“And you say he has shown up here before today?”

Caution flopped down onto her couch dramatically. “You see that notebook in your hand? And the little pen you're holding? I'm fairly certain you just used them to take down what I said.”

“Caution, honey, don't be difficult,” her mother said, sipping at some high-concentration java.

“I'm not trying to be difficult, Mom.” She turned back to the detective. “No, this morning was the first time he showed up here.”

“But not the first time you've met him?”

“No. I told you before: I met him in the ally outside McPherson's two weeks ago.”

“So you are acquainted with him?”

“No.”

“But you said you met him two weeks ago.”

“Yeah, met, as in he stood in an ally and stared at me for a couple of minutes.”

The detective, whose name Caution had forgotten, flipped through his notebook. “Miss Kenwood, this isn't the first time you've reported having trouble with strange men following you, is it?”

“You know it's not.”

“And none of those men were ever found, were they?”

“Well, that's your department, detective.”

“There were never any witnesses, either, apart from your friend Marylin.”

Caution stood up suddenly. “Are you saying I'm making this up? Those guys were real and so is this one. I mean, you probably scared the other ones off; they see cop cars pulling up in front of my house, they're going to figure you're on to them. Of course they're going to disappear.”

“And you think this guy is going to do the same?”

“I don't know! He made it past security, which means he's serious.”

“Serious, right. And you say he dresses... like...” The detective flipped past a few pages in his notebook. “Ah... that guy from Nosferatu or an adult version of Batboy or something like that, is that correct.”

Caution sighed and sat back down. “Yes, that's right.”

“I see, and can you tell me his approximate age?”

“No, for the hundredth time, I can't. He's got no hair, no wrinkles, nothing... and it was dark the first time I saw him and foggy the second, so it's not like I got that great of a look at him either.”

“Miss Kenwood, can you think of a reason you would be such a frequent target of stalkers?”

Caution lifted her head from her hands. “You're kidding, right?”

“No, I'm not kidding.”

“Well, I'm the daughter of the two highest profile actors in the Western hemisphere, for a start.”

“And you think this makes you a target?”

“Uh, yes.”

“How's that, exactly?”

The following twenty minutes saw Detective No-name kicked off the property, chased by threats of trespassing charges, should he ever return. The following hour found Caution in Marylin's bedroom, relating the morning's events to her friend.

“I told you.”

“You told me to call the police,” Caution said. “Which, if you caught the end of the film, didn't turn out so well.”

Marylin pushed the tub of Rocky Road to Caution. “Well, I didn't know the cops were going to be assholes about it... but I was right about him being dangerous, right?”

Caution stared at her spoon and watched as the ice cream dripped off it, back into the container. “Yeah, but there's nothing I can do about it now.”

“Maybe we should call of this Thursday,” Marylin said after a bit. “You know, just to be on the safe side.”

“No way!”

“Caution.” Marylin let her argument end there, as if you're being unreasonable was the inevitable conclusion, and therefore didn't need to be spoken aloud.

“There's no way I'm going to let this creep bully me into changing my plans. Crystal, my mom's Zoroastrian advisor—”

“The nutbar lady?”

“She knows her shit. Anyway, she says that the last thing you want to do with a stalker is let them think they're having any effect on your life.”

“So you're saying we should go back to McPherson's, even though there's like a seventy five percent chance that he'll show up there?”

“Well, yeah.”

“That doesn't make any sense. You called the police this morning. I mean, do you not remember how freaked out you were when you came over here? And now you're saying you want to go back there, when you know that he knows that you might show up?”

Caution took a minute to process what Marylin had said. “Alright, no Escape. It'll freak the guards out just as much if we don't try anything this week.”

“Good.” Marylin breathed a sigh of relief then, finally, let herself smile. “I can't believe you threatened to have that detective charged with trespassing. Are you out of your mind?”

“He was pissing me off. He was treating me like some narcissist, like I thought: Oh, I'm so great so I should have stalkers, or something like that. I mean, how hard is it to understand that this guy totally circumvented mt security? Obviously he means business... and this detective thinks I'm just some spoiled princess making the whole thing up.”

Marylin made a grabbing motion at the ice cream. “What did your parents say?”

