The Scene Stealer: A Hollywood Romance

My pride is substantial, but my thankfulness supersedes all of my emotions. I want to think that it’s Devyn that took care of the bill, but I quickly dismiss that notion. It’s most likely Uncle Jeff who has been begging to pay it off for years.

I happily write VOID across the front of the check, tear it up, and toss it in the garbage, then make a mental note to buy Jeff that new leather wallet the store in town just stocked and he has been eyeing.

Grabbing the personal letters, I head back into the bedroom, strip out of my clothes and into a set of pajamas, and settle into bed. I reach across to my nightstand and flick on the small light, the lamp illuminating the room in a soft yellow glow.

My smile grows with each letter, especially when they request to book again in the future. The next to last envelope only has my name written across the front, not my address, which under normal circumstances is a bit strange, but it wouldn’t be the first time a guest stopped through but I wasn’t available so they left a letter instead.

Now that I think about it, the situation happens more than it should.

A picture falls from the tri-fold paper as I pull it free from the envelope. I reach over the edge of my bed to grab it, the backside of the image facing upward. Flipping the 5x8 picture around I almost drop it again when I find the image of myself and Devyn at the diner the day before he left. It must have been taken from one of the papers that posted the article. But what sends shivers down my spine is the dark red X over my body.

With shaking hands, I sit back up and hold the folded paper in the other, afraid to read what is inside, but too curious to stop myself from unfolding the parchment.

The note is typed out with one of those old label makers, the ones that emboss the letters. I’m reasonably certain Susan had one. The labels are adhered onto the paper with no conformity. As if they couldn’t be bothered to line them up in a readable fashion.

But why would they care?

YOU ARE NOTHING

YOUR TIME IS GOING TO RUN OUT

In a moment like this, I wish that I knew that I could reach out to Devyn and tell him about it. Our endless game of phone tag has not boded well for either of us and it’s taken an emotional toll on me. But he’s probably used to crazed fans threatening anyone close to him. I’m sure his cousin gets things like this all the time.

Taking a deep breath, I let that notion settle in my head.

It’s just a fan.

It’s just someone jealous of how close I got to Devyn, and now that we aren’t around each other anymore everything will be fine.

It has to be fine.

I fold the letter and place it back into the envelope along with the picture, slipping it inside the drawer of my nightstand.

~

In the three weeks leading up to my flight, I receive one more letter each week. They all say the same thing, that my time is running out, implying that Devyn deserves better, pretty much reiterating everything I say to myself on a nightly basis.

I took Uncle Jeff’s advice and let Officer Tawny know about the letters and she agrees that they don’t seem threatening enough to involve police action, but she asked me to continue sending her copies just incase.

She’s been dusting them for prints, but they’ve shown up clean in every instance. Tawny thinks the person is smart enough to wear gloves. And they all have various return addresses, if they have them at all. To be safe we upgraded my security system at my apartment.

I stand in front of my open suitcase, wondering if I should bother packing. My anxiety rises thinking about w

hat may happen if this fan finds out I’m traveling to visit Devyn. The threats could continue or get worse.

Pulling out my new cell phone that Uncle Jeff demanded I purchase before I flew, I bring up his number. He’s closing up the auto shop tonight and he doesn’t answer my message right away. I need reassurance. My mind is jumping to every different conclusion imaginable about what may happen when I arrive in Chicago tomorrow.

I’m not even sure who, or if anyone, will be waiting at the airport.

The unknown is a scary place. But I promised Uncle Jeff that I’d go on this journey, and I’d be a fool not to, even if it’s a way to get finality for my heart.

Glancing at the clock, I begin throwing a few items into the case, jeans and shirts, a dress, toiletries, and lacy undergarments.

Finally, as I settle into bed, I get a message from Uncle Jeff, three hours after I sent the original message.

Jeff: I will drag you to that airport kicking and screaming.

Of course he would figure out that I had been planning on not following through, my insecurities getting the best of me.