He cleaned up the kitchen and let himself out. Then he wondered if he’d been too hasty in leaving her that letter. But he kept walking until he reached his truck, parked in front of the Frasers’ house.
When he got back to his apartment, he was too fired up to sleep. He opened his laptop and searched through his old files until he found the first draft of a horror screenplay he’d written six years ago. The story held a lot of potential, but he’d never had the time to revise it.
Tonight, there was nothing stopping him.
Eleven
At some pointduring the night, Charlie woke in a state of total disorientation. It took her a moment to realize she was lying on the couch, swaddled in blankets. She stumbled into the bathroom, took a hefty dose of Nyquil, and got comfortable in bed. Before drifting off, she had the foresight to leave a message on Rosie’s work voicemail, informing her friend she’d be taking a sick day on Monday. Then she slept like the dead.
When she woke, it was almost noon. A sure sign that skipping work had been the right call. She took a long, hot shower, put on a fresh pair of pajamas, and went into the kitchen. Knox had cleaned up everything and put the groceries away. Yet another considerate gesture she hadn’t anticipated. Randolph had never treated her with such tenderness. The one time she’d been too sick to attend a fancy dinner at his boss’s house, he’d accused her of being selfish.
After making a cup of tea, she settled onto the couch. Though she felt infinitely better than she had on Sunday, another day of rest was exactly what she needed. The little glass swan from Knox sat beside her box of tissues. She picked it up and ran her fingers along the smooth glass, still awestruck at his thoughtfulness. Next to it was a folded-up piece of paper with her name on it. Had he left it for her?
She opened it and began to read:
Dear Charlie,
Once upon a time…
There was a boy who loved scary stories. He devoured them late at night while under the covers, flashlight in hand. When he got older, he decided to write a few of his own. At first, they were atrocious—excessive adjectives, convoluted plots, an abundance of gore. But he got better. When he was 16, he won first place in a writing contest for a story about a haunted bar, inspired by his uncle’s pub.
At age 18, he set out for university to study creative writing. His parents supported his dreams but suggested he have a backup plan. Bartending suited him because people’s stories provided great writing fodder. While in university amid the literary types, he met a kindred spirit, Evan Girard, who shared his passion for all things creepy. Upon graduation, they moved into an apartment and embarked upon a lofty goal—writing an unforgettable horror movie that would scare the shit out of everyone. A film that would be regarded with the same reverence as The Shining or Alien.
They wrote four different screenplays. None of them sold. Their fifth one landed them an agent. And it got made. But it was a tiny indie film that barely broke even. It wasn’t even worthy of a local film festival.
Out of frustration, they started a new project. Just for fun. But it would change their lives forever.
Intrigued? Google “Mac Iverson.” It’s the pen name I used, back when I was in Vancouver. Given your superb research skills, I’m sure you’ll uncover some of the answers you seek. If you have more questions, you know where to find me.
Your friend in ghost hunting,
Knox.
With shaky hands, she set down the note. Her earlier guess had been correct. Knoxwasa writer. And he’d written under the pen name Mac Iverson. But why did that name sound vaguely familiar?
She entered it into her phone’s search engine, waiting anxiously until a quick summary appeared:Mac Iverson is a Canadian screenwriter from Summerland, B.C., best known as one of the co-creators of the award-winning fantasy television series, The Hidden Forest, where he worked as the head writer for the first three seasons.
What?Heart pounding, Charlie flung her phone onto the couch as if it were a snake that might bite her.
How was it possible that Knox was responsible for one of her favorite TV shows?
She wanted to spend the next few hours untangling all the threads of this mystery. To read every article that mentioned Mac Iverson.
But…there must have been a reason Knox had hidden this part of his life. How had he gone from being a successful screenwriter to a hotel bartender? Had he done something so heinous he’d been cast out ofThe Hidden Forest? Had he committed a crime?
When her phone rang, she yelped, worried it might be him. Instead, Rosie’s name showed up on the screen. “Rosie?” she gasped.
“Are you all right?” Rosie asked. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, I was up. Sorry I couldn’t come in today.”
“Don’t apologize. If you’re sick, you need to take time for self-care. I wanted to see how you’re feeling.”
“Better, thanks. I slept until noon. I’m hoping to be back tomorrow.”
“Do you want me to bring you anything?” Rosie said. “I’ve been craving Thai food, so I was going to pick up an order of green curry. I can drop some off for you. Spicy food is supposed to be good for a cold.”
“I’d like that, thanks.” If Rosie stopped by, Charlie could ask her to stay while she researched Mac Iverson. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with the results alone.
