Famous Last Words

“Laurel,” as Marnie called it, was a narrow road that curved through the hills between Hollywood and the Valley, which I knew nothing about except that Jonathan seemed to resent ever having to drive there.

The canyon felt like its own little world, a stripe of coziness tucked away from the sprawling city. Houses clustered tightly together, their front doors only a few feet from the road. Their backyards were steep hillsides covered in pale green grass and thickly flowering desert shrubs. In some places there was nothing but exposed rock, washed bare by mudslides.

Power, telephone, and cable lines crisscrossed overhead like party streamers, dripping with tendrils of ivy. In some places, the trees and shrubs grew so close to the road that I could have reached out and grabbed them. On every corner was a sign that read NO SMOKING IN THE CANYON. A hawk circled lazily overhead.

You could totally see why the hippies flocked here in the ’60s and ’70s. With its sharp turns and slabs of uneven concrete, it was a little dangerous feeling. And dirty.

Basically magical.

We drove all the way to the Valley, which, contrary to my expectations, looked like a pretty regular place. We stopped at an old-school diner called Du-par’s for coffee and doughnuts with sprinkles, like two normal teenagers. Normal. It was a beautiful word … a beautiful feeling. Spending time with a friend, talking about school and TV shows. There were no voices in my head, no hallucinations. I felt an intense, almost wistful gratitude….

Probably because I knew it would never last.

It was closing in on di

When we reached the house, Marnie parked in the driveway, then turned to me. “Watch out, Willa,” she said, an impish little grin on her face. “You’re starting to lose your deer-in-the-headlights look. Are you actually enjoying yourself?”

I laughed. “Maybe miracles do happen.”

“Want to come over?” she asked. “I was thinking about watching Kiss of Death. Apparently it’s super twisted.”

I tried to think of a gracious way to say no way on earth, but before I could speak, the world went white.

The light comes on suddenly, blinding me. I close my eyes and turn my head away. I don’t need to look. I know he’s there.

Then I hear his footsteps. He walks toward me and stops with an abruptness that makes me flinch.

“You smudged your makeup.” His voice is edged with jagged steel.

I would apologize — I would say anything to keep him from being angry with me — but there’s a piece of tape over my mouth.

“You promised me,” he says, kneeling down. He wipes my cheeks with a paper towel so roughly that I start to cry again. “You promised you would try your best.”

I feel like I’ve been punched. I am trying. I’m trying so hard. Can’t he see that? For days I’ve been trying to do as he says, to be good enough.

“Faith, when we started rehearsals, I told you that if you got the scene right, I would let you go.”

I nod. I try to plead without words. I try to convey how frightened I am. Maybe he’ll take pity on me. Maybe he’ll give me more time.

He takes my hand in his. His voice is soft with compassion. “I’m so sorry. It’s just not working out.”

I’m paralyzed by the words. He makes a regretful clucking sound and reaches forward. I flinch until I realize that he’s not trying to touch me — he’s playing with the necklace that hangs around my neck, moving the rose charm back and forth on the chain. “I understand if this is upsetting. I’m sorry I was short with you earlier. I know that’s not the way to bring out your best work. You might as well go ahead and cry. I’m going to have to fix your makeup anyway.”

The tears break free in a flood.

He walks back to the door, pausing to move a wheelchair out of his way, and turns to look at me. “We’ll do the final performance tonight. I have a few things to take care of first.”

Then he shuts off the light and leaves me alone with the echoes of his footsteps climbing the stairs.

I drew in a huge gasping breath, like I’d been released from an airless room.

I stared at Marnie for a moment, then looked around, trying to make sense of my surroundings. We were still in her car, parked in the driveway in front of the house. The sky was blue, the grass was green, the late-afternoon light was turning soft and pink.

Not a single indication that it was anything other than a normal March afternoon.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Is there a spider on me?” Marnie swiped at her hair. “I had a spider fall on me once from a tree. It was huge. Horrible things. I hate them.”

Even if I could have found my voice, I wouldn’t have known what to say.

Her smile disappeared. “Are you okay, Willa? Seriously?”

“Um … yeah … I’m okay.” Except for being totally not okay. “I should get inside, though.”

She groaned. “Sorry. I’m a terrible driver. I should have asked you if you get carsick.”

“It’s all right,” I said, trying not to wince from the headache that pounded on the inside of my skull.

The thought fell through me with a thud:

It happened again.

Any hope I’d held on to that my first vision-dream-episode thing — I didn’t even know what to call it — had been a fluke … was now gone. This time it had been Faith, the second murder victim, whose thoughts had filled my head as if they were my own.

What is happening to me?

Marnie bit her lip and started to turn off the car. “Do you want me to go get your mom?”

The very idea gave me a shot of strength, enough to unbuckle my seat belt. “No. My mom is crazy overprotective. She’d freak.”

Marnie stared out the windshield. “Must be nice. My parents are too busy managing their social media presences to overprotect me.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Marnie said, but she could tell it was time to drop the subject. “Text me later, all right?”

“Yeah,” I said, managing to smile as I got out of the car. After she drove off, I stumbled up to the front door. I was vaguely touched by her concern, but all I could concentrate on was the … dream? — No, not a dream, it wasn’t a dream — it was more of a … waking dream.

But in the moment, it all seemed so horribly real.

As I opened the door, I was surprised to feel a rush of relief — the feeling of coming home.

“Willa?” Mom called. She met me in the foyer, looking a little harried.

“Mom,” I said, still dazed. “Do you have a minute?”

She didn’t hear me. “You left your phone!”

“Oh … Did you try to call?”

“Yes.” Her smile was odd, and she spoke more deliberately than usual, enunciating like an actor in a play. “You have a visitor.”

A visitor? I rounded the corner and came in view of the den.

Then I realized what was off about my mother’s voice. It was the tone she’d used two and a half years ago, back when Aiden first started calling the house to ask for me. It was her oho! there’s a boy somewhere in a hundred-foot radius voice.