Maggie plucked the phone from his hand and tossed it. “Get him in the trunk, Jerry,” she said, in a serious tone he’d never heard her use.
Jerry? This behemoth was her son?
“Nothing personal man,” he said, approaching. “I loved you inPrecipice.”
“Are youkidnappingme, Maggie?”
“If you want to see your sweet girlfriend again, I suggest you get in. Conscious or unconscious—it’s your choice.”
Chapter 25
Lana
Lana dreamed she was swimming and woke underwater. No, not underwater—surrounded by air, but heavy air, pinning her down. She forced her eyelids open, her vision blurry at the edges. She was in a leather armchair in a medieval Gothic library. Cobwebs shrouded dusty books, carved gargoyles clawed their way up wooden bookcases, a red demon grinned from a stained-glass window. Candelabra jutted from the walls, their light casting flickering, clawed shadows. Cold seeped into her skin. Her breath shuddered. Her hands wouldn’t move. Nor her feet. They were bound with rope.
A clattering noise, over her shoulder. At first, she couldn’t move her head. She couldn’t remember how. She was Frankenstein’s monster, patched together and lurching. When she connected enough neurons to turn, she saw that the fourth wall of the library was … gone. Concrete floor, black walls, silver ducting, metal vents, industrial lighting. A warehouse?
“You like the setting?”
She gasped. A blue-skinned demon prowled in from the shadowy edges. She had to fight her eyes to pin him in the clear nucleus of her tunnel vision. Not blue skin—blue scrubs. Not a demon—the doctor.
Vivien. He had Vivien. Where was Vivien?
“It has charm, don’t you think?” The doctor ran a finger over the candelabra’s curved frame and rubbed the dust between his fingers. “A soundstage. Abandoned, mid-film, when the studio went under—the unfortunate consequence of a scandal some years ago.”
“A scandal you created?” Lana’s tongue felt swollen. She had to concentrate to operate it, a puppet master pulling tangled, leaden strings.
“Not at all. We just helped bring the truth to light. It’s what we do. Our operation was expanding, and we needed a headquarters, so we snapped it up—a bargain, given the circumstances. I like the ambiance, though the real cobwebs long ago outnumbered the fakes. We also have a graveyard set and a crypt, if you want to try something different later.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
“The boss has it all planned out. She’ll be here soon.”
Lana pulled weakly at the rope binding her hands. A running knot. 623.888.
“If you feel like screaming, go ahead. There’s a big, empty parking lot out there. No one will hear you.”
Lana wasn’t sure how to scream. Griffin. Where was Griffin? She focused on clearing the fog in her mind. Switching on the defogger, like in a car. She located a memory: folding a piece of paper into her sister’s hand, then being held down, injected, strapped to a gurney, wheeled down a tunnel—no, a corridor. Calling for help but making no noise. She must have passed out.
She’d left a trail for Griffin. But even if he followed it, he couldn’t know where she was.Shedidn’t know. And he thought she’d betrayed him.
“People are looking for me,” she managed to say, not sure it was true.
“You mean Griffin Hart? People are looking for him too—a lot of people.” He pulled out a phone and played a video. A news report.
“Astounding breaking news this hour. Entertainment website Starstruck has named Hollywood star Griffin Hart as a person of interest in a homicide investigation. A police source has confirmed to our journalist that a manhunt is underway for the multimillionaire Achilles star. Police have been spotted searching Beverly Grove Health Center in L.A., where he was last seen visiting star Darnell Lascelles. The alleged victim is film production assistant Vivien Fleming, who disappeared from the set ofGods and Mortalsa month ago.” The selfie of Griffin and Vivien popped up, Griffin’s scowl taking on the malevolent dimension Lana had once read into it. “We understand her body has not yet been found. Our reporter is outside?—”
Lana heard footsteps. They were coming from behind the bookcase. “The charges will soon be upgraded to a double homicide.” The woman’s voice was familiar, but not. “By the time your sister’s body is found, it will have decomposed to a degree that the date of death can’t be established. Darnell Lascelles, meanwhile, will die before regaining consciousness. A weak heart, as everyone knows.”
The woman stepped into the arc of light around the set. Maggie, wearing a V-necked T-shirt. No tattoo.
“No one will believe that,” Lana said, her voice thin.
“People will believe anything they want to believe. And they’ll love to believe this, even those who will claim he was innocent. Everyone loves a scandal. Everyone loves to take sides.”
“There’s no proof. It won’t hold up in court.”
“You can’t put a dead man on trial. It’ll be case closed before it opens.”
