Famous Last Words

  Was Marnie somewhere on the property at that very moment? I thought of the locked door in the corner of the screening room.

  He frowned slightly, in a way that answered my question. “Whenever Jonathan went out of town, I would come here and explore. It’s a great house, you know. There’s an unfinished cellar off the chauffeur’s quarters that leads all the way to the guest house. That’s how I found Diana’s studio. How I found her movie.” He sat back, and his voice turned cold. “Paige refused to learn her lines. She kept messing up. I could tell she was doing it on purpose, trying to buy herself some time. You wouldn’t do that, would you, Willa?”

  I shook my head.

  “Finally I’d had enough. It was my third time — I knew how things were supposed to go. She was being difficult just for the sake of making me angry. So I gave her something, took her out to the pool, and then I … took care of her.”

  “You drowned her … in Jonathan’s pool. And then moved her back to her apartment and made it look like a suicide.”

  Reed smiled a ghastly, demonic grin. “Yes. But I took my time with it. I made sure she knew that she’d made me angry.”

  A coating of cold fire spread over my skin.

  “You made me angry, too, Willa. So I’d advise you to be as well behaved as you can for the rest of our time together. Because I can say with complete certainty that you’d prefer the easy way over the hard way.”

  Part of me couldn’t even catch my breath. The other part of me was finally soaking in the idea that this was really happening.

  I was caught by a psychotic serial killer.

  If I couldn’t find a way out of this, I probably had two hours left to live.

  And now he was telling me in fairly clear terms that I had two choices: one, cooperate, and make my death relatively easy. Two, fight back … and risk dying horribly.

  It was as though Reed could tell what I was thinking.

  “Want to know how I did it?” he asked, leaning forward. “I waited until the pills made her sleepy. Then I took her out and pushed her into the pool. She managed to get herself to the edge. And then I peeled her hands off the side and pushed her back out into the water. She was so tired she couldn’t swim anymore, so she tried to float … and I took the pool skimmer and pushed her down. But only for a few seconds. Then I let her float back up and try to catch her breath. Then I pushed her down again.”

  As he spoke, my lungs burned and my stomach went sour. I felt as though I was there with Paige, being pushed underwater. I remembered the feeling, from my first night here, of not being able to surface. My whole chest ached – and my heart ached, now that I had a sense of the fear and pain she’d experienced in her last moments.

  No wonder she was an angry ghost.

  But where was Paige now — when I needed her? Why wasn’t she here, helping me? She’d been so eager for me to uncover her killer’s identity … but what if that was all she’d wanted?

  I’d thought having a ghost in the house was scary. But that didn’t compare with the paralyzing fear of her having abandoned me.

  Reed stood up and walked toward me. In my panic, I struggled in my chair and bumped the table, nearly knocking over the wine glass at my place setting.

  Reed caught it before it could fall. He turned my chair to face him and crouched down to whisper softly, only inches from my ear.

  “It took ages, Willa,” he breathed. “And she fought and fought … she tried so hard. Even though she knew the entire time that she would never win.”

  Tears filled my eyes, but I didn’t blink. I was afraid blinking would cause them to spill over and smear my makeup.

  I have to be good. I have to do what he says.

  Even if he was going to kill me anyway, I had to do what he said.

  “You’re not like her, though,” he said. “You’ll behave, won’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Say it out loud.”

  I moved my lips in the shape of the words, but no sound came out.

  “I’ll behave,” he said. “Say it.”

  “I’ll behave,” I repeated.

  He touched my cheek with the palm of his hand. “I know you will. Now, shall we run our lines again?”

  After we’d been through the scene about four times, Reed came over and cut my hands free. He wanted to get started on the blocking.

  We were getting close to the final performance.

  “Try swirling the wine in the glass,” he said. “Like you’re lost in thought.”

  I’d never drunk anything from a wine glass before, so it felt awkward in my hand. Apparently I was doing it wrong, because he smacked the table impatiently.

  “If you’re not even going to try —”

  “I am trying!” I protested. “I’ve never done this before.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Willa. It must be frustrating. I have to remember … a director is like a coach.”

  “Is that what this is about for you?” I asked. “Being a director?”

  “It’s about creating moments,” he said. “Crafting them.”

  “But … I thought making movies was about making things that people will enjoy.”

  He shook his head. “That’s commercialism. I’m not interested in crass efforts to appeal to the lowest common denominator. I want to make something powerful. Something with impact. Something that conveys my vision absolutely — even if nobody else ever sees it. Something I can … control. So much of life is out of our control, and it just makes me feel so … insignificant.”

  “That’s why you leave the people you kill out for other people to find? To be significant?”

  Reed looked at me, a coldly superior gleam in his eye. “Because I know it makes their lives that much more interesting. It gives them something to aspire to.”

  “You mean you like the attention,” I said.

  He scowled. “I don’t care about the attention.”

  I wasn’t eager to draw his anger, so I sat back without replying.

  “Now,” he said. “Let’s go through this one more time. I’ll try to be more patient.”

  We ran the lines again. This time, when I picked up the glass to swirl it, he picked up his own and showed me how to move my wrist to keep the liquid moving inside.

