Hollywood Enemy: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller Page 27

  I looked back over at the phantom. It was still there. I gulped in another breath and reached over, my hand touching his shoulder. It was solid.

  “What the hell?” I said, pulling my hand back. I wasn’t sure why I was asking the question and certainly didn’t expect an answer.

  “This isn’t hell,” he said.

  My father, or the crazy hallucination that I saw as my father, was exactly as I remembered seeing him in photographs before his death. Dark hair, strong jaw, eyes the color of sand. He was strong and vital, and exactly as I always wanted him to be—if he were alive.

  He spoke again. “It’s probably better if you just think about this as a break.”

  “Yeah, as in a breakdown.” I sighed. “I’m losing my mind.”

  “If that helps you understand, then it’s okay.” He smiled in the same way I’d seen him smile in photographs. Since I was only four when he died I had no memories of him smiling or doing anything for that matter.

  I breathed, blinked several times, looked away and then looked back again. He was still there. “Okay, I really am losing my mind.”

  “If you just accept what’s happening I think you’ll be okay.” He turned his head, his eyes taking in the cemetery grounds for a moment, before his gaze came back to me. “Maybe you should ask me why I’m here—or if it works better for you, ask me why you’re having a mental breakdown and talking to your dead father.”

  I glanced down at Bernie. He seemed to be looking over at the other end of the bench, like he was also seeing the phantom. I looked around, wondering if someone would see me talking to myself. We were alone.

  “Okay,” I finally said, turning back to him. “Why is this happening?”

  “Remember when you were in the fifth grade, Katy. You fell and hit your head.”

  “Katy?”

  He shrugged. “It’s what I called you. I think you liked it.”

  I thought about him calling me Katy but couldn’t remember anything. Then I thought about the day I’d fallen at school. It seemed so long ago. “I was playing soccer. An older boy tripped me and I fell hard.”

  “You were afraid.”

  “I remember waking up in the hospital alone. They weren’t able to get ahold of mom and there wasn’t anyone…” My eyes misted over at the memory.

  “You were frightened, Katy, kind of like you’re frightened now, but in a different way.”

  My head moved up and down slowly. I tried to express what I was feeling about everything that had happened, but the loss…it all seemed beyond words.

  “Do you still like to dance, Katy?”

  I looked over at him. “Yes. It’s one of my favorite things to do.”

  He looked down at his feet. His shoes were brown loafers, a bit scuffed. His gaze came back up to me. “Do you remember our dance?”

  “I’m not sure what…”

  “You used to put your feet on mine when you were little and we’d dance around the house together.” He chuckled. “You were pretty good.”

  I smiled, letting my mind drift back in time. Maybe it was another hallucination caused by my mental state, but I saw myself as a little girl, my feet on his, him holding my hands as we laughed and swayed to the music. My smile grew wider. “I remember a song.”

  “Good Night My Angel. It was our song.”

  My eyes filled with tears. “My wedding…it was the song for the father-daughter dance. Mom and I danced together because…” I began to sob, remembering that the song spoke of how someday we’ll all be gone, but that lullabies go on and on. It told the story of how a father and his daughter will always be together, if only in spirit. His hand came over and wrapped around my shoulder.

  “I was there with you both, Katy. You just didn’t know it.” I looked up, brushed my tears as he added, “Of course you could have done better than marrying Doug.”

  “That’s for sure.” I regained control of my emotions but then lost control again, my tears coming in waves. “I’m so lost, Daddy…I’m broken and empty…and…” I looked at him again, saying aloud for the first time what I’d been contemplating. “…I’m not sure that I can go on…living.”

  He reached over and held me for a long moment, my tears pouring out like a river. They seemed to come from the center of my being as the images of loss swept through me like a movie reel.

  I saw my father being shot…me as child holding his hand…images of Doug cheating on me and leaving me divorced and penniless…the heartbreaking image of my birthmother surfaced as I heard the sounds of her life being supported by the swish and drone of machines…my adoptive mom appeared, beaten and dazed by the man who killed my father…I again heard the phone call, telling me that my biological mother was dead…I then saw the image of Lacy, falling to the pavement…and finally, there was Jack, the blood on his shirt spreading as I’d turned to him, reaching out...

  When I couldn’t stand the memories and images a moment longer, my tear-filled eyes came up to him, a single word escaping from the center of my shattered soul. “Why?”

  My father’s eyes were soft, maybe also filled with tears. I couldn’t tell for sure because his image was blurred by my own watery eyes.

  “This answer isn’t going to be enough for you, Katy. But it’s all I can tell you and that you can understand at this moment.” His gaze drifted off. “Sometimes bad things happen because people lose themselves. They forget who they really are and make choices based upon fear. That fear gives rise to bad experiences, thoughts, and intentions. It creates terrible suffering in the world, bringing with it loss where there should be light.”