“Not a lot. My dad's still in Canada and my mom—well, she's projecting; she thinks that just because she has ten nervous breakdowns a week, the rest of the world does too. I don't think she thinks I'm making it up, but I wouldn't say she thinks I'm sane either.”

“Oh... Good. I mean, it's good that she doesn't think you're lying, at least. So where should we go this weekend?”

“Um...” Caution could not remember the last time a Thursday hadn't included a Thursday Escape, and the idea of spending an entire one in the company of the bodyguards made her suddenly uneasy. “Some place with it's own security. Not Posh—Oh! I meant to ask you: have you seen the paper yet?”

Marylin frowned. “Yeah. We didn't make the cover.”

“I wondered why Mom's publicist hadn't called her yet. What page did we get?”

“Ten.”

“Ten? Ten?” The news that their scandalous kiss two weeks ago had not even earned the girls a space within the first five pages of their favourite tabloid was enough to distract Caution completely from her other problems. “Tell me our names at least made it to the cover?”

“Um, hang on.” Marylin stepped over a pile of magazines, opened her underwear drawer and dug around for a moment. “Ah. It says Lesbian Heiresses? Guess which two of Hollywood's young teens got caught mid-kiss! Story page ten.”

“What the hell is that? First of all, we're not young teens; we're old teens. Seven-teens. And what's this nonsense about Hollywood? I mean, we don't live anywhere near that cesspit. Page ten!” Caution snatched the paper from her friend. “This is ludicrous. I mean, here we go and put together what will probably turn out to be the most elaborate Thursday Escape of our lives and we barely make page ten.” She flipped to the offending page and smacked the paper with the back of her hand. “We have to do something about this. This is just nuts. We have to do an escape this Thursday, Mare, we just have to.”

“Didn't we just go through this? There's no way I'm going along with anything that's going to put either of us alone with your latest stalker.”

“But... come on. Page ten.”

“Forget it.”

“Marylin, I need some fun after this morning.”

“Oh, you mean this morning, when your stalker showed up at your house?”

“Look, you'll be fine, okay? I promise I won't let Mr. Creep get you.”

“You think it's me I'm worried about? I'm not the one being stalked by some maniac.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Are you kidding? You can't even have a civil conversation with the investigating detective. How the hell do you think you're going to handle it if this guy gets physical?”

“I'll kick his ass.”

“Oh, right. And you'll be able to do this from your many years experience as a pampered heiress with eight of her own bodyguards.”

“And you'd be much better?”

“No, but at least I'd have the common sense not to go wandering off alone, when I knew full well that there was some creep out there looking for me.”

“So you're calling me stupid, is that it?”

Marylin tried the time-honored technique of counting to ten in her head. “Yes.”

“I can't believe you.”

“You can't believe me? And yet I'm the only one who does believe you. You come over here, crying to me because everyone thinks you're nuts and I do believe you, and you act like I'm the crazy one in all of this. Explain to me how that makes sense.”

Caution stood up and set the tabloid on top of Marylin's open underwear drawer. “Look, I've got to go. Call me if you think of something to do this weekend, okay?”

Marylin answered with a weak, “Yeah, whatever,” and Caution was gone.

...

McPherson's was the perfect place to have a drink and forget about the world—or at least the part of the world that Caution lived in. The part that was populated by drunken assholes was somewhat closer at hand.

Caution sat alone at the bar, reviewing the days events and tying to decide whether or not she was actually angry with Marylin.

“Hey there,” said some drunk idiot who had plopped himself down next to Caution.

Caution didn't look up from her drink. “Hi.”

“Has anyone ever told you you look like that girl?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know—that... uh, Cole Kenwood and What's-her-face... their daughter.”

“Oh, Carbon?”

“Yeah, that's it. You look just like Carbon Kenwood.”

Caution continued to stare ahead. “Gee, thanks.”

“Well, I mean, you're a lot prettier than that girl. She's sorta flat-chested, if you know what I mean... not that I was looking at your chest. Can I buy you a drink?”

“I have one already.”

“Well, can I get your number?”

Caution turned to face him. “Why?”

“I don't know—in case you want to hang out or something.”

