The paramedics arrived a few moments later, pushing us out of the room so they could work on Cheryl. Our director, Ed, rushed down the hall led by an empty-handed Nick and a sallow-faced Derek.
My stomach rolled as they carried Cheryl out on a stretcher, still unresponsive. I let Scarlette cry on my shoulder as the rest of the cast huddled out of the way with us.
“Ding dong, the witch is dead,” someone muttered, probably Warren, but no one laughed at his dark attempt at humor.
I was shaking, and Scarlette was still crying quietly beside me. Others glanced around in shock at the utter helplessness of the situation. Michelle sat on a bench, head resting against the wall, staring at the ceiling. I knew that look of defeat. I’d seen the ghost of it on Brian’s face after a bad day in the ER.
The EMS personnel talked to Ed for a moment in the hallway. He shook his head at a question asked before turning to follow the rest of his crew into the ambulance.
A police officer stopped Ed, mumbling something about asking everyone some questions. Ed nodded and motioned for all of us to follow him into the large studio.
We all gathered silently. My reflection stared blankly back at me from the mirrored wall, pale and morose, along with everyone else’s. The shock settling from what we’d all just witnessed.
“The police need to get statements from everyone. After that, you’ll have the rest of the day off. Once we know more about Cheryl, I’ll make an announcement and we will go from there.”
I stole a glimpse at Scarlette, her bottom lip trembling while her eyes stared at nothing. I couldn’t fall apart. Not yet. Not here.
Two officers went around the room, collecting everyone’s statements. After answering what I could, I waited off to the side for Scarlette. I didn’t want her walking to the train station alone.
Once she finally finished with her statement, I pulled her out of the room.
“Come on, Scarlette. Let’s get you home.”
She nodded in a detached way and followed me down the stairs, not saying a word as I gathered my things, and she pulled her bag from the locker. I walked her to the train station and told her to text me when she got home. She nodded, and we went our separate ways.
I settled into the hard seat of the train and let the entire day replay in my head. Scarlette’s tears stained my shirt, and her scream still rang in my ears.Cheryl’s face was burned in my mind, distorted and swollen.
By the time I got home, Ed’s assistant had already called to let me know Cheryl had been pronounced dead at the hospital and that they were giving us the remainder of the week off to “mourn the great loss”.
I hadn’t liked Cheryl. I’d barely been able to tolerate her, but feeling absolutely nothing felt all kinds of wrong. She’d been a person, living and breathing just this morning. Talented and doing something she loved.
Despite our differences and her enjoyment of everyone’s misery, I still feltsomethingabout her death. Maybe not sadness, but at least regret at the loss of someone who had a gift that was gone from the world too soon.
This wouldn’t be the end of this show’s run. There were understudies for a reason. I hoped Scarlette would be up to the job.
Brian emerged from his bedroom in his boxers, hair a rumpled mess.
“What are you doing home? I thought you had rehearsal until five.” He yawned and stretched his arms out in front of him.
“Yeah, rehearsal went to shit when my costar died in the practice studio during our lunch break.”
“What?” he asked, pausing mid stretch.
“Cheryl died.”
“The bitchy one?”
“She wasn’t—. Well, okay. Yeah, she was, but I feel bad saying that about her now,” I mumbled.
“What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know. It looked like she had an allergic reaction to something she ate. She has a walnut allergy.Hada walnut allergy, I guess.It must have been an accident. Scarlette found her unconscious, and Michelle did CPR and Blake called 9-1-1. Warren and I looked for her Epi-pen, but we couldn’t find it. It should have been in her purse or her bag with an allergy that severe. Her purse was tipped over and her things were scattered all over the floor. But it wasn’t there. We looked but—.” I cut off on a sob, realizing too late that the shock was wearing off and I was word vomiting all over Brian, who gaped at me from the hallway.
“Honey, take a breath,” Brian said, walking forward with his palms up like I was a wounded animal who might see him as a threat.
“I’m fine.” I said, willing away the image of Cheryl’s lifeless body on the rehearsal floor, eyes swollen shut and skin splotched in hives while Michelle worked to save her.
Brian’s arms wrapped around me, and I leaned into his embrace, allowing myself to purge the feelings of guilt and helplessness that had stuck with me ever since I’d left the studio with Scarlette.
