so I could carry it upstairs.
“Ryan?” I called out, setting the bag on the floor.
“Bathroom,” he yelled. I knew him and his daily routine well enough to know that at this time of the day, he’d be gone for a while.
I grabbed his cell phone off the kitchen table and quickly toggled through his stored numbers looking for listings for Matt and Scott. He had quite
a few girls’ names in his phone, which bothered me to see. Amy, Brandy, Cheryl, Gina, Heather; the list went on and on. The twinge of jealously
worsened when I passed Lauren Delaney’s cell number.
I was hoping that he’d never want or need to call any of those numbers ever again. It would be so easy for me to delete them all, but that would
be wrong. Back to the task at hand… there were a few choices for the name Scott but only one listing for Matt. I quickly wrote his number down on a
piece of paper and shoved it in my purse.
I looked at the FedEx package. It was overnighted from California and addressed to William Bailey, c/o Mitchell’s Pub. I noticed that Pete wrote
a note on the back to let us know he signed for the package.
“Do you know a William Bailey?” I asked, handing the package to Ryan.
“Yep. That’s me.”
I must have looked confused.
“What’s my middle name?” he asked.
“William.”
“What was my dog’s name?”
“Bailey.” It made sense now. “Okay, I get the connection but why the alias? What’s that about?”
“It’s my secret name. Well, one of them,” he admitted. “I can’t use my real name on anything. If fans or whoever see Ryan Christensen printed on
things - it disappears or becomes public knowledge. It’s also one of the names I use when I check into hotels and stuff.”
“I noticed your luggage had ‘Shell-B Enterprises’ on it. Is that an alias too?”
“Yeah, well, that’s my company name,” he sighed, scratching his forehead. “You have no idea the lengths people go through to dig up private
information.” He pulled out his wallet and showed me his credit card.
“This has my real name on it ‘cause that’s who I am, but see – underneath my name – there’s my company name. My credit card bills, my cell
phone number, are all listed under my company name. It’s the way things have to be to keep records private. If my luggage gets lost, no one knows
it’s mine. My bags would get shipped to California to my manager.”
“Oh, that makes sense,” I said, but still curious. “Shell-B? Where did that come from?”
He laughed. “That’s a mixture of a couple of things. First of all it was my dream car, which I now own. Sitting in my dad’s garage is a 2008
Shelby GT500 KR. Blue with silver stripes. Two hundred and eight original miles on her. The other reason for the name, well, do you remember our
conversation about the shell game?”
I nodded, remembering that time in the shower fondly.
“Why not make finding me a shell game too?” His face glowed with his secret. “Whenever you travel now, you’ll have a fake name on your
luggage. We’ll have to take a look at what you have your name on. People can hack into shit on the Internet like you wouldn’t believe.”
I was twirling my cell phone under my fingers while we were talking. I was curious about something completely different from what we were
talking about. I punched a few buttons and waited.
Ryan’s phone started to play. The music was familiar, but I didn’t know the artist.
“Why are you calling me?” He laughed.
“Just curious,” I admitted. “That’s my ringtone? Who is that?”
He twitched his lips and smiled. “It’s an oldie. Did you ever hear of Cream?”
I nodded. He picked his phone up but I stopped him.
“No, wait! Just let it play. I want to hear it! Sunshine of your love? Is that the name of the song?”
“Yep. It’s a cool song, but I never get to hear it ‘cause somebody you and I know has issues about calling me.” He gently kicked my foot under
the table.
Ryan ripped open the tab on the FedEx package and pulled out three packs of paper. Each pack was an inch or two thick.
“What’s all that?” I asked while I dumped the mail out of the garbage bag onto the table.
“Scripts. More scripts. What the hell is all of that?” he yelled.
I gasped when I saw multiple 4x6 glossy pictures of Ryan and our stalker, Angelica, from the day that he posed with her in my pub. There were
also glossy pictures of Ryan alone; mostly side shots of him entering through the back door of the pub. The scariest of all the photos was a picture
of Ryan and me walking down the sidewalk. Angel had scribbled out my face with a black magic marker and drew a target on my chest. I almost
passed out at the table.
I flipped one of the pictures over and read the back.
I desperately separated all the pictures from the pile of mail. Ryan’s eyes grew wider and his face turned white. Each picture had a handwritten
message:
And the picture of me with the bullseye had three words written on the back…
Ryan’s face still showed his horror and his fingers were unsteady as he started to open up one of the boxes addressed to him. I heard him gasp
in shock again. Inside the box was a brown plush teddy bear that had a big gash down the front of its chest and some of the white stuffing was
sticking out. There was tape across the opening. The note inside the box read “I’m broken-hearted without you.”
The other boxes had the same handwriting on them. Ryan didn’t touch them. He shoved it all back into the garbage bag.
I was shaking but I still had my mental faculties. “Ryan, don’t throw any of that away. We’ll need all of that for court.”
In total there were four packages, seventeen pictures, three threatening letters, and nine greeting cards from her. She even included what
appeared to be drops of blood in one of the cards.
Ryan quickly called his manager. “David, I want private security immediately for Taryn. I want someone posted inside her business during
working hours and I want someone to escort her anywhere she has to go when I’m not with her. I’ll also be hiring a lawyer out here in Rhode Island.”
The only thing preventing us from both screaming was the knowledge that she was in police custody at that very moment.
The next morning, our schedule quickly shifted back to our normal routine, and I promised Ryan that I wouldn’t leave the building. I handed him a
to-go cup of coffee and kissed him goodbye in the hallway. Mike shielded Ryan as he climbed into the back seat of the car sent to deliver him
safely to the set, and the paparazzi were waiting to take his picture the minute he stepped out the door.
I was mentally preparing to open the pub back up for business and reviewing the precautions I needed to get in place before I unlocked the front
door. Despite all the terrifying circumstances from yesterday, I also had a top-secret birthday party to plan.
“Hi, is this Matt?” I asked hesitantly, staring at the piece of paper that contained the phone number I stole from Ryan’s cell.
“Yeah? Who’s this?” he replied.
“My name is Taryn. Taryn Mitchell. Do you know who I am?” I didn’t know if Ryan’s friends kept tabs on the news.
“No. Should I?” he asked defensively.
“How can I say this without you hanging up on me. Are you near a computer?”
“What?” Matt questioned.
“Do you have access to a computer?” I asked again.
“Yeah. I’m sitting in front of one. Why?” he asked.
“Please go on the Internet and search my name.” I spelled my full name for him so he’d get it right.
“Awe, come on! Can’t you people just leave him alone?” Matt groaned.
I knew by his response that he found me.
“Matt, please, just listen to me. It’s really Taryn Mitchell calling you. Your long time friend Ryan is living with me in Rhode Island.”