Page 5 of Power and Possession
I left the police station discouraged. The feeling of hopelessness overwhelmed me. I was also perplexed. Why would anyone be following me? Especially here in the United Kingdom. In New York I might have had a picture of me taken here and there, mostly when my father attended gala events and my mom was too sick towards the end of her life to accompany him. But even then, my name was hardly mentioned, and even my dad’s name was rare to be seen in the papers. He tried to keep us out of the media as much as possible, which was surprising because most people in his circle paid public relations agencies to fine-comb their image.
I walked back to my flat, constantly looking over my shoulder. Every man suddenly seemed threatening to me. Whenever someone came too near me on the sidewalk, I purposefully crossed to the other side, weaving across the street. Tears of frustration stung my eyes. I’d moved away from New York to be free and independent, but my freedom was gone now.
Sighing, I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. I knew I’d probably regret it, but my father would be able to help. He could hire a private detective or a security detail to watch over my place, so I could sleep at night. Even at theHarrington Estate I tossed and turned, gripping that kitchen knife for hours before releasing it and settling down, only to grab it again a few minutes later whenever I thought I heard some random noise.
I pressed the phone against my face, sweaty with nerves but hopeful my father could fix this.
The line didn’t even ring, and it went straight to voicemail. I checked the time and did a quick time-change conversion, and realized he was probably just getting into his office for the morning. I hung up and tried his office number. It rang several times before going to his voicemail. I ground my teeth a bit, unnerved by the fact he didn’t pick up either time. My father was tied to his cellphone. He’d even answered it at my high school graduation, much to my mom’s displeasure.
I tried again, this time attempting to reach his assistant. Barbara picked up the phone on the first ring. Thank god.
“Topher Phillips Financials.”
“Hi Barb, it’s Ash. Could you transfer me to my father?”
Silence on the line. I held my breath, afraid something happened to the only parent I had left. Heart disease ran in our family and my father smoked cigars and drank far more than he should. I braced myself for the news that he was hospitalized. Finally, Barbara spoke.
“Ashlynn, Mr. Phillips said he was going to visit you in London. According to his itinerary, he was supposed to arrive two days ago.”
My entire face went cold. What was happening? He hadn’t said anything about coming out here to visit me. Was it supposed to be a surprise? That wasn’t like my father at all. Did he know something about these men following me? Was he coming out here to warn me?
“Ashlynn?” Barbara asked hesitantly, correctly sensing that something was wrong.
“I haven’t heard from him,” I whispered.
I could hear Barbara typing on her keyboard. Clack, clack, clack. “Your family’s private plane definitely took off from JFKon Monday. Perhaps he had business to attend to before heading your direction? I wouldn’t worry, Ashlynn. You know how much Mr. Phillips enjoys his work.”
I nodded, and then remembered Barbara couldn’t see me. I found my voice. “You’re probably right. I’ll talk to you soon, okay? And if for some reason he contacts you, can you let me know?”
“I will.”
I hung up. Dread landed in the pit of my stomach like lead. I stopped on the street, suddenly rooted to the sidewalk while I tried to process what Barbara told me. Now I was officially terrified. I started walking again, picking up my pace. I was eager to get indoors as quickly as I could. Just another two blocks and I’d be home. Another twenty feet. My feet ached in my heeled boots, and I decided it was time to ditch them in favor of sneakers. If I needed to make an escape, there was no damn way I was going to let my footwear make me a victim. I climbed up the stairs to my flat and let myself in, locking the door behind me and leaning against it. Tears of frustration came easily, and the feeling of overwhelming hopelessness grasped me again. I sank down in front of the door and shakily unlocked my phone. I wiped the screen off, cleaning up the bit of foundation that smeared against it while I held it to my clammy face. Slowing my breathing, I did something I never thought I would do: I googled how to get a handgun in the United Kingdom. Until I could get in contact with my father, at least I would have something in my arsenal to defend myself.
Next, I looked for a local women’s self defense class. There was a new class starting up next week, so I signed myself up online.
As I made plans, I felt a bit calmer. This was what I did when unexpected problems presented themselves. Just a little planning, and I already felt more in control of the situation.
Moving to the kitchen, I pulled a can of soup from the cupboard and poured the contents into a pot to heat it. While it slowly came to a simmer, I went over to the living room andgrabbed a photography book I purchased at a used bookstore a few blocks away. I flipped through the pages, getting ideas and inspiration. Photography had always been a hobby, but now that I was done with school, I wanted to explore it more and see if it would ever be a viable career for me. I’d taken a few photography classes, and the professor said I had an eye for it. It was nice to be recognized for something other than being Topher Phillips’ daughter.
I poured the soup into a bowl and ate quickly, nearly burning my mouth. After so much adrenaline and uncertainty raged through my body, I just wanted to take a shower and collapse in my bed. It would be an early morning with Martha and Henry tomorrow, and I didn’t want to doze off on the job. Besides, if I was sleepy, those kids would call me on it.
After my shower, I changed into a tank top and pajama shorts and headed to my bedroom. At the last second, I tucked a chair under the door handle at the front door and grabbed the knife from the kitchen. It never hurt to be prepared.
They came for me that night.
Jarred out of sleep, I heard the chair being knocked to the ground. I grabbed the knife off my nightstand and made my way silently out of bed and hid behind the door. I could hear quiet footsteps and whispers. There were at least two, maybe three men in my apartment. My heart felt like it was in my throat, and I wondered if this was the end of my life. I’d never find a career I was passionate about. Never buy my first house. I wouldn’t get married or retire. I wondered if my dad was in London and if he’d have to identify my body. He’d be completely alone. But, at least I’d be with my mom. Thinking about her steadied my hands, almost as though she was encouraging me from the grave. She’d raised me to be strong, and I could almost hear her words resonate in my soul.
Ashlynn, don’t you dare give up.
It was the same words she’d spoken to me after I almost failed algebra or when I’d lost my first swim meet in middle school. I wasn’t sure if I was hallucinating from fear, or if the mind plays tricks on you when your life is hanging in the balance, but her words gave me courage. I held the knife tighter in my grip and waited, ready to pounce.
Heavy footsteps sounded against the wooden floor, stopping at the bathroom before heading back down the small, narrow hall. They stopped outside of my bedroom, and I saw the doorknob turn. The door opened just a sliver, and from my spot behind it, I could see a beam of light hit my bed, no doubt from a flashlight.
I thought I heard a whisper, and I knew there was more than one intruder in the hall. Shit. I could get lucky with one, but any more than that and I was severely underwater. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, I saw a man step into my bedroom, his eyes frantic and searching. He was dressed completely in black, and I instantly recognized him as one of the men who’d followed me home from the Harrington Estate.
He took another step across the tiny bedroom. If I waited any longer, he’d turn back towards the door, and he would see me. It was now or never. Knife held at eye level, I lunged at him, catching him off guard.
I felt my knife hit flesh, and I let go immediately, shocked by the sensation and the warm blood gushing out of the man’s side. He fell to the floor, and I jumped over his body, running down the hall.