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“Lily, he better not,” she says.
“Why?” Lily asks with a hand in the air.
“He has a son that might become a target. We didn’t think about that, did we?”
Lily hides her face in her hands, “Guess not.”
“Lily…” I sit by her side anyways, placing my hands on her shoulders. “You know I’ll be protecting you no matter what, right?” She nods. “I don’t need to be on camera to do that.”
“No, Brody, Sandra is right. You’re right. I’d hate to put Eric in danger because of my insecurities. I can do this on my own. Let’s do it!”
She shoos me out from her side and takes a few deep breaths, fixes her hair behind her ears and then nods to Sandra “One, two, three, go—”
“Good time zone to you, whenever and wherever you may be watching this. I’m Lily Rockwell, singer and songwriter, currently touring the country as the opening act to Sweets Tyler, and I’m here to bring you some clarification on the news that has been going around.”
Lily breathes deeply again and runs the back of her hand over her tired eyes. “Less than a year ago, I first encountered a man called Bartleby Jones. He was just an online presence, very sweet at first, but soon he became inconvenient - he found out my personal email address, my private social media accounts, he would send me pictures of my daily activities, and I even had to move to get rid of these advances.”
“Cut to a few weeks ago,” she crosses her legs. “He stole my phone in my own neighborhood, which gave Bartleby access to my new home address, which is now under surveillance 24/7. He sent a dead rat to my studio, high-jacked a TV show I was in, high-jacked Sweets Tyler’s show, and most serious of all, stabbed my bodyguard. The security company working with us conducted a facial analysis, which lead us to Ben Horowitz - we’ll put a picture of him above me in the video - and I got a restraining order. The day the stabbing happened, Ben was immediately arrested, but released upon proving he had an alibi.”
“The new alibi isn’t foolproof, though. When Bartleby invaded the last show in New Orleans, Ben was out of New York and heading for the Southern states in a Greyhound bus. Who knows? He might have taken a plane at some point. And now we’re scared to step on stage, afraid he’ll hurt any of our loved ones, and that includes all of you watching, because you are family too.”
“The purpose of this video is to spread the word about Ben Horowitz, make you aware of his presence, and incentivize you to contact my security team in case you see him.”
“Please, if you see him, contact my security team to alert them of his whereabouts. Their phone number and email are shown at the bottom of the screen. That will help us keep things under control. We just want to go back to normal, where everyone is safe and free to enjoy some music and make friends again. Thank you.”
Lily signals a little scissor sign with her fingers, asking Sandra to cut. She uncrosses her legs and looks up to the room, hopeful, “How did I do?”
“Amazing,” I say, then move back to her side.
“I had no idea the story was this complicated, sir,” Fenway says, speaking in his usual monotone voice, but visibly shocked, nonetheless.
“You should have been there,” I say, feeling the scar the creep left me. “When did your shift end, Fenway?”
“Half an hour ago, sir,” he says.
“You’re dismissed, Fenway. There’s already someone at the door to replace you.” Fenway nods and heads out of the room.
“And you two,” I point to Sandra and Lily. “I need you up early. We have an appointment at the police station.”
Lily winces at the news. Sandra just audibly sighs. Caught in the middle of them, I’m just losing patience with this never-ending story. The day when Bartleby Jones will be behind bars for good can’t come fast enough.
“Do we have to?” Lily asks, playful as a child, but hiding her disgust quite poorly.
“I’m sorry, Lily…” I say, squeezing her hand.
Sandra realizes she became the third wheel and gets ready to skedaddle. “I better leave, then,” she points a thumb to the door.
“Wait,” Lily says, “Where are the test results?”
Sandra replies, “Stored safely in my room.”
“I want them,” she says, piquing my interest immediately. “I’m ready to know.”
“Why now?” I ask her, putting my arm around her shoulders.
“Just in case something happens tomorrow,” she says, somber, “I need to know to be prepared.”
Hands at her hips, Sandra smiles and nods her head, “I’ll go grab them. Give me a minute.”
