"Ugh Monday," I roll over on my bed. My phone that's on my white nightstand is ringing. And that is why I am up at three in the fucking morning.
"Hello," I groan into my phone, "don't you have anything better to do with your life than to call me this early? I think you might be an owl. You should check with your doctor."
I don't even know who is calling. But anyone who calls Marley McCarthy before four P.M. is a fucking idiot. I am not a morning person and when I see you, I will kick you to fucking Japan. Also, I use the word "fuck" a lot in the mornings.
"Hi Marley, it's Officer Handler. Nice to hear from you too. What a wonderful thing to say to the person that is keeping you safe!" his voice weirdly rises at the end of his sentence. I roll my eyes and I put on the most awake voice I can. Which, of course, sounds like a starved penguin in the middle of the desert, "What can I do for you at three in the morning Officer?"
"Actually, my staff and I were talking, and you should take the day off from school until everything with Annie Carlson is sorted out."
"Amen brother!" I scream into the receiver. No school! You don't have to tell me twice.
"My team will be at your house promptly at eight. Just because you are not going to school does not mean that you do not have to wake up early."
"Just what I want on my day off," I drift off and press end.
"Miss McCarthy," whispers a voice near me.
"Shut up Handler," I say not even bothering to open my eyes. The person keeps tapping on something until I open my eyes. At first, I don't see anyone in the room. I look to my left from out the window and there is this smiling man-reporter tapping on the glass.
"Care to have a quick interview?" he asks with some strange smile on his face. I look at his cameraman, then his microphone that reads "MSNBC." Hell no. I hate that place. I just close my curtains. He continues to tap on the window for a few more seconds, but then gives up. What kind of an idiot would try to get an interview with someone who is sleeping? Oh yeah, this idiot! Does he know anything about something called privacy? I need to write down the definition, engrave it into a toaster, then throw it at his face! Or maybe a clock so he understands that it's 5:30 in the morning! So everyone on the face of the Earth is trying to wake me up early today! I love you too. I stumble out of bed since I don't want reporter boy to be anywhere near me. I tiptoe out of my room carefully so I don't wake up Dot. The house is eerily quiet even with the reporters present outside. I doubt it's quiet, maybe it's more of a feeling of loneliness. I walk through the house that used to be so familiar, now so alien and foreign. I cannot recognize it anymore, I'm now paying attention to detail in case someone kidnaps me. Before I would have never noticed how pretty the molding on the bottom of the staircase is or how the sunlight shines perfectly through the windows in the front hall, but only in the mornings. I can't stop thinking about Blue Eyes from last night. How could a reporter not notice a person sneaking to the back of the house and spying on me? There are so many reporters and just one Blue Eyes, it doesn't make sense. I don't want to tell Officer Handler because that will just make more work for him. But who do I know that has blue eyes? I made a mental list:
Louis has blue eyes. The person stalking me has blue eyes. The person stalking me probably took Meredith and my mother. And the person that took Mum and Meredith want me next.
I pace in the Family Room as I wait for Officer Handler. I can't believe it was Lou. The others on the list are super close to me and I know where most of them were the night when Meredith got kidnapped.
The doorbell rings and Dot starts to bark uncontrollably. I open the door and Officer Handler is standing next to a much younger police officer.
"I thought that you were not coming till eight," I say in a flat, lifeless tone. I check the watch on my right wrist to make sure that I'm not making up anything inside of my head.
"Change of plans," police stalker number two says.
"This is Officer Bolling," responds police stalker number one, Officer Handler. I give him a small wave, I am not going to be friendly to anyone that has to wake me up. Officer Bolling crosses his arms over his chest and no one knows what to say. I considered asking them if they want breakfast, but I don't feed police stalkers/human alarm clocks.
Officer Bolling motions towards the couch and I plop myself down. Finally, time to catch up on some sleep.
"Marley, we need to talk about the press," says Handler, "People think that you are hiding something since you will not talk to them. So, I hired you a spokesperson."
"What? A spokesperson? I am very capable of talking," I say with hatred and envy in my voice.
"Well…um it's fine if you cannot talk to the press, lots of people have trouble talking in front of cameras."
Does he seriously think that I am incapable? I have spent all of my years in high school studying just so I could be on television, and now you are telling me that I can't? Bitch, please. I have interned every summer at political news stations since I was in the eighth grade. I have watched the news since I was five. Don't you dare tell me that I can't speak.
"Your spokesperson will be Estelle, she will be coming soon, she is just stuck in traffic," adds Bolling.
Oh yippee for me. Another person that will hate me.