Page 1 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Elly

Elly Parker strode through the crowds in New York’s Grand Central Station and thought about all that she had lost. The painted heavens on the ceiling above shone down on the crowds, but not on Elly.

She was twenty-seven years old.

Two weeks ago, she had everything.

Perfect husband. Perfect apartment. Perfect friends and the perfect job.

And everyone knew it.

She put journalist and social-media influencer on her tax return.

She wrote lifestyle pieces for high-end magazines, but most of her income came via social media – YouTube, Instagram and TikTok.

Her channels were filled with creative and highly produced videos of her amazing apartment, her fits , her make-up demonstrations – her life .

Because there was another reason Elly was so popular.

Her series of videos on random acts of kindness.

That is what set her apart. Her account wasn’t just about her, it was about spreading a little love in the big city.

Sometimes that was buying a meal for someone living on the street, or giving a bigger tip to a waiter, walking her elderly neighbor’s dog, or even something as small as holding the door open for someone.

These she captured and shared on her socials, in the hope that it inspired others to do the same.

It worked.

#RAK regularly trended across social media.

Not only did Elly have the life she had always wanted – she had the life that her five million followers wanted too.

None of this had been given to Elly. She had worked hard to win every single one of those followers.

They loved her because she never took anything for granted.

She had her first ever video pinned to her profile.

It showed a much younger Elly, taking thirty bucks to her nearest CVS and buying everything from the make-up counter that a young woman needs to create a great evening look.

That video was a reminder, to her followers and to Elly, of how far she had come in six years, and that she was still that young woman who was excited and grateful for every break she got, every lipstick that she received in the mail, and every set of eyeballs on her channels.

People loved Elly, because she was just like anyone else who had a dream – except Elly’s dream had come true and she was going to share it with everyone – with grace, a smile, and heartfelt humility.

The problem with sharing your perfect life with millions of people is that millions of people are watching when it falls apart.

Two weeks ago, Elly’s life exploded. And the world watched. She had taken down the video soon after it had happened, but by then it was too late. People had clipped it and were posting it all over TikTok, Instagram, YouTube – everywhere.

Elly’s phone buzzed in her coat pocket. As she reached for it, she checked the time on the gold clock in the station.

Almost noon. Her appointment with her agent, Giselle, wasn’t until two o’clock.

Elly wanted to ride the train uptown, find a Starbucks and relax for an hour; gather her thoughts, before her meeting.

Giselle was fielding interview requests from the New Yorker , Vogue , Rolling Stone , CNN, MSNBC and Fox.

Elly was a star in the making. She had opportunities in broadcast television, in publishing, and journalism.

She was set to be one of the few social-media stars to jump into the mainstream legacy media.

Not that Elly felt like being in the world, not even outside.

Apart from the meeting with her agent every Tuesday and Thursday, Elly hadn’t left the hotel.

The same hotel she’d booked into the day she found James and Harriet together.

She’d hastily stuffed a bag with essentials and retreated to the anonymity of the American hotel experience.

She felt exposed. Too much attention for her to deal with right now.

She hadn’t posted anything online in two weeks.

Since that live video, everyone wanted her story. Everyone wanted Elly.

Except one person.

Her husband.

As she looked at the ornate celestial ceiling in Grand Central, she thought how different her life would now be if she had ignored the noise coming from her bedroom during her live video.

Her friendship groups were all shared by James and Harriet, and she didn’t want to speak to her friends because she knew whatever she said would get back to James and Harriet.

Her agent, Giselle, was a shoulder to cry on, for now.

But she knew sooner or later she was going to have to deal with her problems. If Giselle had her way, Elly would do that on Morning Joe .

Elly’s boots found the stairs down into the bowels of the city to the subway. She broke left, headed downtown. Her hair tied up at the base of her neck bobbed with her movement. A navy beret helped disguise her general appearance. She didn’t want attention.

She was moving forward. In every way.