  I thought about what he’d said. I finally sucked in some air and said, “You’re right, Daddy. It’s not enough.”

  “Maybe in time it will help—a little.” He regarded me for a moment. “It’s like a dance, sweetheart. Sometimes the movement is graceful, flowing, and full of beauty. But other times, you stumble, fall, things break—including your heart, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to get up again.” I found his eyes as he said, “Knowing all that and everything that’s happened, only you can answer the question. If you had it all to do over, would you choose to dance?”

  I sobbed, the words barely escaping from my throat. “I don’t know, Daddy. I don’t know.”

  He held me against him as waves of emotion rolled off me. Even Bernie seemed aware of what was happening, looking up at me and whimpering.

  When I finally found some composure again, he said, “Give it some time. For now there’s only one other thing I need to tell you and that you need to remember.”

  I reached over and took his hand. “You’re going away again, aren’t you?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not really going away—ever. You need to remember that.”

  I squeezed his hand harder, cried again, and brushed my cheek against him. “Please don’t leave me. I’m so alone and broken.”

  “Katy.”

  My watery eyes came up to him after a moment. Something changed and I realized I was a part of him. Whatever this hallucination or break with reality was I knew in some strange way we weren’t really separate. My thoughts were also his thoughts, my feelings somehow connected to him.

  He spoke to me again for a final time. “Try and remember this, Katy. It’s something you instinctively knew as a little girl but you forgot. You’re not the dancer, you’re the dance.”

  And then he was gone.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  A month later, as I packed my belongings, I was still struggling to understand the conversation I’d had with my dead father. I was almost convinced that seeing and talking to him had been the result of a complete mental breakdown.

  Almost.

  There was something about the experience, his image, his touch, and his words that also seemed real to me—maybe in some strange way even more real than any experience I’d ever had.

  I was also beginning to think I understood his strange message to me, his words about being the dance, not t
he dancer. Life happens. We always think we’re at the center of it and control events. But I’d come to understand that we aren’t in control. We are in the dance and things happen, things we judge to be either good or bad, but, regardless, they happen and we have no way to control most of it. The only thing we can control is our reaction to events.

  That’s why the thoughts about ending my life never returned. It’s also why I’d in some small way begun to come to grips with losing Jack. It was still a day by day struggle, the memory of the last time we’d said the words “I love you” still haunting me, but I’d managed to control my grief long enough to make a decision—to take a leave from my job.

  “I’m taking Bernie and going to the station for a few minutes, before heading to the beach,” I said to Natalie and Mo as I came into the family room.

  “You’ll freeze your wazoo off,” Mo said.

  “I’m just going to meet Sarah Meyer, the girl we rescued, and go for a stroll with her after I turn in my leave paperwork.”

  Natalie came over to me. “I think taking a leave and getting outta town with Mo and me is the best decision you’ve made in long time.”

  “Yeah,” Mo agreed. “But a few days with my sis and you might think chasing after killers was the easy stuff.”

  “I’m looking forward to a change. I’m done with chasing killers, bad guys, idiots, and perverts for a while.”

  Mo shrugged. “Covers a lot a ground. Especially the perv category.”

  “Speaking of pervs,” Natalie said, “Me and Dudley are on the outs.”

  I was surprised. I knew they’d been seeing one another since she and Tex split up. “What happened?”

  “Turns out he’s been seeing that TV reporter, the one that’s been doing all those specials about The Artist and your dad’s killer.”

  “Haley Tristan?”

  “Yeah,” Mo said, answering for Natalie. “That woman’s so horny she would suck the paint off a fireplug.”

  I turned back to Natalie. “If that’s the case then you’re better off without him.”

  “It’s okay.” Natalie grinned. “I think I need to do what you American’s call play the field for a while. Sample some more chocolates in the box.”

  “Mama always said life is like a box of chocolates,” Nana warbled from somewhere behind us, coming down the stairway on her scooter.

  Thoughts of my mother had drifted through my mind when she’d said the word mama. Mom was still staying with her sister and recovering from her encounter with Ryan Cooper. When I’d told her that Cooper was dead I think it brought her some solace, but she still wasn’t sure when she would return to Hollywood.

  When Nana got over to us, she said, “Elvis is going back to Vegas for a show. Maybe I could go with you on your trip, look for some chocolate with Natalie.”

  Mo had her hands on her big hips. “Not gonna happen, Nana. We’re staying with my sister and there ain’t enough room.”

  “Too bad.” Nana’s gaze drifted out the window. I saw there were some landscapers trimming the trees. “I think I’ll go see if there’s any chocolate in the backyard.”

  Mo shook her head, motioning to one of the landscapers who happened to be black. “If I was that guy I’d do myself a favor and throw myself into the wood chipper.”

  ***

  “You got three fucking months,” Lieutenant Edna said to me after I handed him my leave paperwork. “You wanna come back sooner, just call.”

