Under the Spotlight

Chapter Five

The note feels like a heavy weight inside of Cassie's pocket while the police search through her house for any signs of the suspect. She resists the urge to place her hand in her jacket pocket to double check that it's there, knowing that she will be deemed as suspicious.

Her leg bounces while she sits on her couch, staring at the black screen of her television. An officer sits on a chair adjacent to her. He's trying to ask her questions, but she cannot hear him over the sound of her obnoxious heartbeat. At this point, it's likely that he has repeated himself thousands of times.

"I can take it from here," someone states.

Cassie finally looks up from her TV, locking eyes with one of the agents from yesterday. His brown eyes settle over her like a weight as he takes her in. She can practically see the hoops that his brain is jumping through to appropriately assess the situation.

He leans back comfortably in her chair, making himself at home. His elbows rest on the arm rest, giving him a posture that is far too casual, given the circumstances. "How unfortunate that we find ourselves meeting once again, Ms. Sanchez," he claims.

Shaking her head, Cassie lowers her gaze to her hands. "Cassie," she corrects. A bitter laugh leaves her lips while she addresses his statement. "Funny. Most people would consider it an honor to be in the same room as me twice."

"Considering my job, I hate seeing victims more than once."

The word victim immediately wraps steel around the woman's heart. She snaps her head up to look at the agent, suddenly remembering herself. Cassie rests her hands on her knee, reclaiming control over her emotions. "I hate that word. Victim. It makes it seem as though I am nothing more than a damsel in distress."

Strands of his brown hair falls into his eyes while the agent studies her. He likes to observe the world around him— or he did yesterday. This FBI agent was always scanning the room, making mental notes about the objects and people around him.

"Do you know anything about the person who delivered that package to you?" The agent questions. The officer from earlier had already asked her that question, but it wouldn't surprise Cassie to hear that the police don't believe her.

It would not be the first time.

Cassie cocks her head to the side. There's something about the man that makes her want to trust him. It could be his soft features or the kindness that he has in his eyes. Whatever it is, he seems to know how to use it to his advantage. "What was your name again?"

If he is surprised by the question, the agent does not show it. "Special Agent Jeremiah Winchester."

"Well, Agent Winchester— as I informed the kind officer from before— I have no idea who could have delivered that package nor do I know whose hand that is." She nearly gags when she remembers the sight of the hand. Nausea clings to her stomach, threatening to make her vomit again. "I'd love to be more helpful, but I have no useful information for you."

Jeremiah casually taps his fingers on the arm of her gray couch. "Does the name Brian Reynolds mean anything to you?" He questions. When Cassie shakes his head, Jeremiah continues, "he was the officer that brought you home yesterday." He gestures toward the spot on her counter where the hand once sat. "His hand was the one in the box."

A sadness grows inside of the woman. "Are you saying that he was killed because he was near me?"

Shrugging, Jeremiah presses his elbows to his knees. "It's a possibility." The way he stares at Cassie makes her feel as though she is his number one suspect. "Have you ever heard of Cameron Jacobs?"

All of the blood drains out of Cassie's face. The hidden scar that runs diagonally across her face suddenly feels as though it is burning straight through her. She becomes aware of the fact that she is breathing, forced to figure out a normal pace. If she weren't sitting down at the moment, Cassie is certain that she would be trembling.

He knows. He knows her real identity. He knows about her past and her father and the life she has tried so desperately to keep buried. It's the reason behind that look in his eyes. He believes that she is a murderer because her father is one.

"Isn't he a serial killer?" She questions. Her voice does not sound normal to her. It's too high pitched and nervous.

Jeremiah's face is impossible for her to read. He simply stares at her with that neutral expression that makes her more nervous than if he were to flat out accuse her. "Yes. We believe that he may be involved."

She may faint at any moment. The note was not left by some sort of deranged stalker, but her father. He knows that she changed her name and went into acting. He even orchestrated this entire situation from behind bars just so that he could inform her.

Even while locked away, her father can still reach her.

"Winchester, you're scaring the poor girl," the other agent from yesterday states. He pats his partner on the shoulder before sitting at the edge of the couch. "I apologize for my partner, Ms. Sanchez. He can get a little... insensitive at times."

This is a nightmare. Cassie pinches the inside of her arm, trying to wake herself from her dream. "Is he..." she trails off. "He's still in jail, right?"

"Do not worry, Cassie," Jeremiah states. He's still looking at her with that intense, scrutinous gaze. "Cameron Jacobs will be spending the rest of his life behind bars. He will not be able to hurt you."

You don't know that, she wants to say. Blood pools beneath her nail from her pinching, but she does not let go of her arm. "Well, whatever psychotic accomplice he's sending after me can." She stands on shaky legs, facing away from the two officers. Her arms cross and she tries to keep herself focused and centered. "Am I allowed to leave while you investigate my house? This is all too much right now."

"Of course," the other FBI agent claims. "I believe that your agent is waiting outside for you."

She does not know how she is going to tell Bradley any of this. Having a hand sent to her house is one thing. Having it be sent by a person working with her father is another. Bradley will freak out and possibly flee the country from the news.

Without offering either one of the agents a goodbye, Cassie stalks over to the front door of her house. All of the officers and agents watch her go by, staring at her like she is some sort of walking corpse.

Bradley is standing at the end of her driveway, arguing with a few officers about being let inside. The moment he spots Cassie, all of the anger leaves his body. "Cassie, thank god. I've been trying to get past these goons for the last hour!"

It takes everything inside of the actress not to break down. "They're not goons, Bradley. They're just doing their job." She walks in the direction of his house, drawing in deep breaths.

Fortunately, they live in a heavily gated neighborhood, so they are not harassed by a pack of paparazzi every time they leave the house. As they get further and further away from her house, Cassie finds herself getting closer and closer to the breakdown that is long overdue.

As soon as they cross the threshold of Bradley's house, Cassie immediately breaks down into inconsolable sobs. She collapses right by the front door, unable to walk any further.