Author: Antony John
Category: Young Adult
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/antony-john/page,20,56382-imposter.html
“I can’t. There’s paparazzi at the gates.”
“Then go home.”
“You’re not listening, Seth. They’re everywhere.”
The woman who lent me her phone is hovering, eavesdropping. Brian will be wondering why I’m turned away from his booth. I need to wrap things up.
“Just give me a couple minutes,” I say. “I’ll call Kris.”
“No!” Her voice changes—focused and furious. “He’s the reason I’m here.”
“I don’t think he leaked that story about you—”
“Why not? He’s the reason for everything else. You don’t have a clue what’s really going on, so don’t you dare call him.” Like she’s flicking a switch, her voice softens again. “I can handle this. You believe me, right?”
Annaleigh emerges from the restroom, lip gloss perfect. She has her life in order, even as her parents conspire to ruin it for her. From their booth in the corner, Brian and company won’t be able to see her yet, but soon they will, and they’ll notice she’s not on her phone.
I try to get her attention. “Look, Sabrina, things are real complicated—”
“Forget it,” she snaps. “I’ll call Ryder.”
“No!” I practically shout the word, and Annaleigh’s head whips around. She shoots me a quizzical look. “Don’t call him, Sabrina. Please.”
“Then help me. I don’t think I should be alone right now.”
Annaleigh joins me. I can’t tell if she heard me say Sabrina’s name, but she knows something is wrong. She glances over her shoulder as Kira emerges from the restroom. It feels like everyone is closing in on us.
It’s past nine thirty. I don’t want to leave, but I’m scared for Sabrina. If anything were to happen to her, I couldn’t forgive myself. Given the state she’s in, I have a terrible feeling that something will happen. And soon.
“I’ll come get you,” I say.
“Thank you,” says Sabrina, more breath than word.
I hand the girl’s phone back and thank her. The party is in full swing now. People are dancing and laughing, but not Annaleigh. She gazes at me, all crystalline eyes and worried brows, waiting for me to explain what’s going on.
I lean close and keep my voice low. Our phones are still recording us, even though she doesn’t know it. “Sabrina checked herself out of rehab.”
Annaleigh seems to deflate. “Why would she do that? Should we call the police?”
“No. She hasn’t done anything wrong. I just want to make sure she gets home safe.”
“You’re not responsible for her.”
I can’t possibly explain how wrong she is about that. “Who else does she have? Kris? Her parents? The agent she just fired?”
“You can’t leave me here. What about Kira?”
“I won’t be gone long. An hour, tops. Kira can get all the shots she wants then.”
Annaleigh nods, but she looks crestfallen. As if to remind me what I’ll be missing, she runs her fingers across my cheek and pulls me in for another long, deep kiss. Her heartbeat races beneath the folds of her thin blue dress.
“Call me, okay?” she says. “The moment you get her home. Just so I know everything’s all right.”
I’m not sure if she means everything with Sabrina, or with me. Or if she’s still worried there’s more going on here than there appears to be. Doesn’t matter—there’s no way I’m taking my cell phone on this trip. Brian won’t be listening to any more of my conversations.
“Battery’s flaking out,” I say, patting my pocket. “That’s why I needed to borrow that girl’s phone.”
Annaleigh reaches into her fabric clutch purse and pulls out her phone. “Here, then. I’ll swap you.”
“How will I call you if I have your phone?”
“On this.” She retrieves her old phone, with tiny cracked screen and unreadable keys. “I only carry it in case my mom calls, but it still has some charge.”
I steal a glance across the room. Kira’s looking for us. Ryder is heading for the bar, and I don’t think he’s after another drink.
I swap my phone for her old one that Brian can’t track. “I’ll use this.”
She flicks a piece of dust from the lapel of my blazer. “I’m sorry. I know she needs your help, but it’s hard not to feel jealous. She’s still Sabrina Layton, you know?”
I can almost feel Ryder getting closer, but I kiss her anyway. “It’s only you, Annaleigh.”
“I’ll cover for you. Just hurry.”
I check on Ryder. He’s only ten yards away. For a couple seconds, we stare at each other. Then, as if he has seen exactly how this is going to play out, he raises a hand to summon help.
I spin around and run. Ahead, a corridor leads to the restrooms. A red exit sign glows above double doors at the end.
“Seth.” Brian’s growl carries over the music.
I blunder through the double doors. Ignore the surprised looks of the kitchen staff, smoking outside. I’m at the back of the building, well away from the paparazzi.
“Seth!”
There’s an alleyway to my left. Beyond it, traffic crisscrosses at low speed. With Brian’s heavy footsteps drawing near, I break into a sprint.
At the street, cars trundle by in stop-and-start slow motion. Brian hasn’t given up chasing, so I run along the sidewalk, squinting at the bright car lights. There’s a taxi about fifty yards ahead of me, on the other side.
I weave through traffic. Brakes squeal and car horns fill the air, but I keep going until I’m within shouting distance of the taxi.
The driver signals to rejoin the traffic. As the taxi pulls away from the curb, I rap my knuckles against the trunk.
The car stops suddenly. I yank the back door open and slam it shut behind me.
