“And for those unfamiliar with your content, what exactly would they be binging?” She leaned in.
“Over atThe Body Count Bimbo, I go through the history of the horror genre in detail. I cover every subgenre, trope, famous actor and actress, and historical moment. I talk about what I love, what I hate, all of it. I leave no stone unturned.”
“Well, just the one.” JoJo gave me a pointed look. “As a fan, I’ve seen all of your videos, and there is one person and franchise you haven’t touched. Can we talk about it?” She shifted to a softer, more empathetic tone. As if I were a scared animal she was trying to lure out from its hiding space.
I rolled my shoulders, uncomfortable. “That is why I’m here, isn’t it?” I smiled halfheartedly and looked down at my worn high-tops. The canvas was ripped on the sides, and I’d taken a marker to the rubber. I’d gotten them as a birthday present when I was sixteen. I’d been so happy then, with grandiose dreams and plans for a future nothing like the one that actually happened.
My mom wasn’t supposed to be murdered.
I raised my head, trying to exude strength. It was time to stop living in the past.
“Yes.” JoJo leaned in again, her eyes full of concern. “Do you want to take a break? Get some air or something before we continue?”
I pushed myself up from the chair. “Actually, yeah. I think that’s a good idea.” I removed my mic pack.
The assistant director called cut, and the cameras stopped rolling.
“Ten minutes!”
“Thank you, ten!” the crew and I responded as we walked off.
Antoinette, my agent, stepped up the moment I was off the set. She reached for my shoulders and stopped me.
“Are you okay? Talk to me, Evie.” She tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at her.
I studied her face, focusing on her short brown hair and sparkling smile. Her dark skin, matching her eyes, glowed. I needed her confidence to rub off on me. I inhaled deeply, focusing on my breath. I made eye contact and nodded.
“I’ll be fine. It’s just a little nerve-wracking.”
She let me go, and together we walked outside. A handful of the crew were smoking near the doors. They nodded politely, but Antoinette pulled me away from them.
“You can do this. This is what you wanted, remember? Dante said you didn’t have to if you didn’t want to,” she reminded me. “You’ve already signed on to the movie.”
I closed my eyes and sucked in the fresh air while she continued to hype me up.
Ten minutes went fast, and we returned to set. I gulped down a full glass of water, and when I set the glass down, the director called, “Action!”
“So, your mother, Lita Reyes, was a Final Girl. She played the iconic Lana Westcott in theSimon Saysfranchise.” She paused then continued. “The world was rocked when, five years ago, Lita Reyes was found dead on the set ofSimon Says Three—an apparent suicide. You were the one who found her. Are you comfortable talking about it?”
My eye twitched.
Suicide? It wasn’t fucking suicide.
It was them.
Thornton. Dourif. Castle. Hodder. Englund. Bradley.
Antoinette stepped onto the stage.
“That wasn’t on the list of approved questions. Cut it, or we leave,” she snapped.
JoJo’s kind expression hardened in an instant. She turned to glare at Antoinette. The two women stared each other down, daring the other to argue. With a deep sigh, JoJo turned back to me, flashing her smile again.
“Despite your mother’s sudden death, the franchise continued on, shifting Sebastian Shaw into the lead role instead of replacing Lita with another actress. How do you feel about that?”
I forced a smile.
“I honestly have a lot of respect for the director and the writers for making that choice. I think it honors my mother’s legacy without erasing it, and that’s exactly why I took the call when Dante reached out.”