She had no choice. She knew that now. The world had shared the pain of her betrayal, and Elly had tried to be strong.

But she wasn’t. Not really.

She could not be in that apartment. It was the scene of their betrayal.

She had checked into a hotel, to get away from everyone and everything.

Hotels are not real life. They have dry-cleaning on demand, food twenty-four hours a day, and worst of all, a minibar.

Except this was a really good hotel, and they had full bottles of wine in the fridge.

Last night, after she had opened a second bottle of wine, Elly had sent James a text message.

A single word.

Hello.

No response.

She waited for a half hour. Had another glass of Chardonnay, then called him.

He didn’t answer.

She called him again.

He didn’t pick up.

Over the course of consuming the rest of the bottle, she had called him another six times.

It hadn’t helped that James was now one of the most hated figures on social media.

Elly’s TikTok had seen to that. He’d deleted his Instagram along with the rest of his social media.

It didn’t stop the hate. Tens of thousands of people pouring abuse onto his name, contacting his friends, his family, his employers.

In the two weeks since that live video outing James and Harriet, they had both suffered.

Harriet got dropped by her modelling agency and James was fired for bringing his firm into disrepute.

Elly didn’t ask for any of that to happen. She knew it could. And she didn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop it.

None of it helped Elly feel better. Revenge was not sweet. It tasted bitter. She still loved him. Now she had to bear the guilt of ruining two lives as well as managing the pain in her own.

Elly took off her brown leather glove, wiped at the tear on her cheek as she turned the corner for the downtown train and tapped her phone on the scanner as she went through the barrier.

A single set of stairs led down to the platform. It was midday. Not too many commuters around, but New York is never quiet. There are always people.

A man stood at the top of the stairs. He had a cast on his left leg, from below the knee to the top of his foot, and held a crutch in each arm.

Even though it was cold, he wore sweatpants with one leg cut away because of the cast, a sweater and a red jacket.

He had a thin face, but he wasn’t struggling to hold his weight on those crutches.

Even from a distance, Elly could see he had powerful arms and shoulders.

He reminded her of boys she knew on the swim team or gymnastics team in college.

But this was no college boy.

He was older. Ten, maybe fifteen years older than Elly. Yet he didn’t look like most forty-somethings. Not to Elly. He looked . . . well, Elly thought he looked just great. He wore a blue baseball hat. He leaned down, still holding the crutch with his right hand, and tried to grab something.

There was a yellow hard-shell luggage case beside him, on rollers.

He moved forward a little, gripping the handle and the crutch as he shuffled along, but now he had a new problem.

He was trying to get down the stairs, but couldn’t quite figure out how to carry the case and use the crutches to support his weight on the descent.

A woman in a long black coat pushed past him, and he fell against the rail.

She hollered an apology as she skipped down the steps.

He simply smiled. Didn’t show any anger or irritation, just a polite wave of acknowledgement.

After the last two weeks of carnage, Elly found herself stepping toward the man and saying, ‘Do you need some help with your case?’

Perhaps because she wanted to help. Perhaps because she missed the warm feeling that came after she had completed one of her daily random acts of kindness. Perhaps because the guy looked quite pathetic and she felt sorry for him.

At first, he was surprised. His mouth opened and moved, but no words and no sound came out.

At this point, she noticed a scar on his chin, just below his lower lip.

Pale and wide. An old wound. Then he smiled and said gratefully, ‘Thank you, I managed this far holding it with the crutch and dragging it alongside me, but that doesn’t work with stairs. This is so kind.’

‘No problem,’ said Elly, reaching down. She pressed the button on the extendable handle at the top of the case, pushed it down, took the plastic handle, and picked it up. It wasn’t too heavy, the type of case she liked to use for carry-on baggage when she flew.

A thought occurred to her that two weeks ago, before that viral video, Elly would have asked the man if it was okay for her to take a video for her socials. This would’ve been a good one for her daily random acts of kindness. But not now. Elly didn’t know if she would ever post online again.