“Go!” I shout.
The driver follows my eyes across the street, where Brian is waiting to cross. “Got you some kind of problem?”
Brian steps into the gap between two cars.
“My dad doesn’t like my girlfriend. But it’s New Year’s Eve, and I want to spend it with her, not him, you know?”
The driver chuckles. “He don’t look old enough to be your dad.”
Brian’s ten yards away. “Yeah, well . . . back in the day, he sneaked out with his girlfriend on New Year’s Eve. I’m the result.”
“Amen to—”
Brian slams his palms against the window next to me. I slide across the seat, hands raised defensively, helpless as he yanks the door handle.
40
BRIAN WRENCHES THE HANDLE OVER AND over, but the doors are locked. As if he hasn’t even noticed the crazy guy beside us, the driver calmly pulls into traffic.
Brian chases us for a few yards, but gives up as we accelerate. Whatever he’s shouting is drowned out by jazz from the car stereo. The music is frenetic and complicated, a perfect soundtrack for my life.
“So where are we heading?” the driver asks.
“Laurel Canyon and Hollywood Boulevard.” I press myself against the backseat, face turned slightly away from the mirror. “Please.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
For twenty minutes, Hollywood spins by, a blur of Christmas lights and New Year’s Eve energy. “Which building you want, man?” the driver asks, pulling over.
“I don’t know.” I hand him a twenty. “Keep the meter running, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I can’t see Sabrina. The driver isn’t going to wait forever, so I run down the street, peering through gaps in bushes. I’m almost past an alleyway when I notice a stream of smoke curling up from behind a dumpster.
“Sabrina?”
She peers around it. Slowly, awkwardly, she pulls to a stand. She’s wearing jeans and a gray hoodie. Her hair is dragged back in a lank ponytail. She drops her cigarette and stumbles toward me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
She leans into me. Presses her face against the nape of my neck. “I thought I heard them following me. Photographers.”
There’s no one around.
“Please take me home,” she says.
I walk her to the taxi. It’s not especially cold, but as she slides onto the backseat, she’s shaking.
“Where we heading now?” asks the driver.
“Pico and Century Park,” says Sabrina. She pulls up her knees and hugs them. Her teeth chatter.
“Can you crank up the heat?” I ask.
The driver turns a dial.
“You’re so sweet, Seth.” Sabrina’s eyes well with tears. “But it’s not about the cold.”
As her meaning becomes clear, it’s impossible not to think back to our first meeting at Curt’s house—how she seemed so alive, so blissfully in control. I flattered myself that her mood had something to do with me, but it was all about the drugs. I was just a foil, a character that enabled her to play the most alluring version of herself.
Maybe the realization should make me feel sad, but it doesn’t. I can be more than a foil now. I can get her home safely. If Sabrina can’t rely on herself anymore, she can count on me.
I shuffle along the seat and let her lean against me. She holds me so tightly that she almost crushes me. She doesn’t stop shaking, though.
A quarter hour later, we pull up in a district of apartment buildings. I give the driver another twenty and he tips his head in thanks.
As the taxi pulls away, Sabrina points down the adjacent street. “It’s a block that way,” she says. “I wasn’t sure if the driver recognized us, so I didn’t give the correct address.”
We’re nowhere near the beach or the hills. The clean, orderly street of modern apartment buildings seems more suited to go-getting professionals than a young actress. “I didn’t picture you living here.”
“It’s only a half mile from my agent’s office,” she says, like this explains everything. “Ex-agent’s office, I mean. Being near him made it smoother when I petitioned for emancipation. The judge liked knowing there was someone close by to watch out for me.”
We stop beside a tower block with smooth concrete walls and chrome accents around the doors. Sabrina buzzes in. The marble-clad lobby is spacious. A water feature against the far wall tinkles therapeutically.
“Ms. Layton?” The doorman’s greeting turns into a question at the last moment. He has seen the news too, and knows she’s supposed to be in rehab.
“Hi, Neil,” she says, still clinging to me.
He’s only mid-twenties, but the wary look he gives me seems almost paternal. It might’ve annoyed me once, but now it’s a relief to know there’s someone else looking out for her.
We take the elevator to the ninth floor. She jams her keys into an apartment door and slips inside.
Before she turns the lights on, Sabrina closes every blind.
“I can’t help it,” she says. “I feel like they’re watching me all the time. Every moment, just looking.”
Yesterday I would’ve called her paranoid. Now anything seems possible, even on the ninth floor of an apartment building.
“Has Ryder ever been here?” I ask. “Or Brian? Anyone to do with the movie.”
“No. Why?”
“I just wondered.”
The apartment is surprisingly small. The kitchen and living room are joined, bathroom and bedroom partially visible through doors at the end.
“Sorry about the mess,” she says. “Kitchen’s clean, though, if you want something to eat. I always keep the kitchen clean.”
As Sabrina goes to her bedroom, I run the kitchen faucet and splash my face. The clock on the microwave reads 10:38.
I wander through the living room, footsteps silent on thick-pile carpet. The walls are covered in framed movie posters—not Sabrina’s films either, but classics: Casablanca, Double Indemnity, Vertigo. A cream-colored sofa faces a state-of-the-art home theater system.
