Chapter 8

Rachael's Story:

Despite Alex's best advice, I couldn't really sleep that night. I felt somewhat comforted by the fact that he was coming back - to the US at least - immediately, but even with him on American soil I still felt troubled by the whole thing. My paranoia had gone down somewhat since that first night, but now whenever I thought about what all this meant, I still felt a surge of fear rush through me.

After tossing and turning for a few more hours, I got up around 10 and began my usual morning routine, hoping it would help me get prepared for the day ahead. I really didn't look forward to going to see Gordon Hapsboro in the flesh, but as Alex had said, it was very important that it get done. I changed into a t-shirt and some gym shorts and then went down to the workout room in my house. Doing a few light cardio exercises and a couple of weighted leg lifts, I returned upstairs and took a shower. I was going to fix myself something to eat, but as the growing apprehension began to creep into my psyche more and more, and my stomach began to turn knots a bit, I decided food would not be the best thing for me.

Ok Rachael, just do this thing, I thought to myself.

Making myself comfortable, I took out my address book of names of stars and started going through alphabetically. The first number was Katherine Heigl's.

Picking up the phone, I listened to the dial-tone for a long moment before taking a deep breath and dialing the number. With each successive ring, I found myself growing more and more nervous, my heart thudding in my chest. It was true. After 10 rings or so and no one answering, I put the receiver down and with a trembling hand, paged over to Mila Kunis' number.

Again, no one was there. That made sense, since both of them had left together - if something was up, they were both in trouble. But what about Jamie Pressly? She was there that night too and after the fight that ensued between her and Alex, I still couldn't quite get over the idea that she might be involved as well. There was just something about the way that she was acting that stuck out in my mind.

I debated about calling her home to see if she was there, but then I realized that if she WAS involved, she could easily trace me back to my house (I didn't give my number to many people). Realizing this, I instead decided I would do the next best thing: scope her house out in person.

Grabbing my keys, I was on the highway in no time towards her small mansion on the outset of LA. As I exited and made my way down her street, I saw a car pull out quickly from what appeared to be her house. Someone was there! Keeping my distance, I waited for a few seconds before slowly starting to follow the green Porsche, its top down and two heads clearly visible.

I let one car get between us but then began to follow the car at a normal rate. At a stoplight, I rolled down my window and looked out. I could definetely make out a blonde head of hair behind the driver's wheel. The light changed and I quickly ducked back in the car - it was her alright, but where was she going?

Heading for the freeway, I decided to follow her. I felt nervous and excited at the same time, wondering what she was up to and why she hadn't been kidnapped or worse like Charlie and Katherine and Mila. Perhaps she really WAS in on it.

I put three car lengths between us as she cruised down the interstate, going at a pretty steady clip for a few miles. When she put her turn signal on, I resisted the immediate urge to do the same, waiting for a few seconds before following her lead and getting off the freeway.

We were in a residential neighborhood almost immediately of apartment's and small homes. The houses were actually fairly nice (by LA standards any way) and Jamie's car did not look TOO out of place as it crusied the quiet streets. Keeping my distance, I watched as her car pulled to the curb and stopped in front of a complex. I hit my breaks and held my breath, waiting. I was thankful that the slight curve in the road hid me from plain sight.

From that distance, I saw Jamie get out of the car, followed by her passenger (another blonde) as they walked towards the complex. They were fairly close to each other and were obviously saying something given the way that their bodies were moving, but I couldn't even hope to make it out. When they vanished behind a gate leading to the complex, and thus out of sight, I inched my car forward a bit and stopped at the curb as well, about 100 feet from where they had parked.

Getting out of the car slowly, careful not to slam the door, I took a few cautious steps towards where I had seen them enter. This neighborhood looked familiar to me, and yet I couldn't place why. Glancing up at the sky, I noticed that it looked dark and forboding. The clouds were an ugly, bruised gray and it looked like they could break at any time. A strong wind had also picked up, which was especially unusual for a California day like today.

