Текст книги "Broken Crown"

Автор книги: Susan Ward

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

 

 

Chapter 16

After my shower, I pull on some jeans and a t-shirt, and then check my phone. Ah, voice mail from Chrissie.

I hit play: “Hi, baby. I didn’t understand anything the counselor talked about. They never say anything in a way normal people can understand. The best I can figure out is they’ve been reading her social media, Facebook, website and blog. Can you believe that? I don’t even invade her privacy and read her pages. I didn’t even know she had a private website and blog, and they think it requires follow-up with a counseling professional. Wouldn’t say why. Just said do. Insulting, patronizing and infuriating. I’m on my way to the studio. Hopefully I can get some time to spy online and see what they’re freaking out about. I’ll talk to Kaley when I get home. Don’t say anything to her. Thank you for caring. Thank you for loving me and understanding I couldn’t stay and play with you this morning. Can we play later—”

Beep.

I laugh and click off the phone. Chrissie can’t say anything in the allotted recording time. She doesn’t sound concerned, more frustrated, so I was probably right that it’s nothing to worry about. And Chrissie got in enough words in sixty seconds to make me look forward to tonight.

I head into the kitchen for more coffee. The house is quiet. Didn’t expect that one. Is everyone gone? I pull things out of the refrigerator. I start cooking my own breakfast.

Lourdes comes into the kitchen.

“Señor Alan, if you wait, I will make breakfast for you,” she says flustered, shaking her head.

I smile. “It’s all right. I like cooking. Where is everyone?”

“Aarsi took Krystal and the boys to the Harrises’ for the day. Kaley, she is not home. Khloe is napping.”

A full report. Empty house.

I finish cooking my breakfast and eat it alone on the patio. I considering cutting out to join Kenny in the studio today. I yawn. I’m tired. Nope, not hanging with Kenny. I turn off the phone and stretch out on the lounger.

Sleep.

Uninterrupted sleep.

Not a bad way to pass the time waiting for Chrissie to come home.

A bang startles me from deep sleep. Oh fuck, how long have I been sleeping? And what the hell? Linda is rushing toward me, frantic and keyed up about something.

“What the fuck is the matter with you people?” she exclaims in a voice that could puncture the sound barrier. She’s breathless, alarmed and discomposed in a way I’ve never seen her before. “Don’t you ever answer your phones? I’ve been trying to call you and Chrissie for hours. Why don’t you ever pick up the fucking phone?”

She drops on the chaise beside me.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask.

“Len, get the fuck out here!” she screams. Her eyes shift back to me. “Where’s Chrissie?”

I frown. “She’s out for the day.”

She exhales again. “Oh God. Wait. That’s probably better.”

Better?

Every muscle in my body jerks and then tenses. Nothing rocks Linda. Linda is nonreactive, but she’s near hysterical and she’s happy Chrissie’s not here.

I am fully alarmed now even though I don’t know why.

Len drops down on a chair in front of a patio table. He flips open his laptop and starts to rapidly hit away at keys. His eyes are fixed on the screen. He doesn’t even look at me. I spring from the lounger and go to the table, staring over his shoulder, trying figure out what has him in full panic, too.

“What is this?” He’s clicking through pages too fast for me to figure out any of them.

“It’s your worst nightmare,” he warns. “Imagine The Osbornes, the Kardashians, Jersey Shore and Intervention all rolled into a multi-episode documentary. That wouldn’t be as bad as this. I don’t know how the fuck we’ll make it go away. It’s on the Internet. It wasn’t bad when Kaley just had the demented burned Barbies on strings dancing around narrating and pretending to be different characters in different scenes. Anything real world Kaley shot at an angle with effects so you couldn’t see the images clearly. It was really clever and artsy, that. But she’s gone live, face-to-face and there’s no hiding what the hell we’ve got here.”

“Len, what the fuck are you talking about? Would one of you just explain in plain English, please?” I shout, frustrated since neither of them seems able to tell me in a direct way what the fuck is going on here.