  When we got to the end — almost the end — he sat back. “Very good.”

  My back was tired from sitting up so straight, and my butt was numb from being in the chair for hours on end. Outside, the day had darkened into twilight. How many hours had passed while I was unconscious?

  “I think we might be ready.” He smiled at me — a smile that under any other circumstances could have been described as warm, maybe even caring.

  “Ready?” I asked. “No, I need more time to —”

  “Hush,” he said, and just like that, the smile was gone. He got up and went to the kitchen. When he came back, he had a glass of water and two small white pills in his hand. “Here. Take these.”

  I stared at the little pills. “What are they?”

  “Just something to help you relax. Remember, Charice is drinking the poison throughout the entire dinner. She’s getting dreamier and dreamier. These won’t kill you … but they’ll make it easier to stay in character. Don’t worry, Willa — this is only a dress rehearsal, not the real thing.”

  “Is this what you gave Paige?” My voice was a pitiful little squeak.

  “Yes. But you don’t have to be like Paige. She chose an ugly, meaningless death. You don’t have to do that. You can accept your fate and fade out beautifully, like Charice.”

  Without putting up a fight, he meant.

  I stared at his hand. Suddenly, he grabbed my face and pinched my nostrils. When my mouth opened to gasp for air, he pushed the pills to the back of my tongue. Then he held my mouth shut.

  “Swallow,” he said.

  I couldn’t breathe. I struggled, trying to shake his hands off my face.

  “Swallow, and I’ll let you breathe.”

>   So I swallowed. The pills left a bitter taste on the back of my tongue.

  “Have some water,” he said, handing me the cup.

  I took a few sips, and he took the cup away. Then he pulled my hands back and taped them together, securing them to the chair.

  “All right, Willa,” he said. “Hang out for a little while and try to relax. I have to go check on something.”

  He left the room.

  Marnie, I thought. He’s checking on Marnie.

  At first, I struggled to get free. Then, when that didn’t work, I sat back and stared at the table, trying to think of a new plan.

  Gradually, my breathing grew slow and steady. The room, bathed in low light from the chandelier, seemed to glow.

  “Hello.” Reed’s voice came from behind me. My pulse picked up a little — but the glow on the room didn’t diminish.

  How long had he been away — twenty minutes? Thirty?

  “Hi,” I said. My voice sounded almost as light and pleasant as his did.

  He reached back and cut my hands free. “Are you ready to get started?”

  Thoughts buzzed through my brain like lazy bumblebees. I had a vague recollection that getting started wasn’t the best option, but I didn’t have any better ideas. “Okay.”

  I was rewarded with a soft smile of approval. “Good girl, Willa.”

  Before I knew what was happening, he had reached his arms around my neck. I felt the cool, quick touch of a chain against the skin of my throat.

  “My mother’s rose necklace,” he said. “I guess you could call it a souvenir. I use it to remember my girls by. I had misplaced it … but you found it for me, didn’t you? That was kind. It’s very special to me.”

  I stared numbly ahead, not looking up at him.

  He went back and sat down on the other side of the table. “Do you remember the lines?”

  “I — I think so.”

  There was a sound behind me.

  Reed jumped to his feet, as light and quick as a cat. He pointed at me. “Stay there. If you call out, I’ll make you sorry.”

  A key was turning in the front door. Someone was coming in.

  But Reed didn’t walk toward the foyer. He ducked into the kitchen.

  “Hello …? Willa, are you home?”

  It was Jonathan.

  “Who’s here? Why isn’t the alarm on?”

  I was afraid to speak. Reed had said he would make me sorry.

  Jonathan came into the dining room. He whipped his head around, trying to take in the table, set for a romantic dinner, and my outfit. “Willa, what’s going on? Are you drinking wine?”

  “Call the police,” I said softly. “You need to go. Reed’s here.”

  “Reed is here? And you’re drinking wine together? What are you talking about, the police? Is — is that a wig?”

  “It’s from a movie,” I said.

  Jonathan stared at me — and then his energy shifted.

  He understood.

  I had a feeling like a fog was lifting. Emotions came through the fog, sharp needles of fear. “Be careful!” I hissed. “He knows you’re here!”

  Jonathan turned to look around, but it was too late. There was a flash of movement behind him.

  “Watch out!” I cried.

  As Jonathan pivoted in place, Reed raised a heavy ceramic figurine and brought it down on his head.

  Jonathan dropped to the ground.

  Reed stood over him, panting heavily. Then he looked at me, his eyes rimmed with red and his nostrils flared. “I told you to be quiet.”

  I couldn’t think of a reply. I’d snapped out of the dreamy haze into a state of stark terror.

  Moving quickly, Reed taped my arms and legs to the chair and then stuck another piece of tape over my mouth, muttering about how he would have to fix my makeup later. Then he grabbed Jonathan by the arms and dragged him out of sight.

  I stared, petrified, as my stepfather’s feet vanished around the corner. A minute later, the dragging sound stopped, replaced by a new sound: running water.

  Reed was filling the bathtub in the downstairs bathroom.