As I drew closer, I suddenly remembered that this was Katherine's neighborhood! Yes, there is the odd shaped bushes she had told me about once at a party... and over there was the sound of the noisy dog she had complained about at great length. Even though I had never been there, it fit her description perfectly. A thought struck me then, as to why Jamie was in Katherine's neighborhood - perhaps she really WAS involved in this thing, for what other reason would she have to go to her house in the middle of the day? My heart thudded in my chest as I approached the gate to Katherine's complex. Peaking my head around the fence post, I could just make out Jamie and another blonde standing there, knocking on the door of what I presume had to be Katherine's apartment.

But then, if she was involved, why would she be knocking? I puzzled over this for a moment, but unfortunately it was a moment too long. Jamie's companion happened to look my direction and her eyes found me immediately. She raised her hand and pointed at me and now Jamie looked too. I froze with fear as they both began to run down the stairs and towards me. My mind panicked as I tried to think of what to do. I had been seen, but would running do any good? It certainly would look silly if they were just trying to help like I was... but then again, NOT running could be a dangerous mistake.

After a moment's pause, in which both women drew much closer to me than I would have liked, my legs finally began to work again and I bolted, running as fast as I could towards my car, which now seemed like it was miles away. The strong wind howling in my ears and my hair blowing wildly around my face, I heard the gate open with a crash and knew that they were right behind me almost now. Though all this seemed to happen in slow motion, it really only took a couple of seconds for me to reach my car. As I came to a thudding stop, pushing myself against it, the force of the impact made my keys fall from my hand and skid underneath my car.

Shit! I thought to myself as I dropped down on my knees quickly and tried to pull them out as fast as I could. I struggled to reach them with my arm, finally resorting to putting my head under there and snatching them up, but it was too late. When I rose to my feet, Jamie and her companion, who I could now see was a very sweaty and out of breath Sarah Michelle Gellar were mere feet from me.

I managed to get my key in the door before I suddenly felt Jamie's surprisingly strong arm on my shoulder, spinning me around painfully as she pushed me against the door of the car.

"What the fuck are you doing here Rachael?" she said, her face red from running. Sarah lingered behind her, grasping her side from the sudden burst of energy she had to use.

"I should ask you the same thing, shouldn't I Jamie? I went to your house to try and find you but when you were pulling out of your driveway, I decided to follow you. When you showed up here, I knew something was up,"

Jamie let go of my shoulder and groaned, spinning on her feet as she rolled her neck from side to side, an exasperatted look on her face.

"Jesus Rachael... don't scare me like that. I came here looking for Katherine because I was hoping that she would be alright,"

A conveinent answer, I thought to myself. I still wasn't certain.

"Why would Katherine not be alright?" I said, trying to play dumb.

Jamie stared at me for a second, but she wasn't buying my coyness. "Because of what happened, which I know you know all about. We all left Charlie's and the next thing I know, Gordon Hapsboro shows up at my door the next morning, reciting almost the entire conversation of the office. After he left, I knew I had to try and get in touch with everyone who was there. Katherine was just first on the list,"

"Don't bother with the rest of them," I said bitterly. "I couldn't reach Mila and obviously Katherine isn't here. I talked to Alex last night too and he said -- "

"Wait, you talked to Alex? When?"

"Last night. I freaked out because when I was leaving the office I heard a gun shot and knew that some real trouble was going down. I drove home as fast as I could and locked myself in. It was yesterday that I finally got the courage to call Alex. He thinks Charlie is dead,"

Jamie looked off wistfully towards the end of the street. "Yeah, I think so too,"

"And now I am on my way to go see Hapsboro, at the request of Alex," I replied. This caught Jamie off guard as she jerked her head back to look at me, her eyes going wide.

"What? Why?"

"Alex thinks we need to find out as much as we can about what Hapsboro knows. And I guess I am the lucky girl who gets to do that,"

Jamie's eyes narrowed. "Figures. He's off living it up in Japan and he sends the women to do the dangerous work. Are you sure you can trust him?"