“Kaley’s World on the Internet,” Len counters in an annoyingly overexcited way. “It’s your Kaley. Christ, look!”

Kaley’s World—Oh God, a website. The reason the administrators called Chrissie in for a meeting today—this is not going to be nothing, not with the way the Rowans look.

I wait, dread turning my digestive tract to ice.

“Manny, the girl’s gone viral,” Linda says pointedly. “She’s on fire. Eleven million hits on today’s episode and it’s only been up a few hours. It’s on the network news. She’s crashed the servers at UCLA and a dozen other campuses with kids logging on to watch her live feed today. She’s been an Internet star for nearly a month. How could you and Chrissie not know? Every episode, more than a million hits. This has been going on for weeks.”

I stare at the screen anxiously waiting for the video to load. What the fuck is taking so long? It’s the Internet. Then Kaley is on the screen. Shit, it’s fucking Barbies turned into puppets. Alarm shoots through me. That is the interior of Chrissie’s house. The sounds. What the hell is that I’m hearing? Is that Chrissie and me fucking? The background sound effects are us fucking while Kaley tapes a mock shock talk show with burned Barbies as the hosts. Oh no…what the hell is she doing?

The camera pulls wide. Kaley stands up. “This is the last episode of Kaley’s World. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be silenced after this. Shut down after today’s live feed. But I’d like to send one last message to my dad, Alan Manzone. I’d like to call the remainder of this feed ‘Denial is a Terminal Addiction.’ So here is our live family therapy.”

A link appears at the end of the video. Linda clicks on it and the computer is redirected to a streaming video.

“This has been streaming for over an hour,” Linda informs me anxiously.

The video loads.

Kaley is shaking a can of spray paint. The wall. That’s my Malibu house. In big, bold red letters she’s already tagged: Fuck off Daddy. Entire walls tagged with brief offensive comments. She is filming live from inside my house.

I can’t collect my thoughts enough to wonder how she got in, what my next move should be, how the fuck to shut this down…or even that other part…Fuck off Daddy. She is crying and destroying my bedroom with a bat and cans of spray paint for any idiot on the Internet to see.

What do I do?

What do I do?

I need to stop the live feed.

Shut down the website.

Oh fuck, everything on the Internet lives forever…no, don’t think about that. And don’t think about what’s going to happen when Chrissie sees this.

Why would Kaley do this?

“Are the tweets still posting?” Linda asks anxiously.

Len scrolls through his phone. “Yep. Girl is trending at number one. New tweet every twenty seconds. Oh God, you don’t think our Bobby is there with her helping her do this? She can’t tweet, film and swing a bat all at once.”

They lock eyes.

“Kaley has help,” Linda announces. “It’s probably that airhead Zoe Kennedy. That girl does anything Kaley asks.”

“So does our boy,” Len reminds heavily.

Linda runs her fingers through her hair. “Oh fuck.”

My temper explodes. “Who the fuck cares if Bobby is the one helping her? I have problems here. We need to stop this. Now.”

They both look at me.

Oh fuck, they don’t know what to do either.

Not encouraging.

“Linda, stay here,” I order. “Keep Chrissie here until I get back. If she hasn’t seen it yet, don’t show it to her. Len, get in the fucking car. We need to get to Malibu.”

We climb into my Porsche and shoot out of the driveway, cutting at high speeds through Pacific Palisades only to be brought to a near stop on Highway 1. Fucking LA traffic. Shit, twenty miles to my house. How fucking long is it going to take? Len is still on his phone watching everything.

I hit the voice button on my car. “Call Goldman, Loeb, and Fisher.”

Len stares at me.

The receptionist answers.

“This is Alan Manzone. Put me through to Goldman. Now!”

“I’m sorry, sir. He’s in a meeting. Would you like—”

“Put me the fuck through now. I don’t care what he’s doing, who he is talking to—”

Click. Did she put me on hold? Then hideous Muzak.

“Sorry about the misunderstanding, Manny. What do you need?”

