Caught in a Chase

14 - The Real Chelsea

I flew to Vancouver the week after Raymond had found the email sent to Chelsea Wade saying 'WE NEED TO TALK. CALL ME.'

While the email didn't definitively identify Chelsea as the writer, the timing and same name were too much of a coincidence to ignore.

I used the time before I arrived to hire a local lawyer to track down more about her and set up a meeting. I also hired a local security firm since I didn't want to let any of my regular people in on this yet.

The security guy accompanied me to the law office. James introduced himself, shook my hand and led me to one of the conference rooms. Once seated at the large table, he told me what he'd found out about Chelsea.

"She works as a paralegal for the city of Vancouver. Bachelor of Arts degree. Successful and well liked. No criminal history," he said.

"Age?" I asked.

"Seems to be in her early forties."

"Interesting," I said surprised. I'd expected her to be younger. "Married? Relationships?"

"None that I found."

I nodded, relieved.

"She should be here in about 15 minutes. I need to grab a file from my office," James said rising.

I drummed my fingers on the table as I sat thinking.

"What'd this chick do?" the security guy asked.

I'd forgotten about him. He was leaning against the wall by the door, his arms crossed. I frowned. It wasn't his business and I didn't want to explain.

"Posted some fan fiction online," I shrugged. "Can you wait in the hall for me? Thanks."

The guy nodded and stepped out.

I was nervous and resumed drumming my fingers. It all came down to this.

James returned with a young woman. He motioned for her to sit, then took his seat next to me.

"Thank you for meeting with us Ms. Wade."

It was her! She was really here, sitting across the table from me. I stared.

She was short, cute and curvy with shoulder length blond hair. She wore professional clothing but had a girl next door innocence about her. And she looked at least a decade younger than James indicated. Everything fit with the story descriptions but I was having a hard time believing this sweet-looking young woman had written those sexy scenes.

She didn't look at me, instead focusing on James as he explained why we'd asked to meet her.

Her eyes widened at the mention of a posted story but otherwise she showed no reaction. She spoke only to my lawyer and barely looked at me. It was pissing me off.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to. There are a lot of stories posted online," she said to James with a small smile.

"Let me help with that," I reached to James' folder and took out the top page, reading aloud. ''Marshall moved towards her and she instinctively stepped back hitting the wall. He pinned her against it and lowered his mouth to hers." And that's one of the tamest bits." I leaned back again watching her.

Her cheeks had flushed pink. Again she focused only on James, not looking at me.

"I believe there is a whole genre of such stories called fan fiction."

"Uh huh. And what do you suggest I do about it?" I said.

She finally turned to look at me. "Be flattered?"

My eyes narrowed. "Try again."

"Don't read it?"

James cleared his throat and put a warning hand on my arm. I shook him off but stayed silent.

"Look, other than tracking down every user and requesting they take down their stories, I'm not sure what you can do." She shifted in her seat. "And even then they don't have to take the story down because they are protected by freedom of speech. Much like your lyrics."

This was not what I expected. I thought she'd admit to writing the story and then we'd talk. I'd find out if she was like her character, if there was any sort of connection between us. Instead this chick was sassing me and using my own lyrics to defend her smutty story. Fuck this was a mistake.

I slumped back in the chair and stared out the window. Or maybe it wasn't her after all? Could the name and email be a coincidence after all? No stupid, there's no such thing as unicorns or happily ever afters. Face facts.

"Anything else you wish to say?" James was asking her.

"I wish I could be more help."

"Okay, thank you for your time Ms. Wade," James said.

She nodded and stood, then hesitated. I looked up at her. She was staring at James.

"Hypothetically speaking, if I was the writer," her gaze moved to me, her eyes suddenly shiny with tears, "I would be so sorry. This is not at all what I intended." Her eyes moved back to the lawyer. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."

Then she turned and walked out.

I sat frozen. She'd all but admitted to being the writer. It was her! Shit I needed to go after her, talk to her.

I realized James was speaking to me.

"What?" I tried to focus on what he was saying.

"I said that went better than I expected. The story's been taken down and she apologized. That's what you wanted, right Marshall?"

"Yeah, I gotta talk to her," I stood and he did too.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he cleared his throat. "It's over, best to let it go. You don't need further difficulties."

"I'm just going to talk to her!" I left him in the room shaking his head.

In the hallway I looked for her. It was empty. Shit. I pushed the button for the elevator and looked around again. Where was my security guy? He should be out here.

When the elevator dinged, I hesitated. Did I go after her? Or figure out what was up with my security? Maybe he'd just run to the bathroom? But if I followed her out to the street, I'd need him. Fuck!

The elevator doors closed making my decision. I walked down the hallway looking into the other offices but didn't see him. As I neared the end of the hall I heard cries coming from the emergency stairwell.

Running the last couple feet I threw open the door. The security guy had Chelsea bent over the landing's safety railing with her pants and underwear around her ankles. She was crying and trying to fight him off. 

"Ya like porn so much? Here ya go slut," he laughed as he reached for his zipper.

Rage exploded in me, fury sparking in my veins.

"Get off her!" I flew at him, raining blows at his head and gut. 