  Oh, God. He was going to drown Jonathan. I got an image in my head of my mother arriving home to find both her husband and her daughter dead. And I couldn’t do a thing about it. I hung my head as hopelessness descended over me.

  In defeat, I raised my eyes to look around the dining room. This is what the room where I will die looks like on the night that I will die.

  Suddenly, everything in my messed-up life seemed precious and amazing, shining and brilliant. I wept in my heart that I’d never have the chance to say good-bye to my mother.

  And I’d never have another chance to talk to Wyatt.

  I wondered what Paige had been thinking as she fought for her life, struggling to surface, only to be cruelly pushed back under. Who was she fighting for? Because I understood on a fundamental level that any will I had left would have to be drawn from the love I felt for other people — for my mom. For Wyatt.

  If I found the strength to resist, it would be for their sake. Fighting for them suddenly seemed more important than fighting for myself.

  Something cold and wet brushed against my face, and I opened my eyes.

  A rose petal lay on my plate.

  It was a sign from Paige. She was here.

  My eyes, fluttering around the room, landed on the sideboard.

  The knives. If I could get to them, somehow …

  That’s crazy, Willa. He’ll torture you.

  Yeah, maybe so, but … what was the alternative, to do exactly what he wanted me to do? Just let him kill me?

  Suddenly, I felt a fire inside me. It was a familiar sensation — and my automatic response was to push it back, suppress it. Not let it affect me.

  But then, for the briefest moment, I tried not suppressing it.

  I let myself feel the true horror and shock of what was happening. I let myself envision Reed’s cold eyes staring across the table at me. The sound of his voice commanding me to play a willing part in my own murder.

  The fire spread. First, it spread to my heart. Then to my head. Then through the rest of me.

  And I found that I was sitting there, practically panting.

  With rage.

  How dare he? I thought. How dare he do this to people?

  The tub was still running. If Reed was in the bathroom, he wouldn’t be able to hear me moving.

  He’d done a much shabbier job taping my wrists together this time, and with only a small amount of concentrated effort, I was able to get my hands free. Then I leaned over and untaped my legs. I got to the sideboard, pulled opened the center drawer, and shoved the lid off the flat box.

  The light from the candles flickered off the knife blade.

  I grabbed it and slid the drawer shut.

  From the bathroom came a grunt of effort, and then a loud splash.

  I’d need to surprise him, catch him off guard. So I slipped back in my seat, setting the knife under the right side of my skirt. Then I quickly leaned over and bound my legs back to the chair, reached my hands behind me, and rewrapped my wrists with the tape.

  About two seconds after I finished, Reed walked in, his tuxedo wet from the bathtub. He looked winded and upset.

  “What are you looking at?” he snarled. I shifted my gaze to my plate.

  He was a hundred times more dangerous now because things were going badly.

  But I could be dangerous, too.

  He bent over and ripped the tape from my legs, then tore the piece off my wrists and mouth, making me wince as the adhesive pulled at my skin.

  “What are you doing to Jonathan?” I asked. “Did you kill him?”

  Reed grunted. “It’s not your concern.”

  “I thought you said he was like family to you.”

  He ignored me. “Let’s get started. I’m tired of waiting.”

  “Is my lipstick okay?” I asked.

  “You’re stalling, Willa. It won’t help.”
He gave me an exasperated look, then turned for the makeup kit. “But I might as well —”

  His back was toward me.

  GO. GO. GO.

  I reached under my skirt and grabbed the knife. Then I propelled myself out of the chair, toward Reed’s back.

  He heard me and began to turn around.

  But I was already on him. I plunged the knife into his side. He gasped and let out a primal roar.

  I gave him a hard shove, and he tumbled backward. Then I ran out of the room, toward the front door. All I had to do was make it to the road and pray somebody was driving by — and that they’d be willing to stop.

  What I hadn’t counted on was that, over the course of the evening, my legs had fallen asleep. As I moved, blood rushed back through the veins, essentially turning my legs into unusable stumps. Even though Reed was injured, I wouldn’t be able to outrun him all the way to the gate. I staggered across the foyer, threw the door open, and screamed at the top of my lungs as I crumpled onto the porch.

  Then I started crawling, determined to drag myself to the road if I had to.

  But Reed grabbed me by the back of my dress and pulled me back inside the house. He slammed the door closed, struggling to get me into a choke hold with his left arm. In his right hand, he held the bloody knife.

  He was breathless with fury. “Huge … mistake … Willa …”

  The feeling was coming back into my legs now. I kicked backward and threw him off balance. He tried to grab me by the hair, but only succeeded in pulling the wig off my head. I raced for the stairs, scrabbling up on all fours. He was right behind me. I made it to the top barely two steps ahead of him. I could lock myself in Jonathan’s office and climb out the window again….

  I ran to the end of the hall and tried to shove the door open.

  There was a low, gurgling laugh from behind me.

  “Yeah, it’s locked,” Reed said. “I locked it. I locked them all, actually.”

  I turned to face him. He hadn’t bothered to follow me down the hall. He stood at the top of the stairs. Blood ran from the wound in his side, staining his white shirt ruby red.

  “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he said. “But you’ve got nowhere to go, sister.”

  I glanced at the banister. How far was the drop to the first floor?