She says the last line like a tease. A dare to pour her more wine. “Have you ever done any movies or shows I’d know?” I ask. “Or do you mostly stick to reenactments?” I’m just trying to keep up with her at this point so that I don’t seem so quiet.
“Still waiting for my big break,” she says. “You never know, lots of actresses have their big breaks late in life. Although, some people in the industry think once an actress starts to take the smaller roles, your chances of a big-time career are over, but I’ll do anything for money. Any kind of proper acting job, anyway. I won’t do the other stuff, you know, the improper stuff they give away for free on the internet now. But I’ll do just about any other role to not have to work a nine-to-five. I’ve gone my whole life being able to pay bills with my art. A lot of actresses, they don’t get their big breakorbecome a household name, but they refuse to take on the roles that pay the bills in fear it’ll crush their dreams. So they just die with all that rejection in their hearts and absolutely zero pride. Not me. Give me a prop, a wig, and a paycheck, and you’ve got yourself a happy actress. You ever seen that show calledI Survived…? The one about the people who don’t die, but they reenact how theyalmostdied?”
“Yeah,” I say, surprised I’m still following along. “Were you on it?”
“That’s how I got started doing these kinds of roles. They use the actual people who survive in their episodes, along with actors, but lucky for me one of the ladies who survived a car wreck and then spent six days hanging upside down in a creek looked a lot like me, so I got her part and had to hang suspended in a car for eight hours every day while we filmed the episode. With breaks, of course—no one could actually safely hang upside down that long. Well, except for the lady who survived it, I guess she did. Anyway, it was the hardest part I’ve ever had to do, but I got paid the most for it. And because I was so professional, those producers have used me quite a lot since then, on a lot of their different shows.” She takes a sip of her wine, and as she’s sipping it, she starts to flap her other hand so fast, her bangles jingle.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, setting the glass on the bar, waving her hand in apology. “I never shut up. Just tell me to leave when you want me to leave. Otherwise, I’ll be here all night.”
Oh, God. Please no.
I smile, despite the dread I’m feeling inside. “You’re fine,” I say, lying.
It’s as if she can sense it, because she swigs the rest of her glass of wine and stands up. “Petra, if you knew how to hide your expressions better, I might have believed you wanted the company and stayed. Don’t be polite to spare my feelings, oranyone’s for that matter. If you don’t speak your feelings, your feelings don’t exist. I’ll get out of your hair.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just ... I have so much work to do.”
“Honey.” She walks straight up to me and grips my shoulders. “If there’s anyone who understands, it’s me. I know how it is to be an artist. You are at the mercy of your muse.” She pats my cheek with a cold hand. “You are so pretty. Successfulandattractive—it is everything I dreamed of being. I kind of hate you.” She skirts around me and walks to the door. “It was lovely to meet you. Loved your wine. Please text me a picture of the brand—I’ll send you my number. Holler if you needme. And if you want to watch any of the stuff I’ve been in, I can send you my info. You never know when you might need an orange-haired sixty-year-old murderer in one of your movies.”
“Sounds good,” I say, laughing. And bewildered.
She swings open the door, leaving it for me to grab as she walks out onto the porch. “I know, I’m a lot to take in, but you’ll miss me once I’m no longer here. I’m the type of person who seems overwhelming up front, but once you get to know me, I’m ... well.Stilloverwhelming, but at least you’ll know me.” She begins to descend the steps.
“Mari?” I call after her.
“Yes, hon?” she says, spinning back around to face me.
“I think you totally could have gone by the nickname Gold. It fits you.”
She stares at me thoughtfully a moment, then says, “Nah. Can’t have a crazy name with this personality. At least one part of me needs to be tame.”
And with that, she walks down the stairs and toward the road.
“I’ll be back another day for the brownie tray!” she yells.
I close the door and make my way over to the dessert. When I pull the lid off, the smell of freshly baked brownies fills the air around me.
Two 5-hourEnergys and an entire pan of brownies before lunch.
Yes, please.
Chapter Five
No.
Something isn’t right.
I sit up straight in bed, my heart hammering loud and wild in my chest as I slip the face mask off my eyes. The air in the room feels thick, the kind of suffocating quiet that follows an unexpected jolt from sleep. My mind races, trying to figure out what woke me. Was it a noise? A dream?
Whatever it was, it was disruptive enough to yank me out of a deep, blissful sleep, and now I’m wide awake, my senses heightened, my body tense with a rush of adrenaline.
It’s probably Mari, here for more wine after two days of silence since her visit.
I’m still trying to regain my bearings when I notice the lights. Red and blue flashes are cutting through the darkness of the room, splashing across the walls like some kind of warning.
They’re disorienting, casting long shadows that dance with each pulse of light, and for a moment, I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or if this is real. My bedroom is on the west side of the cabin, so I can’t see much from where I’m sitting, but the lights keep coming—urgent, rhythmic, and impossible to ignore.
There’s a window directly behind my headboard, so I twist around and pull the curtain aside to get a look at what’s happening outside. But all I can see are those flashing lights radiating from the front yard. I can’t see any vehicles from my vantage point, just the constant pulse of red and blue illuminating the trees.
