silence. The only saving grace … the throbbing in my face detracts from the unbearable pain the rest of my body is feeling. My gaze settles on my lap. I stare at the now filthy, once-champagne-colored fabric of my silk dress. There’s a slight tear at the knee. It’s the small details that are helping to keep me grounded.
“It’s time to play our game. Answer quickly and this will all be over soon. I promise.” The sinister tone fills me with terror. “Where is she?”
I shake my head. I’d never give him up, even if I knew where Becket was, I’d never tell.
Crack.
My face swings to the side and stars skew my vision. The throbbing is replaced by a stabbing pain.
Drip. Drip. Drip. The only noise that fills the room as blood trickles from my nose, over my top lip, onto the fabric of my dress.
“I’ll ask again.” The figure crouches down and the hood of the jacket casts a shadow over their face, as they clasp filthy, leather skinned hands in front of me. “Where is she?”
They’re not talking about Becket.
I whimper and shake my head again. My eyes remain focused on the tear in my dress. I don’t have a clue who they’re talking about. The only answer I can give isn’t the answer they want to hear, which means only one thing for me: nothing good.
The figure stands tall. “It’s time to play another game.”
One thing they don’t teach you in school: not all games are fun.
The figure skulks behind the seat I’m strapped to, then slowly unties the material covering my mouth. I gasp for air when it comes away. It’s thick and musty, but it’s air none the less.
Seizing the opportunity, I scream at the top of my lungs, “Help!” Over and over, I scream, thrashing from side to side. The restraints chafe at my skin even more and eventually my voice grows hoarse.
A cold laugh fills the room. Every hair on my body stands on end in warning. It’s too late for warnings.
“No one can hear you. Tell me where she is.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” I choke out through a sob.
“You’re lying.” The figure walks to a black bag on the floor, bends over and first, retrieves a knife. It glints as it passes through the beam of light before it’s placed on a small table. The way it sparkles and shines is almost poetic, that something used for such evil could, in this moment, look so beautiful. The figure reaches back in the bag and pulls out a handgun, then stands and walks with long, purposeful strides towards me. Without any hesitation, the gun is forced under my jaw, so hard it almost breaks the skin. “There’s a theory that in moments of sheer terror our memory can be clearest. I think we should test that theory.”
I close my eyes, waiting, as tears pour over my cheeks. Without the material gagging me, they cascade onto my dress, soaking my lap. The click of the safety mechanism being released echoes around the room.
“Let’s see what it takes to make you remember where she is.”