Ah, Goldman.

Sounding anxious.

Greedy cunt. You better sound anxious.

“I have a problem. I need to get a streaming video pulled from the Internet, a website taken down, a Twitter account frozen…” I look at Len. “What else?”

“Wait, wait, wait. Slow down. What are we talking about here?” Goldman says.

Len leans forward. “Go to www-dot—all one word—Kaley’s-World-dot-com. Click on the tab, ‘Denial is a Terminal Addiction.’”

Lots of noise in Goldman’s office pours through the car speakers. Sounds of action. Good.

“OK,” he says in an abrupt, focused way. “I’ve got Loeb with me, and our best technology and intellectual property rights litigator. Hold on.”

Silence. They’ve muted the call. Oh fuck. Not good.

“Who is the girl?” Goldman shoots through the speakers, lawyerly suspicious and insulting. The way he says that is repulsive and leaves little doubt what he’s thinking.

“Kaley Stanton. My stepdaughter, you asshole.”

Paper rustling. Voices in the background. God, how many of them are in the office now? Fuck, did someone laugh?

“There isn’t much we can do about the video and shutting this down. We can try to copyright it, prohibited it from future upload, but we can’t destroy what’s already out there, the existing downloads.”

How is it possible there’s nothing they can do to stop this?

“What the fuck is the good of paying you a ridiculous retainer every month if you can’t be useful once?” I say, weaving through traffic.

“We’ll do all we can here to shut it down, contact the hosting company, Twitter, Google directly, YouTube, anywhere else this is popping up, but, Manny, the girl is your stepdaughter, right? Do you want to press charges against her?”

My anger goes from overdrive into something catastrophic. “Are you fucking out of your mind? Press charges? Do you think I’d toss the girl in jail? She’s Chrissie’s daughter. No. Hell no.”

“I didn’t think so,” Goldman responds quickly. “Have you called a criminal attorney?”

My blood stills. “A criminal attorney. Why?”

“We’re watching the network news, Manny. Your Malibu house is surrounded by spectators, fans, and police. I’ll send Lawrence Walker to meet you there. He is our best criminal defense attorney. I need to see what I can do with the DA to prevent her from being arrested. It’s a long shot trying to keep this is a private family matter. I’ll do my best, but no promises here. I’m hanging up now so we can get to work stopping events before they go any further. Don’t do anything to inflame the situation when you get there.”

Click.

Don’t do anything to inflame?

How the fuck could I inflame this?

Heavy silence fills the car.

The highway becomes clogged again less than a quarter mile from my house. Oh fuck, have they shut down the coastal route? Barricades. Oh no. There are hundreds of people, media, and what looks like half the cops in LA spread down the road in front of my house doing crowd control. More cops in my driveway.

Oh fuck.

Kaley must have tweeted my address, and now every loon in LA is here for the party. She’s made it a happening.

“Fuck,” Len says, staring out the windshield. “We can’t leave the car here. We can’t go through that on foot. Maybe we should just hang back until the cops get everything under control.”

“Are you fucking out of your mind? Whatever is going on with Kaley I am not letting someone else take care it.”

I pull into the curb, park, and climb from the car. A few seconds later, Len springs out of the passenger seat and catches up to me.

I glare at him. You better fucking follow me, you wanker. Your boy is in there. He’s part of this nightmare.

I’m almost to the police line. People start to scream. Shit. Recognized. I block out the shouting, the voices of the police and I try to step around the sawhorse.

A uniformed sheriff stops me. “You can’t go in there, sir. It’s an active crime scene.”

Crime scene?

Is he fucking kidding?

Criminal attorney.

I get it, Goldman.

Maybe I won’t fire you, after all.

“That’s my house,” I announce, furious and anxious. “My attorney is meeting me here. That’s my stepdaughter inside. Take me to my house. You can’t prevent me from entering my own property.”

OK, that was pure bullshit since I’m pretty sure law enforcement can prevent me from entering the house, but he looks unsure. He turns away and speaks into a shoulder radio. Fuck, I can’t hear.