I was miffed by this question, so I fired one equally as nasty back at her.

"How do I know I can even trust you? I'm still not sure you are totally ignorant about what happened after the office meeting,"

"Who else do you have to trust Rachael? I mean, it looks like it's just you and I here, and we both are after the same thing,"

"I'm not sure that we are Jamie. What is Sarah Gellar doing here any ways?"

Jamie turned her head and looked at Sarah. "She was at my place when Hapsboro showed up. I couldn't not tell her what was going on, so she came along for the ride,"

I looked at Sarah for a moment, then back at Jamie. "You can trust her?"

Sarah scoffed at this and spoke to me for the first time. "Yes, she can trust me. I don't know what the fuck kind of mess you two have gotten yourself into, but I'm trying to stay as far away from it as possible. Until yesterday, I thought a rose petal was just part of a flower. I didn't know it was this whole big Hollywood conspiracy,"

"Yeah, it's almost like some really badly written sexual fantasy or something," Jamie said offhandedly. "But any ways, Rachael, I think you can trust us. I think that, for now at least, I can trust you,"

"That's nice to know Jamie, but we will see if when the pitch comes across the plate, you are ready to swing," I replied. The whole thing still left a bad taste in my mouth, but Jamie was right. In times of crisis, allies were always good to have.

"Oh don't worry, I'll be ready," she replied. There was an intense pause between us, as I sensed that we were both holding back from saying what we really wanted to. The pause lasted for around 30 seconds and I knew that this conversation was pretty much over.

Without saying anything, I put my key in the door of the car and went to open it when I felt Jamie's hand on my shoulder once again. I turned my head to look at her.

"Rachael," she said, a bit of hesistation in her voice. "Here, take this,"

Looking down at what she held, I saw a small pistol in her hand. I gasped loudly at seeing the... the THING... in her hand, amazed that she actually expected me to take such a thing.

"I... I can't take that," I stammered at her.

"You need it," she said, handing it to me. I felt it's cold surface touch my hand. It felt heavier than I would have first thought, and yet there was a strange sense of power in holding it. I glanced up at Jamie.

"I'm not saying you have to use it, but if the situation warrants it..."

I smiled at her for her consideration. Oddly enough, holding the gun in my hand made me suddenly feel like it didn't matter if I trusted her or not. The thought chilled me to the core. To even imagine taking someone else's life was insane to me. But if it had to be done, it had to be done. I put the gun in my purse and pushed the thought away.

"Be careful Rachael," Jamie said, turning away from me. "And let me know what you find out,"

"I will Jamie, thanks," I said, my voice dry and raspy as it came out of my throat. I suddenly thought of something and called out to her.

"Hey Jamie, what are you going to do now?"

She looked back at me and smiled a very cold and very determined smile.

"I have some business to settle,"

Alex's Story:

I left Jessica Alba sleeping soundly in the bed of her hotel, high above the bustling metropolis of Tokyo. Part of me longed to just stay in bed with her, to curl up and forget about what was going on in America. But as I rose out of bed, the sheets falling over her nude body with a delicate glide, I knew that people's lives depended on me now. That wasn't something I could easily back down from.

I dressed quickly and took the shuttle from the hotel to the airport. The flight was relatively uneventful, especially compared to the one from LA to Japan, and I used the time to try and rest. But because of the time difference and the heavy, heavy weight of things on my mind, sleep was impossible to come by. It was just as well, given that this flight (because of my stop in Miami) was going to be a longer one.

We flew through the clear blue sky for hours, passing slightly over the Pacific Ocean before encountering the land masses of Asia and Europe. My flight plan called for a stop in London's Heathrow airport, which I was actually looking forward to: I had never travelled this much in my entire life, and I never could have imagined being in the British Isles, nor the circumstances that would bring me there. As we touched down and I left the plane, I was glad to be back amongst people of my own height and who spoke English as a first language (if certainly a different VERSION of English).

