Seen (ONC 2024)

Chapter 6: Make Lemonade

"Holy hell," I say, shaking my head and turning back to Aria. "Who knew there were so many paparazzi in Vermont?"

"What?" she says, eyes widening. Her hand grips the edge of the countertop so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

"Yeah, don't look. But I think that guy I scared off went and told all his buddies where you are. We should probably get away from the windows," I suggest.

Only the kitchen windows face the front of the property, but there isn't a fence around the yard, so there aren't any barriers preventing them from surrounding the place. And in the living room there are large plate-glass windows that look over the patio. I bet it will be only a matter of minutes before there are tripods set up right next to the jacuzzi.

"Can we draw the curtains at least?" she asks.

I look around. "I think the only rooms with curtains are the bedrooms."

"Fuck." Aria bites at her lower lip. "This sucks."

I nod in agreement. "It's also illegal."

"I'm a public figure," she says, disgust in her voice, as she stands, looking around the kitchen, looking lost.

"Yeah, but this is private property," I emphasize. Then I walk into my bedroom, which is the closest, and draw the curtains. "Do you want me to close yours too?" I ask, finding Aria still standing, frozen, at the top of the stairs.

She nods.

I pull my cell phone out of my pocket as I walk down the stairs, dial the non-emergency number for the local police, and bring the phone up to my ear. If these guys won't respond to my legal threats, they'll have to respect police action.

As the line rings, I walk over to her bedroom window. Photogs are setting up tripods and taking shots of the exterior. Flashes are going off. Dust is blooming from so many moving feet. Quickly, I close the blinds and then the curtains.

The police dispatcher answers and asks how they can direct my call.

"Hello, this is Elijah Bennet. I'm at a vacation rental at 206 Evergreen Lane and we have a situation with trespassers on the property," I say as I walk back up the stairs.

Hearing me, Aria scrunches up her face. "Did you call the police?"

I nod, listening to the dispatcher's followup question. "Yes, there's a large group of paparazzi outside the rental property. They've been trespassing on the premises, trying to take photos of a guest staying here."

"The police won't do anything!" Aria protests, her voice trembling.

I hold up a finger, telling her to be quiet, then walk into my room. "It's hard to say exactly, but there are at least a dozen of them, maybe more. They're on foot and some have vehicles parked nearby," I say into the phone's receiver, closing the door behind me.

"Understood, sir. We'll dispatch officers to your location as soon as possible," the dispatcher assures.

"Thank you." I hang up the phone and open my door back up.

Aria is standing there, staring at me. "Well?"

"Well..." I repeat back to her. "I think it's time for a drink."

"It's not even noon," she scoffs.

I walk over to the fridge, careful to keep my face turned away from the windows, and open the doors to peer inside. "I don't have anything to make mimosas or Bloody Marys, but lemonade and bourbon sounds like a good pre-noon cocktail to me."

When I turn to see Aria's reaction, she is sitting on the floor, her back slumped against the kitchen island.

"Make mine a double," she says, her voice defeated.