Famous Last Words

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 di

“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 di

“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.