Making my way to the ticket counter, I didn't even have to speak to the dumpy looking woman behind the desk, her hair frazzled and gray around her shoulders to the point of almost consuming her face. Instead, I merely looked up at the terminal screen and saw, with much disappointment, that the flight was delayed.

"Fucking terrorists," I heard someone behind me mutter, causing me to turn and look at them, hoping to catch what they said.

"I know. How bloody stupid do you have to be to run past all the damn check points? Damn wanker, he screwed us all!" another man said.

The terminal said that there would be a 3 hour delay in all flights, but my intuition told me otherwise - that I would be stuck here for at least 6 hours.

Grudingly, I walked away from the desk and approached the gate where my flight was supposed to take off, flopping down in one of the hard, plastic chairs that was the source of discomfort for my fellow travellers around me. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes and listened to the soft voice of the overhead PA system, reading off flights that had been delayed and flights that had been cancelled.

I must have dozed off while waiting (my sleep patterns were really screwed up now, I knew for certain), because the next thing I know, when I opened my eyes I felt like time had really passed. Glancing at my watch, I had been asleep for close to 45 minutes, though I wouldn't really call it sleep since I felt just as tired and groggy as before. Standing up and stretching my legs, I smacked my lips together, my mouth dry and cottony from the doze.

My bag in tow, I walked down the concourse looking for a place to buy a drink. I passed by numerous stores and shops, but some how a Coke didn't really appeal to me at the moment. Towards the end of the concourse, I spotted a pub. My first inclination was to just keep going, knowing that the drinks would be way over priced, but as the thoughts of my future journey crept back into my mind, I decided that drink might be in order.

Walking into the small pub, its lighting dark and dim and just like I would have envisioned a bar on London's bustling streets to be like, I took a seat at the bar. The bartender noticed me, a tall balding man with a heavy gut and a stained undershirt passing for his attire and walked up to me.

"What can I get ya?"

"Just a beer please. Whatever the house recommends,"

He nodded and went to the tap, pouring me a massive glass of some of the darkest beer I had ever seen. I gave him a $10 bill and he brought me back change (surprisingly in US dollars, which I guess wasn't uncommon since it was an international airport). Setting the glass in front of me, I pulled it to my lips and took a long, full sip.

I immediately coughed - damn that was strong! and almost spit some of it out on the counter top. A few other travellers behind me chuckled to themselves as I grinned a bit sheepishly. I noticed a guy two seats down looking at me with a puzzled grin on his face, shaking his head.

"You Americans don't know what real beer is do you?" he said, smiling at me. He was rather lanky, probably around my height but a little shorter, with rather long dark brown hair and stubble on his chin and cheeks.

I shrugged, clearing my throat as I shook my head. "I guess not,"

"Well mate, this is England. If you plan on doing much drinking while you are here, you better get used to our beer,"

"Thanks, but I'm only here for a few hours,"

He continued to smile at me, a friendly smile. Standing up from his seat, he moved over next to me on the vacant bar stool.

"Same here. Well, not England but London I mean. The name is Rich," he said, extending his hand.

"Alex, nice to meet you," I said, shaking it back.

"So, what brings you to merry old England?"

"I just have a layover from my flight from Japan. I'm headed back to the States. Miami, more specifically,"

"Ah, Japan. Great place. I've been there a couple of times, I loved it. You have a good time while you were there?"

I hesitated for a moment, not really sure why this stranger was asking me all these questions.

"Yeah, it was ok. I'll be glad to get back home though, this time difference is killing me,"

He laughed. "You get used to it in my line of work. I'm a free lance writer,"

"That must be exciting. I always wanted to be a writer,"

"It has its ups and downs. What do you do?"

Again I hesitated. "Well, right now I'm between jobs. I've been having some... problems... with my former employers,"

He nodded, sipping his beer. "Yeah, that's what I love about being freelance. No boss to answer to. But hey, you seem like a good bloke. I'm sure you'll land on your feet,"

I ran my hands along the sweating glass of beer in front of me, lifting it and taking a much smaller sip this time.

