He released my arm and then gently lowered me to the ground, the cloth still resting on my face.
The worst part was that he didn’t even have to hold on to me — all I could do was lie there on the ground, inhaling pungent fumes. It was my last chance to fight, but I didn’t even have the strength to try.
Behind the rag, I opened my mouth to try to shout, but the sound that escaped was like the mewl of a scared kitten.
Reed leaned over me, a smile on his blood-spattered lips. “You’ve been a bad girl, Willa,” he whispered. “A very bad girl.”
Then I closed my eyes.
Drip … drip … drip …
A headache drilled into my skull. My back felt tight, my stomach queasy, and my lungs like someone had gone over them with sandpaper.
I couldn’t move.
I opened my eyes.
I was in the den, propped up in a chair that had been wrapped in a black plastic trash bag. The floor below me was covered with more trash bags. My hands were pulled behind me and taped together, and my legs were taped together at the ankle, and then taped to the crosswise supports of the chair.
My head felt hot, and my scalp itched. Was I … was I wearing a wig?
When I tried to call out, my voice was muffled. A piece of tape held my mouth closed. If I tried to move my lips, it pulled at my skin painfully.
Someone was whistling.
Reed came into the room. It took me a second to understand what I was seeing — he wore a tuxedo, and his face was clean, with no sign of any injury or blood.
“I know what you’re thinking.” He leaned against the side of the bookshelves. “I thought I clocked that guy in the head with a piece of rusted metal. But making movies is all about the illusion, Willa. A little makeup goes a long way. Want to see?”
No, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to see. But he disappeared and came back a moment later with a hand mirror.
“For instance, look at yourself,” he said, coming closer. “You’re lovelier than ever. If I hadn’t left my phone at home — they can track your movements by your phone, you know — I’d take a picture.”
I flinched and closed my eyes, but the foreign sensation of the wig on my head made me desperate to know what he’d done to me.
When I saw my reflection, I gasped.
The girl in the mirror had flawless wavy golden hair, a perfectly smooth ivory complexion, and sleepy eyes with thick lashes that looked about a half-inch long. I couldn’t tell you what her lips looked like, though, because there was a piece of blue masking tape over her mouth.
“To be truthful, when I first met you …” He leaned down closer to me, his voice softening. “I didn’t picture you like this. I thought you were pretty, but not leading-lady pretty. No offense.”
His words made me feel like throwing up. Even with my eyes shut, I could still hear his breathing — a relaxed in-out-in-out, only a foot away.
“But then you changed. You got stronger. And then, after that picture of you surfaced on the Internet, I saw you as more than just a little girl. See, it’s about vision. Vision and keeping an open mind. Trusting your instincts. Attention to detail.”
I sensed him moving behind me, but I couldn’t tell where he was. So when I felt him take hold of my wrists, I whimpered into the tape.
“I’d like to cut you free, but I can’t trust you anymore, Willa. You really messed things up.” He sighed. “I can’t believe I chose yet another girl who decided to mess things up. The last time I tried this scene it went so badly I had to pull the plug.”
I realized he was talking about Paige.
“But don’t you worry — that’s not going to happen. You’re nothing like … that girl. We’ll get through this, and it’ll be wonderful — my best effort yet.” Knowing he was behind me sent a wave of terrified shivers down my entire back.
I let my head fall until my chin touched my chest.
“No!” he snapped. “No crying! You’ll wreck your eye makeup.”
Being ordered not to cry by the serial killer who’s about to kill you isn’t all that effective. I felt the lump rise in my throat in spite of his warning.
Reed grabbed my jaw and tilted my head back so I had no choice but to look up into his eyes. “I said no crying.”
I blinked furiously, trying to suppress my tears.
“Good,” he said. “Now you hang tight for a few minutes. I’m almost finished setting the scene. Then we’ll get you into your wardrobe and start rehearsals.”
Left alone, I focused on trying to free my hands or legs. But Reed returned before I’d made any actual progress.
“Time to go to set,” he said. “First you need to get into costume.”
He held up a dress — the same cherry-red dress I had worn to the premiere.
“Like it?” he asked. “I borrowed it from a mutual friend.”
From Marnie … where is he keeping Marnie? My heart sank. Had he already killed her?
“I’m going to cut your arms loose first, then your legs, and you’re going to change. Don’t worry, I won’t look. But don’t bother trying anything, understand?”
I nodded. Where would I go, with my ankles still tied together?
When I’d finished, he clucked approvingly and grabbed my wrists, quickly wrapping a zip tie around them. “It’s not the most accurate dress for the film,” he said, “but I rather like it on you. Sit, please.”
I sat back down in the chair.
He went around behind me, tilted the chair back, and then dragged it, the plastic wrap, and me toward the dining room, talking as he went. “It’s important to be flexible, Willa. To be willing to interpret things. What’s important is the big picture, not the petty details.”
I stared at the table.
It was set for a romantic dinner. A vase of roses was placed off to one side, and all the chairs had been removed except the ones on the opposite ends. There were white porcelain plates and ivory cloth napkins, gold flatware and crystal goblets filled with wine.
Straight out of The Dinner Party.
This was my scene.
My death scene.
Reed set my chair at one end of the table. On the plate in front of me were four pages from a screenplay, laid out side by side.
“You’ll be playing Charice.” He tapped her name. “A beautiful but wicked young woman who enticed Henry into marriage and then proceeded to make him the most miserable man on the planet.”
I couldn’t focus at all. The words on the pages might as well have been written in a foreign language.
Reed crouched down next to me. “Willa. I’m going to take the tape off. But you have to promise me you won’t scream.”
I was desperate to be able to breathe through my mouth again … but I didn’t honestly know if that was a promise I could keep. It was like my whole life boiled down to a two-item to-do list: Try to get away and scream.
But I nodded.
“It wouldn’t do any good, anyway,” he said. “No one is going to save you. No one is going to find you — not until Jonathan and Joanna get home Monday. As soon as we finish up here, I’ll text Jonathan to tell him I’m on my way, drive the computer out to Palm Springs, and then come back to LA.” He raised his eyebrows playfully. “Gonna be a busy weekend for me. Would you believe I double-booked myself?”
I breathed in sharply. So Marnie was still alive.
And Reed was still planning to drive all the way to Palm Springs. He’d left his phone at home, so he didn’t know that Jonathan was actually planning to meet him halfway — my stepfather had probably texted him to suggest it. And if Jonathan didn’t get a text back from Reed, then there was a chance he would keep driving and make it all the way back to the house.