“What’s happening?” Len whispers.

I shrug.

Oh fuck. A line of cops in front me. Are they fucking arresting me? All I asked was to be permitted into my own house.

The sheriff moves the barricade, making a walk-through space. “The commander at the scene said to let you through.”

I’m escorted into the crowd surrounded by cops. That’s a fucking strange turn of events in my life not worth examining at present. In my driveway, I’m taken to what looks like the officer in charge, deep in conversation with another man dressed in Armani, probably Walker the attorney. How did he get here before me? They’re arguing. Yep, he’s my attorney.

Walker rushes toward me. “Don’t say a word. Not one word to anyone but me.”

I glare. “I hadn’t planned to.”

“They can’t get into the house,” Walker says softly and deliberately. “They’ve cut the power. Everything is still streaming live, though. But your house is like a vault. Bulletproof windows. Concrete two feet thick. They don’t know how to get inside. That’s the only break we’ve caught here. They don’t have a warrant yet. They don’t need one, but they’re waiting because it’s your house and every fucker with a camera on the street is filming this. They want to arrest her. I’m trying to stall them and prevent that until Goldman can do something with the district attorney. Don’t say anything. Let me do all the talking.”

“Tell them to let me into my house. Alone. Let me talk to her alone.”

Walker shakes his head. “They’re not going to do that.”

“Ask them. Beg them. I don’t give a fuck how much you have to grovel or threaten or whatever else you do. Just get me inside so I can talk to her alone before anything else happens here.”

For a moment I consider pushing past them and entering my house without their permission. Walker’s hand closes on my arm.

“No, you’re not doing that,” he warns severely. “You are not going to try to enter without their permission. They’ll arrest you, Manny. You’re not doing this.”

Oh God.

What the fuck?

How did that little prick know what I was thinking?

I’m not totally aware of my own thoughts.

I’m too consumed by what is rushing through my body. My heart is racing so quickly it feels like I’m about to have a fucking heart attack and I’m out of my mind with worry. The strongest impulse in me is to get to Kaley, in a way I’ve never felt before, nerve-racking, desperate, and uncontrollable.

“Please. Get me in there. I need to know she’s OK. Now.”

My insides freeze. The words were out of my mouth before I realized I’d spoken. Walker stares at me, and I can tell he can see I’m the furthest thing from angry.

“What’s going on?” Len asks.

I turn.

I forgot he was with me.

“Walker is trying to get me into the house. Alone.”

I rake a hand through my hair.

There’s got to be something more I can do while I wait for them to sort out what they’re going to do. I’ve never felt so fucking useless. I need to help Kaley. I grab my cell phone from my pocket. I go to my contacts. I hit the number.

Ring. Ring. Answer.

“Oh Christ, I’ve been watching the news all afternoon. Is Kaley OK?”

Jack.

Why did I call him?

I fight to focus my thoughts.

“I need your help, Jack. I’m trying to get into the house to talk to her. The police want to arrest her. You know people. You know where to pull strings. Do what you do. Call who you call. Just stop this—”

Oh fuck, I’m crying. Is this what fear and panic does?

“If they arrest her, Jack, her life is ruined and she will blame me for it forever. I don’t know why she’s doing this, but I do know she is going to hate me if I don’t stop it and I’ll never repair that.”

A pause.

“Hang in there, buddy. Focus on Kaley. I’ll take care of the rest. Remember, whatever happens you’ve got to be the one in control, calm, and managing shit.”

Click. I shove my cell into my pocket.

It takes an hour before the officers huddled around Walker look less adversarial. They are all nodding in what looks to be agreement on something.

Walker rushes back toward me.

“I don’t know what the fuck happened, but they are letting you in,” he says. “And here’s the deal, Manny. You get ten minutes alone with her. Then they’re coming in. They are not going to arrest her. They are going to talk to her and then turn her over to your custody.”

My custody? Relief shoots through my veins.