“I don't. Do you still want my number?”

“I think—” The man froze, finger pointed upward, mouth hanging open, and waited for the rest of his thought to form. “I think,” he eventually went on, “that the reason you don't want to hang out is that you just don't know me yet. My name's Bill. I'm a really nice guy. Even ask anyone.”

“I'm sure you're a nice guy,” Caution said, in a voice which suggested that she almost might have meant it. “The thing is, I can guarantee that nothing you say or do is going to make me the least bit interested in you... ever. So why don't you save yourself some time and go hit on that transvestite down at the end of the bar.”

“Hey, why don't I buy you a drink?” Bill said, winking.

Caution smiled. “Okay, sure. I just have to powder my nose, and I'll be right back. Order me a Cosmo, would you? Thanks.”

Caution excused herself and ducked out the ally entrance. Shortly thereafter, Bill, who was obviously not a frequent patron of McPherson's, was harshly reprimanded by a bartender for attempting to order something pink.

Caution stepped into the ally and lit a cigarette. Smoking was something she did only when extremely stressed, and it bothered her that she'd let things get to her so much. Nonetheless, she took a long drag and let herself lean against the wall of the pub.

“Hey there, little lady,” said a voice from the street-facing end of the ally.

Caution straightened and looked at the man walking toward her. It wasn't Bill or Mr. Creep, which she found something of a relief.

“Hi,” Caution said flatly.

“You know,” said the man who Caution had dubbed Cowboy in her head, “I've heard that smoking's bad for your health.”

“Really?” Caution took another drag. “You don't say.”

“Myself,” said the cowboy, pulling a pack of cigarette's from his jacket pocket, “I've never much been one to go on what I hear.” He lit one and leaned on the wall next to Caution. “If it makes you feel good, it can't be all bad, am I right?”

“Probably,” she said, throwing her cigarette on the ground, wasting about three quarters of it in the process. “Well, it's been nice talking to you, but there's a guy inside waiting to buy me a drink.”

“Oh yeah?” He was wearing the same smile on his face that he had been for the entirety of their brief conversation. “And what's this joker got that I don't, huh?”

“He's got my drink.” Caution banged on the door.

“Well, I can get you a drink,” the cowboy said, sidling closer.

“Thanks, but I don't need one.” Caution pulled on the door handle, and discovered it, as she'd feared, to be locked.

“Well, at least let me help you with that door.” He reached one arm around Caution's back and put his hand over hers on the handle.

“I've got it,” Caution said, shrugging him off.

The cowboy grabbed her wrist. “Come on, baby,” I can give you a hand.”

The next few moments were a blur. Caution remembered kicking the man between the legs and trying to flee down the ally. Then she was somehow on the ground with him standing over her. Then he was on the ground beside her, screaming in agony. A hand with too-long, pale, almost green fingers appeared in Caution's field of vision. She took it a split second before she realized who it belonged to.

Then she was standing, staring Mr. Creep in the face. “Um... thanks.” She made it sound like a question.

Mr. Creep said nothing.

“You know, this doesn't exactly make you less creepy.”

Very slowly, Creep nodded his head.

“I mean, it kinda seems like you're—”

The cowboy made a grab at Caution's leg and wound up with Creep's heel pressed into his throat.

Caution watched him gurgling and grasping at the air, until she realized that Mr. Creep's full attention (minus a heel) was on her. She forced herself to look Creep in the eye. “It almost seems,” she went on, “that you're keeping me for yourself.”

Mr. Creep's expression did not change. He reached past her slowly and knocked on the heavy metal door. Then he glanced down at the cowboy, as if telling Caution to take over for him.

Caution reluctantly put her foot on the cowboy's neck next to Creep's. The cowboy was barely conscious by this point, but he was still groaning, and Caution looked him over to see exactly how bad the damage was. He wasn't bleeding, and he had no visible bruises, but on further inspection, Caution realized that no human legs should be able to bend the way his legs were bent.

The door swung open, a waiter came out, and by the time Caution thought to look, Mr. Creep had vanished.

The waiter followed Caution's gaze down the ally. “Hey, is everything okay...” He stared for a while at the cowboy, who had by now fully lost consciousness. “Um...”