He let her go and turned, ready to strike back. He stopped when he recognized me.

"I was-"

"Get. Out. Of. Here." I growled. I'd deal with him later. Fucker was dead.

He hurried back into the hallway. I turned to Chelsea. She had backed against the wall and was straightening her clothes.

"Are you alright?" I reached out a hand towards her and she flinched. My heart ached and I struggled to keep my voice soft. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just wanna make sure you're alright."

She stood straighter, tears still running down her face and looked me in the eye. "Are we even now?"

"What?"

"You bring me here and your man teaches me a lesson. Are we done now?"

"You think I planned this?" I asked shocked. "No!"

Only a monster would do something like that. How could she think I... I would never... I struggled as hurt stabbed me in the heart and my temper took over.

"Maybe you offered to do him in here. Sorry I interrupted ya."

She sobbed and ran past me down the stairs.

I leaned against the concrete wall. Shit, I shouldn't have said that. It was obvious that fucker was about to rape her.

This wasn't how this was supposed to go! How'd everything get so fucked up? I rubbed my hands over my face. I couldn't deal with that now.

I walked back into the hallway where the security guy stood talking with James. He was wiping blood from his nose; one of my blows must have connected. Good. Pushing him against the wall I spit in his face.

"You're a piece of shit! And you're fired!"

James pulled me back while the fucker opened his mouth to argue. I shook James off and began telling him what happened. The security guy turned and left without another word.

"Let him go," James advised. "We know where to find him if she wants to press charges."

I nodded.

"Why don't you head back to your hotel? Nothing more can be done today."

I nodded again and thanked him.

Back at the hotel, I sat in front of the TV. I walked around the suite. I took a shower. I sat in front of the TV again. I couldn't settle. Even if she thought I was Satan incarnate, and it was pretty evident she did, I needed to know she was okay.

I finally picked up my phone and called James. 

"I need her number."

James hesitated. "What's going on Marshall?"

"Please."

I wrote it down as he recited it.

"What about her address? Do you have that too?"

"You're going over there?" James sounded panicked.

"Nah, relax. Was thinking about sending flowers or something after today," I said and James reluctantly gave me her address too. I thanked him and hung up.

Now I could call her. And say what? No maybe I should send a text. Then she wasn't forced to respond. Yeah, that was better. Plus I was afraid if I called her, she wouldn't pick up.

I wrote a dozen different variations. None seemed exactly right.

"Fuck it," I said and finally hit send.

     M: I know I'm the last person you want to hear from, but I didn't set you up and I need to know you're alright. Are you hurt? Do you need to see a dr? Do you want to press charges? I will give you the fucker's name & contact info. Let me know what I can do. Please.

Now what? I flipped through the TV channels without seeing anything. 15 minutes passed, then 30. Nothing. I sighed. What did I expect? Even when I wasn't responsible, I was the bad guy.

My phone pinged and I grabbed it.

     C: Fire the fucker

I typed back quickly.

     M: Already done

     C: Really?

     M: The moment I walked back into that hallway

     C: Thank you

     M: Nothing to thank me for. Don't want anyone around me that would do that shit 

     M: Are you ok? 

     C: Mostly. 

     C: Thank you for stopping him. Sorry for accusing you. I was upset, not thinking.

She was apologizing to me? I felt a wave of relief. Maybe things could still be saved?

     M: Sorry for what I said too. Never should have. Know you didn't ask for that. 

     C: Thank you

Now what? I didn't want to let her go.

     M: Please let me know if you need anything 

     C: I'll be fine. Thanks though

And that was it. She was gone. When I actually want to give everything, the chick wants nothing. The irony was not lost on me.

My phone rang and Paul exploded in my ear. "Your security tried to rape someone?"

I sighed. James must have called him. "I already fired him. And she's okay."

"What the fuck Marshall? Did you report this to the police?"

"No. That's up to her."

"Who cares if she wants to? We need to protect you from a lawsuit."

"She's not gonna sue."

"You don't know that."

"I offered to help, she doesn't want anything."

Paul sounded like he was in pain. "Please tell me you didn't offer in writing."

"By text, yeah."

Paul groaned. "So now it looks like you're complicit in her attempted rape and trying to pay her off. Fantastic."

"It's not like that!" Now I was getting mad. "She's not like that!"

"How do you know what she's like? Who is this girl?"

I didn't answer.

"Marshall?" Paul's voice sounded panicked.

I sighed. "She's the story writer."

There was silence on the other end.

"Oh fuck me," Paul whispered finally. "Marshall what have you done?"

"Nothing! I just wanted to talk to her!"

"No!" Paul screamed. "No! Don't talk to her, don't text her, don't go near her. Do you understand? This is bad Marshall. Very bad."

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

"It doesn't matter! It's going to look like you set her up to be raped by your security as payback for what she posted. And when that didn't work, you tried to pay her off. Do you know how many felonies that is?

I didn't respond since that's exactly what Chelsea had thought too.

Paul took a breath. "I need to check on some things. Just sit tight. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Don't contact her."

"Fine." I muttered.

"I mean it Marshall. Don't contact her."

"I said okay! What more do you want?"

Paul swore and hung up.