An officer approaches me. “Has your attorney explained our agreement?”

“Yes, he has.”

“You can go on in. Ten minutes. And then we’re coming in.”

Len and I are guided to the house. I go to the wall panel and hit the series of codes needed to get through the front entry. How the fuck did Kaley know them?

I step into the foyer and close the door behind me. I stare and try to compose myself. But it’s fucking hard. Everywhere I look, everything is broken. Smashed. She has smashed her way through my house. I start stepping over debris, not sure where to start searching for her.

“This is fucking out of control,” I whisper, overwhelmed. “Why would she do this? I don’t understand.”

Len pats me on the shoulder. He turns his phone toward me and points at the screen. “That’s your bedroom, right?”

I glance at the screen. My heart clenches. Kaley is sitting on the floor crying with an aluminum bat lying beside her. How she looks tears me apart. I can’t breathe. It’s that leveling of a thing.

I scan the room.

What is happening here?

I go down the hallway.

My heartbeat continues to escalate. It’s painful now. I need to talk to her, but something inside me is screaming that I don’t want to do this. Out of nowhere. A sense of impending…fuck, I don’t even know what to label it.

I stop in the bedroom doorway, silent, and take a moment to scan the scene. Zoe Kennedy and Bobby are sitting on the floor, backs against the wall, looking as overwhelmed as I feel. But Kaley looks almost calm now.

Bobby looks at me and then springs to his feet.

“Shut everything off,” I order harshly. “Cut the feed. Turn off the cameras. And get out of here. Both of you.”

Kaley jumps to her feet and runs to him. “Bobby, no. Don’t leave. Don’t leave me here alone with him.”

He pulls her against him in a firm hug, kisses her forehead and holds her face in his hands. “It will be all right, Kaley. This is what you wanted. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right outside the door. But you need to do this with him alone.”

You need to do this with him alone?

I start reading the walls as I wait for everyone except Kaley to clear the room.

A few minutes later we’re alone.

“You’ve got my attention, Kaley. Talk to me. Why would you do something like this?”

“You can’t even look at me,” she hisses. “Maybe if you could look at me, really see me, you’d already know and I wouldn’t have to tell you. Goddamn it, look at me.”

I stare at her. My life and hers are spinning out of control, about to collide into a truth I’ve always known without knowing, not clear in my head, something in me unable or unwilling to believe Chrissie could do something like this. But it is pounding at the edges of my subconscious, impossible to shut off, a vague awareness of what’s going to happen next and a desperation not to let it.

“I’m looking at you. This is not the way you deal with things, Kaley. You didn’t need to do this to talk to me. I will always listen. I’m always there for you. You didn’t need to do any of this. Say whatever it is that you got me here to tell me.”

Oh fuck. The way she’s staring at me.

“How would you know if I needed to deal with it this way or not?” she screams. “You don’t know what it is like to be me. I’ve tried to talk to you. You can’t hear me. Not ever. But I’m not letting you wall me out any longer. I can’t. It was almost survivable when I thought it was only me. But to find out—”

She breaks off. She looks wounded and tormented, and like a frightened animal, vulnerable and painfully so.

“Survivable? What was almost survivable?”

But I know. I already know.

Black eyes lock on black—black, not brown, you fucking idiot—black hair, black eyes, olive skin, tall and long-limbed body. The shape of her mouth. Her cheek bones. Her brow…

“You don’t get to pick the kids you want,” she says on choking sobs. “Kids are not disposable items. Why Khloe but deny me? You make me hate her and I don’t want to because I love her. But fuck, you are my father. What kind of man are you? What kind of man can do this?”

She throws something into my face. What the fuck is this? A medical report? Five samples. Two headings. Maternal. Paternal.

Oh God.

No.

My legs give way. I sink down onto the floor. “What is this?”

Kaley sniffs back tears. “You wouldn’t do the test for me so I bought a kinship DNA test. It’s designed to test siblings. I figured I’d match me to Khloe and have the truth since she’s the only kid you haven’t denied.”

