“Want something to eat before we call it a night?” asked Dr Marrs as they crossed over to the house.
“Yeah but I don’t know what,” replied Jake, acutely aware that they’d worked through dinner.
“Bacon?” suggested the producer as they reached the front steps. “Hey, did you leave the door open?”
“Don’t think so,” replied Jake, searching his memory banks to visualise the scene when he’d left the house after his run. “Definitely not.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I came out the back way,” explained Jake. “I put my running shoes out on the patio to dry.”
“Strange,” said Jim, slowly climbing the front steps. “Stay quiet. Follow me in. Slowly.”
Heart pounding, Jake followed the producer into the house. Methodically, they checked the ground floor apartments but nothing was out of place. Nothing was missing. Silently, Jake indicated that he would check upstairs. The producer nodded and signalled that he’d check the back yard.
Keeping as quiet as possible, Jake made his way up the wide wooden staircase to the upper floor of the house. He started his search in the master bedroom before checking the other bedrooms one by one. He checked the bathroom and noticed that his toothbrush was missing from the sink. A chill ran down his spine as he walked down the hallway to search the final bedroom – his own bedroom.
The door was closed over.
He recalled that he’d left it open as he’d rushed to get over to the studio on time.
Slowly, he pushed it open. A scene of devastation lay beyond. The room had been ransacked. The contents were scattered across the room. His clothes had still been folded in his holdall. Now, they were torn and tattered and strewn all over the room. Lori’s t-shirt lay shredded in the centre of the bed.
Without disturbing anything, Jake stepped back out into the hallway.
“Jim!” he yelled. “Call the cops!”
Dawn was breaking as the police car drove away from the studio house, leaving an exhausted Jake and Dr Marrs standing on the porch.
“I need some sleep,” muttered Jake, running his hand through his hair. “And some food.”
“Me too,” said the producer with a yawn. “I’ll cook. You message Grey and Paul. Tell them store’s closed till four.”
Yawning, Jake nodded, “I’ll need to buy more clothes too. Make it five. Gives me time to go shopping.”
Dr Marrs nodded as he wandered sleepily back indoors.
Over bacon and eggs a short while later, the producer said, “You might want to get Grey to warn Lori about this.
“Shit,” murmured Jake. “I didn’t think. But that crazy bitch knows I’m here. Surely she wouldn’t go to the house?”
“Jake, she’s unhinged. Till the cops catch up with her, she’s on the loose out there. Message Grey to warn your wife and kids!”
Nodding, Jake began to type up a message to the band’s bass player.
“You might want to think about getting out of town once the record’s done,” suggested Jim calmly. “Put a few miles between you and the lovely Nicole.”
“I’d rather go home.”
“I know,” sympathised Jim. “But, if Lori still needs some time and some space, we need to keep you safe and sound. Maddy would be pissed if anything happened to you.”
“I guess I could go up to Lucy’s,” mused Jake. “Don’t want to put her and the boys at risk though.”
“You could go and crash at Garrett’s,” countered Jim. “He’s rattling around in that gothic palace of his.”
“Might be a more sensible option,” agreed Jake with a yawn. “Too tired to think. I need some sleep.”
“Move into the room at the front,” said Jim. “I need to call Jason then I’m hitting the sack too.”
“I’ll see you over at the studio at five,” promised Jake, getting to his feet. “I’ll bring in some food.”
“Deal.”
Several hours later, as he drove up to the outlets, Jake contemplated Dr Marrs’ suggestion about going to stay with Garrett. In his heart, he hoped that he would be able to smooth things over with Lori before Silver Lake finished recording their album; in his heart, he knew how angry she was with him and that it could take a long time for her to agree to see him, never mind agree to him coming home. There had been no update from the police before he’d left, meaning he had no idea if Nicole was still at large. He kept glancing in his rear-view mirror, his paranoia about being followed growing with every mile that passed.
Once, just before he made the turn into the outlets, he spotted a black BMW convertible. A wave of panic had almost crushed him until he realised the car was being driven by a man.
Keeping his shades on and with his distinctive long blonde hair tucked up under one of Jim’s snapbacks, Jake set off across the parking lot towards the stores. He found the wardrobe essentials that he was shopping for among the Seaside outlets and was soon laden with bags containing new underwear, jeans, shirts and tees. Fortunately, Nicole hadn’t touched his running gear so he was spared the chore of shopping for sports clothes. All the time he was in the stores, he was on edge, constantly anxious about being followed.
As he walked back across to his truck, Jake saw several police cars in the parking lot. Keeping the baseball cap down low, he approached the truck cautiously, a sixth sense warning him that all was not well.
“Mr Power?” said a voice beside him.
Jake spun round and found himself face to face with one of the police officers who had interviewed him about the assault.
“Hi,” replied Jake, trying to sound calmer than