"I hope so. Truthfully, I'm walking into a major hornet's nest when I get back to the States. And even though I know I could avoid it, something feels like it is compelling me to do it, to face the music,"

"I've been there. You can't run from your problems forever. They just become worse and the more you drag them out, the greater chance they will become someone ELSE'S problems too. My advice is to just go in, be strong and do what you have to do," Rich said, swallowing the last gulp of his beer.

"But what if your problems are already someone else's problems,"

He looked at me over the edge of his glass, a knowing look in his eye. "There's a girl involved I take it,"

"Yeah, a few actually," I replied.

He sighed at me as the bartender took his glass, filling it up halfway.

"Well then mate, I would say that you just have to do what is best for you and them. I don't want to pry into your business too much, so forgive me, but in the few months that I've been married and the countless birds before her, I've learned that if you don't think of the lady in your life when you act, that creates a whole new set of problems. The key is to balance it out, handle things as best you can and hopefully get through it. When you do, and you have her smiling face waiting to greet you and take the load off your back, it will make it all worth it,"

"Thanks, that's pretty good advice,"

He smirked at me. "Yeah, I guess so. But then again, I've been drinking a bit and you know how writers get... we tend to be a bit long winded and real vague when it comes to dialog,"

I laughed, a laugh that felt surprisingly good given all the stress. "Well then maybe I am a writer after all. My whole life feels vague right now,"

"I'm sure you will pull through Alex," he said, downing the rest of his drink as he rose from the seat. "I've got a flight to catch. Nice meeting you mate, and good luck with your problems, however vague they may be,"

I nodded and watched him go, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he was consumed by the busy foot traffic outside the pub. Finishing my drink a few minutes later, I glanced at my watch and noticed that about two hours had now passed, which meant that with any luck, my flight would be leaving soon.

I was right. I boarded the plane and settled in, much more relaxed now that I had some beer in me to calm my nerves and thankfully the flight went smoothly and comfortably. Upon arriving back in the good old US of A, I grabbed my one piece of luggage and stepped outside of Miami's airport.

Miami hit me like a crashing ocean wave. Temperature wise, it was just as hot as Los Angeles in the summer, but the city still had a very real and strong ocean breeze to it, one that caressed your body for a moment before sending your hair fluttering in a million different directions. I had heard that the humidity could kill you in Florida, and Miami was no exception.

Unlike my arrival in Japan, this time there was noone waiting for me to take me to my destination. All around me, people milled back and forth, many of them speaking in fluent Spanish, though a different dialect even than the Hispanics in Los Angeles. I hailed a cab - a pink, rusted looking thing with dirty windows and a magnetic sign on the door and gave the driver my directions. It was clear that he didn't speak much English, but as we set out I felt confident that he at least knew the general area where I was going.

Leaning back against the hot, sticky leather seat of the cab, I thought to myself about how many different places I had seen while travelling in the back of a cab. Los Angeles was hell in a cab, the drivers often trying to make the freeway and its non-existant scenery blur by as fast as possible, as if they were racing in some type of video game scenario. Tokyo on the other hand, was much more smooth and quiet, even though I think more people thronged the streets than anywhere else I had seen. The drivers were friendly and spoke better English sometimes than people I had known who knew it their whole life.

And what of Miami? Well, the city was certainly a spectacle to behold. There were two forces at work, architecture wise, in the layout of the city. There was the cold, modern design of high rise office buildings juxtaposed against the lingering, aging art deco feel of buildings bathed in pinks and blues and yellows. Palm trees swayed in the gulf breeze, their fronds often growing taller and larger than the street lights they neighbored next to.

The beach weather also brought an unusual mix of people. From elderly couples dressed in their tackiest tourist clothes to absolutely gorgeous golden brown tanned senoritas walking by in the skimpiest of bathing suits, Miami was a city in flux. Just as I was beginning to enjoy the scenery though, I was startled to find that not only had the driver located the general area, but he had pulled to the curb right outside the condo I was looking for. Getting out and paying him generously for such a prompt arrival, he lazily pulled back into traffic before suddenly shooting off down the main drag, looking for his next fare.

