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The final block of the show starts, and we first receive the questions from the audience. Except for a few teens who were there exclusively for me, most of the questions were aimed towards the medium.
Finally, come the video calls. The very first one is for me, and Vivian introduces the caller with enthusiasm, “From New Jersey, let’s welcome Bartleby Jones!”
My blood runs cold. I have shivers down my spine when I look at him and try to see his face on the screen, but it’s covered by a bandanna and a baseball cap.
“What’s your question, Mr. Jones?” Vivian continues, but he doesn’t seem interest in talking to her.
“What I wouldn’t do to go on a date with you, Lily…” Bartleby says, in a trembly, creepy tone. “Why do you keep on turning me down?”
His voice is familiar. Daring, I ask “Ben? Is that you?”
“I am not Ben!” he roars. “I’m not giving up on you, Lily.”
“Why are we giving space to this sort of creep?!” Vivian turns in the direction of her director.
“You will go out with me, even if it’s the last thing you do,” he threatens.
Production cuts him off the very next moment.
“I’m sorry you had to see this, folks, but apparently my director thinks weirdos bring ratings,” and the audience laughs nervously.
“Let’s lighten things up, Lily,” she holds my hands, “what’s that big secret you’ve been keeping from the audience?”
And I’m suddenly reminded of the reason why I am there. “Well, Vivian, the big secret is that I’ll be opening for Sweets Tyler during her national tour!”
The teens scream their lungs out, and the rest of the audience goes along and cheers.
Vivian shows two more callers, then asks me to end the show with a song. On a whim, I decide to play the song I composed for Brody, in hopes that he will have the same reaction he had last time.
Likely not, though. When I look at him, he’s the visage of sobriety, standing guard over me like a hawk. Oh, how I wish I could grab him by that tie and kiss him in front of everybody.
But the best I can do is give him a gentle hug once I’m done being on stage, but he barely acknowledges it.
“Is Bartleby Jones your stalker?” he asks, sounding like a robot, which reminds me of Fryars.
“Yes,” I say, now realizing how bad the situation is now that I can’t distract myself anymore.
“I thought I had it in the brief I sent you,” Sandra says, crossing her arms and looking firmly at Brody.
“I must have blanked it out,” he waves us out. “How do I get a recording of the show? I want to compare his face to the picture of the mugger I got.”
“I’m sure by now it’s already online with a million views!” Sandra says waving her hands around.
“Let’s check with production,” I say, then call, “Kevin!”
When I ask him for a copy, Kevin raises a hand and asks me to wait a moment. He vanishes from the room. We wait half an hour. When I am about to go after him, Sandra finds the video online.
“You have your man,” she says, showing him her phone.
And Brody nods, triumphant and determined.
Chapter Ten
BRODY
Thevideooperatorsshowme the video of Bartleby again and again. I’ve looked at his face so many times already that I’m not sure what I expect to see differently each time, but I can’t stop watching it.
“Can you trace the call?” I ask. The men look at each other, seemingly dumbfounded.