Sabrina doesn’t even look around as I enter her bedroom, just remains seated on the edge of her double bed, cradling a small prescription pill bottle. She uncaps it carefully, almost reverentially. Then she catches my reflection in a mirror and freezes.
“What are you doing, Sabrina?”
“Nothing.”
It’s my cue to leave. To stop asking questions when the answers are all too obvious. She’s making it easy for me, really.
Instead I lunge for the bottle and snatch it away.
“Give it back,” she shrieks.
“I’m calling the center.”
Fury morphs into derisive laughter. “You can go home now. You’ve done your good deed for the day.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Are you going to make me?” I wave the bottle. “You going to call the police?”
She flails at the bottle, consumed by something much stronger than anger. When she can’t reach it, she hits me. Each blow stings, but I don’t fight back and I don’t give in. A few seconds later, breathless and bright red, she crumples on the bed, sobbing.
I tell myself it’s drugs doing this to her, not me. But so what? She looks like a trapped animal, instincts screaming that worse is still to come. And I hold everything that she wants in my right hand. Her world—at least, the part of it she cares about the most—can be confined to a plastic bottle a couple inches tall.
I stuff it in my blazer pocket and sit down beside her. I don’t know whether to hug her, or simply to leave her alone. I don’t know if she’s spent, or if she’ll summon a second wind.
I don’t know her at all.
But she called me. Not Kris. Not Genevieve. Not her parents, or her ex-agent.
Me.
“I think you called because you knew what’d happen when you got home.” I let the words hang there for a moment, a cautious opening. “I think you wanted me here so I could stop you.”
The sound of her crying grows quieter, but she won’t look at me. Maybe she knows on some deep level that I’m not the problem here. Or perhaps she just doesn’t want me to see how much she loathes me—that whatever she was thinking when she made the call earlier, now she’d like nothing more than for me to get the hell out of her apartment and let her take whatever she wants.
She reaches under her ruffled pillow and pulls out a long cotton T-shirt. There’s a faded image of Kermit the Frog on the front. She straightens it out on her lap and sits there, staring at Kermit.
The phone in my pocket rings, a tone I don’t recognize. The cracked screen identifies Annaleigh as the caller. I step out of the bedroom and pull the door closed behind me.
“I’m sorry, Annaleigh,” I whisper. “I’m just about to leave.”
Silence. The microwave clock reads 10:44.
“I just want to make sure she’s safe,” I explain.
More silence, only this time there’s breathing too—heavy, ominous.
Finally, a voice. But it’s not Annaleigh’s. “You’re a tricky little fucker, aren’t you, Seth?”
41
BRIAN’S VOICE CARRIES CLEAR OVER THE line, taunting me. “You really screwed up.”
“Where’s Annaleigh?”
“Waiting for her date. Know where he is?”
“Like I’d tell you.”
I check that Sabrina’s bedroom door is still closed, and sit on the kitchen floor, back to the cupboards, legs out in front of me. I can’t afford to be overheard.
“Annaleigh didn’t want to give me this number,” mutters Brian. “But I was persuasive. She finally told me she’d given you her old phone. Said something about your battery flaking out. I’ve got your phone right here and it seems the battery’s just fine. Want to tell me what you’re up to?”
; “No.”
“Hmm. That’s too bad. Funny thing is, I figured I knew where you’d gone. Especially after your visit to Maggie this evening.”
He lets the words sink in. There’s no mistaking what this news means, but I can’t believe it. When I looked Maggie in the eyes just a few hours ago, she was telling me the truth. I would’ve bet anything on it. Did bet everything on it.
“I’ve got to tell you, Seth—I don’t think you’re Maggie’s favorite person anymore. Not after you led us right to her apartment. Which reminds me, thanks for taking that photo of the license plate. We’ve been following the green Mazda since this morning. And, well . . . that guy’s been following you, of course.” Brian chuckles. “But don’t worry, one visit from me and Maggie realized she’s safer on Team Brian. She won’t be needing that tell-all interview from you, either.”
I want to throw up.
“Yeah, she told me all about your plan. So when you disappeared this evening, I figured I’d head out too—beat you to the punch. But do you know who came waltzing through the office door just now? I’ll give you a clue: It wasn’t you.” He laughs, loud and humorless. “You and Gant are quite the operation.”
“Where is he?”
“Right here. And now I’ve got a difficult decision. Call the police and draw unwanted attention to our project, or let him go.”
“Sounds like you don’t have a choice at all.”
“Oh, but I do. He was caught breaking and entering.”
“He has a key.”
“Which Maggie gave to you, not him. A small point, but our lawyer says it’s significant.”
I ball my hand into a fist and punch the ground. “You really think anyone would believe he was breaking in?”
“Absolutely. He was having second thoughts about his role in the movie. Figured he’d delete all our footage. He was probably planning to destroy our hardware too. The irony is that his own father signed him up for all this, and we’ve got a waiver to prove it.” He whistles. “Such a sick, twisted family you are.”
“Let him go, Brian!”
A door closes behind me. I peer around the cabinets to see if Sabrina has joined me, but the living room is empty.