I had arrived outside one of the more art deco of buildings, a huge 20 story condo with a massive palm tree painted onto the outside of its face. A girl on rollerblades skated by me, the scent of her suntan lotion and sweat making my nostrils tingle as I stepped inside of the lobby.

The floor beneath me felt gritty from sand and the lobby was hot - very hot. I suddenly felt very over dressed in my slacks and long sleeve shirt, and now noticed that a sizable sweat stain had formed on my back. There was a group of teenage girls who couldn't be more than 14 (but looked 20) sitting on a dark green leather couch in the middle of the room, chatting away on cell phones. As I passed them, it seemed as if they were actually talking to each other, preferring to run up their minutes rather than look at each other directly.

Standing in front of the directory, its old black backing and graying plastic letters listing out the tenants of the building, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the name that Kyokota had carefully written on the piece of paper, the sight of his penmanship bringing back the long, long days previous to the front of my thoughts. I read the paper: LIPSKY.

Glancing up at the directory, I found the name. He was on the 8th floor, condo A7. Putting the paper back in my pocket, I pushed the elevator button and waited for a couple of minutes as the old, creaky contraption finally came back to ground level. The doors opened and out stepped a wrinkled, very tan old woman, a purple plastic visor pushing her obviously-dyed blonde hair back. She gave me a quick glance and then stepped out of the elevator as I walked in around her.

As the doors closed, I could smell the overpowering scent of coconut sun tan lotion filling the air all around me. The elevator was stuffy and hot, though thankfully not as bad as the lobby. Making its ascent, I waited patiently for it to take me up.

Alone with my thoughts for the first time in a few hours, I wondered how I would broach the subject. Did Kyokota already call and tell this Lipsky guy that I was coming? If not, showing up at his door might not be the best idea in the world, especially given what I was planning on asking him. I trusted Kyokota, but I knew that my idea of trust as well as his, could vary significantly.

Stepping off the elevator, I walked down the hallway towards condo A7. I paused for a moment, collecting myself as I pulled my sticky shirt from off of my back, my heart racing and my mind doing laps around it as I tried to think of something to say that would get me in the door, should he not be expecting me.

Clearing my throat, I raised my hand to knock when suddenly the door opened.

"Albert, I'll be back in 10 minutes. Don't try to get up to go to the bathroom, just use the bedpan," the woman who had now appeared in front of me yelled into the room. She wore a baggy turquoise shirt and pant suit that did nothing for her figure, but which I soon realized was some sort of nurses uniform. I had just a moment to notice her boyish blonde hair cut before she bumped directly into me.

"What the fuck?" she said, startled as she looked up at me, puzzlement on her face. I stuttered a bit, trying to apologize and explain myself.

"Sssorry, I was looking for Mmmmmmr. Lipskkkyy?" I said. She caught her footing and continued to stare at me, her face becoming hard.

"And who are you?"

"My name is Alex Hilt. I was sent here by a... business acquaintance of his. Is this his apartment?"

I must have seemed threatening to her in some way, because now her feet became firmly planted in the door way, her arms against the frame.

"Yes, this is his condo but I'm sorry, he isn't taking visitors right now,"

A voice came from deep within the condo. "GRACE! WHO IS AT THE DOOR?"

She ignored him and looked at me again. This woman, Grace, probably was quite a catch 10 years ago. But age had night been kind to her and she looked every bit the mid 30s that she seemed to be.

"You'll have to come back some other time, I'm afraid that -"

"GRACE! WHO IS AT THE GOD DAMNED DOOR?" the voice screamed.

"CALM DOWN AL, IT'S JUST SOME SALESMAN OR SOMETHING!" she yelled back. "I'M GETTING RID OF HIM RIGHT NOW!"

I leaned in close to her, my much larger frame knocking her back on her feet and for a moment, sending fear through her eyes. I didn't want trouble, but I had to see him and if taking matters into my own hands was the only way to do it, then so be it.