This can’t be right.

It must be a lab error.

“Who is sample one?” I ask, stunned.

“Khloe,” Kaley snaps sharply. “Sample two is me. Sample three is Krystal. And sample four and five are Ethan and Eric. 99.97 percent confirmed we are not half siblings. We’re all full siblings. We all know who our mother is, but you being all our dads is a bit much to take in a single day, don’t you think, Daddy? Now tell me I’ve overreacted here today.”

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

No wonder the girl looks deranged.

How could Chrissie do this?

I shut down the thought of Chrissie. I can’t go there. Not now. Not before I’m through everything here to cope with.

“Just explain to me why,” Kaley begs. “It’s driving me crazy. Why did you lie to all of us? Or was it Mom? Did she lie to you? Is that it? I can’t take not knowing which one of you to hate another minute more.”

“I didn’t know,” I say before I can stop myself, and even through my fury over this, my conscience rebels and some remnant of me wants to still protect Chrissie through this.

“How could you not know? Explain it to me.”

I sit with my back against the wall. I can’t look into Kaley’s eyes any longer. I set my elbows on my knees and drop my head into my hands. I need to say something, but I can’t form a single useful thought.

How do I explain the unexplainable?

How can I still have a shred of concern for Chrissie in this?

She did this.

Fuck, have I ever truly known her?

I couldn’t imagine this.

It’s beyond imagining.

Oh fuck, I’ve always suspected. That’s a truth I can’t deny any longer.

Did I love her so much that I lied to myself for her?

Damn her.

I feel a heavy stare on me and I lift my face. Kaley. Waiting. Expectant. In pain. My daughter. What the fuck am I doing here thinking about Chrissie?

I hear footsteps from the hallway. Fuck, has it been ten minutes already? I shove the paper into my pocket.

I spring to my feet and rush to her, crouching down until we’re at eye level. “Kaley, we’ll talk as long as you want to, I’ll answer anything that you ask me, sweetheart, but the cops are coming in. Don’t say anything. My attorney is with them. We need to finish with the police and then we will work on you and me. I promise. Do you understand?”

I reach out for her, but she twists away and jumps to her feet. The officers are in the room. They are already taking her away.

No, no, no.

Len stops me from going after them.

“They’re just going to talk to her. That’s all. Don’t blow this now. The attorney is with her. Let him handle this, Manny.”

I go into the hallway. Where have they taken her? I’m stopped outside the living area by an officer. Fuck, there she is.

“Do you understand what this is?” an officer asks.

Kaley doesn’t look at him. She nods.

“We are releasing you to your father. This is a six-month probation. You do what he tells you to do. If you don’t he’s agreed to call the district attorney. You’ll be arrested and charged.”

Oh fuck—releasing you to your father. This is a six-month probation. You do what he tells you to do—I’ve heard this before. The hospital. Chicago. Long ago.

Jack did this. “Your father.” Oh fuck, to put that in means Jack has known the truth. Known it and never told me. Everything inside me starts careening out of control again.

The officer holds a pen to Kaley. “Sign here, that I’ve explained this to you and that you understand and agree to comply.”

Oh God, I know that expression. She’s going to argue. Don’t up the ante, Kaley. Not this time. Sign the fucking thing. Your grandfather managed a miracle for you.

The agony in my body, the tension as I wait, is excruciating. Then she takes the pen. She signs. Everything starts to move in hyperdrive, bodies moving in front of me, and then the sound of my door closing.

Silence.

We’re alone.

I step into the room.

I don’t know what to do next.

Kaley’s voice shoots through my head: You don’t know what it is like to be me.

Oh fuck, but I do know.

I did to my daughter what my bastard of a father did to me. Deny. Lie. Hurt. The only part I haven’t done is die yet. And it doesn’t matter that I never intended to. It doesn’t matter that I’ve always been in her life and loved her.

I stare at the destruction that used to be my house. Kaley feels about me the way I feel about my own father and that makes this fucking unbearable.