I click play. Two sixteen-year-old girls huddled on school bleachers, they’re cold, sleeves pulled down over their hands, cheeks rosy and noses sniffle-y. They discuss a group of characters we don’t know. Marla is brunette, Amy redhead. It’s hard to tell yet. The characters seem close but something has come between them. From their conversation I gather their issue is a boy. Amy is a straight-A student while Marla’s character looks cooler, more complicated. Something Amy says causes Marla to sigh and look off into the distance. I watch as she shuffles out a soft pack of cigarettes from her hoodie and reaches for her lighter. And then she does something that takes my breath away.
Cigarette held loosely between two plump lips, she cups the end from the wind, then flicks her lighter open and on in one smooth roll of the wrist. I sit bolt upright as she flicks it closed. She did the exact same thing on that bench in the sunlight, five days ago, the same reflexive, fluid motion. A movement she must have made a million times throughout her life. It’s her. The teenage girl I’m watching, Marla Butler, is the woman I met at that audition.
I’m up and pacing the apartment living room. What am I supposed to do with this information? I know what I’d like to do, I’d like to fly home and never see any of these people ever again, but I can’t leave LA until after Wednesday. And would I ever forget the ghost of Emily’s voice in that audio recording, asking her attacker to stop? Fighting for her life? Can I forget that? Because try as I might to imagine Emily is still alive, I can’t.
But I also can’t imagine the girl I met a few days ago could be a killer. Even in the footage Lucy showed me, she never looked threatening. But then as Lucy said, she’s clearly very convincing when she needs to be.
Perhaps whatever happened when Emily and Marla last met ended in an accident and Marla didn’t know what else to do but fill the gap Emily left behind?
But then where does that leave me, if that’s true? How far could Marla go to protect her secret? She’s already broken into my apartment, tampered with my car.
My phone rings—it’s Cynthia telling me she’s found me new accommodations starting tomorrow morning until Wednesday. Which means only one more night in this building. One more night in an apartment that Marla has repeatedly broken into. I shudder at the thought, but I know she’s not stupid enough to come back to the building now that I’m onto her.
Of course, I don’t have to stay here tonight. Nick texted me earlier to invite me over for dinner. I didn’t think I’d be hanging around long enough to do that, but it looks like I’m stuck here for a bit longer. I text him back accepting the invite. I could always ask him if I could stay over later if I felt unsafe. I’m sure he has spare rooms or a couch, it’s not like I have to sleep in bed with him in order to stay over. Of course, I realize at some point I am going to have to let him know I’m returning home.
I stare out at LA from my gigantic apartment windows, my eyes finding the tall tombstone letters emblazoned across the Hollywood Hills in the distance. Almost a century ago an actress who missed out on the role of a lifetime went to meet her friends and was found three days later dead, bloated, and unrecognizable in a ravine. Emily Bryant’s face flashes through my mind. Nobody reported the actress who jumped missing either. An unknown female hiker found her. No one had even raised an alarm until then.
Before I can chicken out, I type a text and press send.
Today, 4:03pm
Marla, I spoke to Ben Cohan. I need you to tell me what happened to Emily. I know she disappeared in Jan & I know who you are. You need to tell me what’s going on or I will report this.
I stare at my words for a second, and remind myself that I am safe here. She cannot get me, building security knows not to let anyone up, especially her, and now that my security monitor is repaired and my door code has been reprogrammed, I am safer here than ever before. And it’s only one more night.
My phone pings in the silence, sending a chill straight up my spine.