  “I doubt that’s going to happen.” I glanced through his window into the outer office and saw that Charlie was cleaning out his desk. I turned back to Edna. “I don’t suppose there’s anything new?”

  He knew I was talking about the girl who had shot and killed Ryan Cooper. “Nothing. Bishop and Alvin caught the investigation but they’re coming up empty.” He studied me for a moment. “I wonder if Jack found out something about her before…”

  I hugged my sides. “I guess we’ll never know.” I changed the subject. “Any idea who I’ll be partnered with when I get back.”

  “Jessica,” he said smiling.

  “Don’t even go there…”

  “Just kidding. I don’t need another homicide.” He took a file off his desk. “We’re getting a lateral transfer, a guy who worked with Chicago PD before coming to the department about three years ago. He’s a little rough around the edges but I think you two will get along okay.”

  I stood up, pulling Bernie up with me. “Rough around the edges. I don’t know what that means and I’m not sure I want to know. See you in a few weeks.”

  I found Charlie at his desk in the squad room emptying the contents of his drawers into a wastebasket. There were empty snack bags, crackers, and something that neither DNA testing nor the crime lab would probably be able to identify.

  “Maybe you should just donate your desk to a food bank,” I said, noticing that he wasn’t wearing a tie and hadn’t shaved.

  “I wanna fresh start when I get back, if the lieutenant will give me back my desk.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m coming back part-time, like Pearl. So, you’ll still see big daddy around here every now and then.”

  “What about Idaho, your plans for a cabin?”

  “Still happening but I’ll fly south for the winter and work a few weeks now and then. Figure Wilma and me can make it work.”

  “Wilma? She’s going with you?”

  He nodded, shrugged. “I guess we’re meant to be together.” He smiled. It was scary. “Besides, I still got a few things to teach her.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to hear another word.” I saw that his eyes were lingering on my hair.

  “The new cut looks good. I think it’s growing on you.”

  “Yeah, growing would be the operative word.” I’d had Maya, a stylist at my brother’s salon, trim and condition my hair. It was longer now and I was happy with the outcome.

  I came closer to Charlie and said, “Come here and give me a goodbye hug.” He reluctantly complied. When we parted I saw there were tears in his eyes. “You going soft on me, partner?”

  “Yeah maybe.” He brushed his tears. “Shit, I must be getting old.”

  I hugged him again. He cried harder. I stepped back again and said, “You’re like a sponge Winkler. I better go before I have to get a mop.”

  ***

  Bernie and I took Sunset Boulevard to the coast and then on to Malibu to meet with Sarah Meyer. The highway twisted and turned as we drove along the ocean. The drive felt therapeutic, giving me the feeling that I was a lifetime away from the city even though it was just a few miles.

  The day was cloudy and cool, a soft breeze blowing onshore. We parked and Bernie was sniffing some ice plant when I saw Sarah waving to us from the parking lot. In a couple of minutes, she came over to us pushing a little girl in a wheelchair.

  “This is Jenna,” Sarah said, smiling and introducing the girl.

  Jenna was probably around eight but it was hard to tell. She was bald and extremely thin, maybe from chemo.

  I bent down to the her and shook hand. “Bernie and I are happy to meet you, Jenna.”

  “Is he friendly?” Jenna asked as Bernie poked his big wet nose up to her.

  “Of course,” Sarah said. “He helped save my life.

  “Could we take him with us, down by the water?” Jenna asked. She turned to Sarah. “I’m strong enough to walk.”

  “That would be fine,” I said, after Sarah agreed. I helped her out of the wheelchair. When she stood up I saw that her T-shirt said, Begin Each Day with a Grateful Heart. For some reason it brought tears to my eyes. I brushed them away and turned back to Sarah. “I’ll put the wheelchair in your van and meet you at the beach in a couple of minutes.”

  The girls and Bernie scampered off. I pushed the chair to the van, thinking about the message on Jenna’s shirt. Something about it made me think about my father and what he’d said again.

  You’re not the dancer, you’re
the dance.

  The words still rang true to me but there was also something about the message on Jenna’s shirt that also seemed true. I realized it was a message that had been delivered to me by two beautiful spirits. One who had been saved from a mad man. The other who had been saved from the ravages of cancer. Both were survivors in different ways. While I was the dance and couldn’t always control what happened to me in life, I also knew that despite the losses in my life I could live each day with a grateful heart.

  “Excuse me.”

  The voice came from behind me as I was stowing the wheelchair in Sarah’s van. I turned and almost fainted. I was looking into the green eyes of a tall young woman with brown hair, a woman I’d seen only once before. She was the woman who had killed Ryan Cooper and saved my life.

  I stumbled, took a step back. “Who are you?” I demanded.

  A smile parted her lips and she brushed a hand through her wavy hair. “I’m your sister.”

  THE END

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