by Kayley Cole
"And you didn't once question what you were doing?" Ellie asks.
He shrugs. "He seemed concerned about his sister, and he only wanted to take money from..." the imposter glances at me briefly, "...from Mr. Amberden. And the way he talked about Mr. Amberden… I... I thought he was truly hurt about being betrayed. I only began to question it after talking to Mr. Amberden, and I noticed he genuinely did seem to care about…about you, Ellie. But I couldn't back out after he put me up in the hotel. I had already done the worst part. All I had to do was wait. And if we're being completely honest, I've done a lot of worse things. But it's just, you know, I've got toothaches on both sides of my jaw and a dog with a tumor and a car that needs a new engine. How am I supposed to get a job with a car with no engine? I needed the money."
"You could almost write a country song with all of those sob stories. Luckily, it's not my problem," I say. "Call Andrew. Tell him to come to your room. Tell him it's because I gave you the money and you're ready to split it. If he wants to meet somewhere else to split the money, tell him that you've arranged for a massage in your room in the next hour, so you can't leave."
"What if I'm not convincing?"
"Then I'll fucking throw you off that balcony, so he'll have to come to identify your body before they scrape you off the sidewalk. I get to talk to him either way, so I don't care if you're convincing or not."
He hunches his shoulders and nearly trips over his feet as he walks over to grab his cell phone. As he searches for Andrew's number, Ellie's arms wrap around the crook of my arm.
"That was very sexy," she whispers. I turn my head, raising an eyebrow.
"If I knew that you were turned on by violence, I would have shown you my collection of rated-R and NC-17 films that are filled with violence, but they're also artistic and aesthetically pleasing."
"That is all slightly less sexy," she says, kissing behind my ear. "But I'll forgive you for it later."
Her hand trails behind my neck, leaving her peach vanilla scent lingering beside me as she walks over to the kitchenette. She is all my highest hopes in the shape of a flawless, talented, hot-as-hell woman, and I've never loved anyone more than I love her in this moment.
Once upon a time, I tried to be a good person. It was around the time I was eight years old. I had this babysitter, who seemed like an angel— she treated everyone like they were important, she always spoke softly, and her skin was always softer than anything I'd ever felt before. I wanted her admiration, so I went out of my way to help people— I picked up trash off the street, I smiled at everyone I passed by, and I always asked everyone how their day was. She was killed by her boyfriend the day before Christmas. When the police arrived, he resisted arrest and was shot eight times. And that's when I learned the truth: being good will get you the love of naive children, but violence will help you survive.
I flex my hand, sitting on the armrest of a perfectly white armchair. I can hear Ellie in the kitchen with the sound of her spoon hitting against a mug like a metronome. The imposter sits on the floor in front of me, his legs crossed underneath him and his head bowed. He's a broken man, and I'd feel guilty about it if he hadn't tried to hurt the one person I cared about most.
There's a knock on the door. The imposter looks up at me. I nod once. He stands up, bowlegged and unsteady, and moves toward the door. He unlocks it slowly, jerking it open so hard, his whole body sways with the movement.
"Hello," he mumbles to Andrew. I can see the top of Andrew's head, but he can't see me. I approach the door, keeping myself far enough to the side that Andrew won't see me. Every instinct in my body wants to break his skull open, but I know it's not what Ellie wants. The intention isn't to cause pain, but to survive without the fear of a psychopath trying to erode away our life and make us as paranoid as him.
"Was he suspicious at all?" Andrew asks the imposter.
"Come on in."
"Was he suspicious?" Andrew repeats.
"No. No, not at all."
"Did you tell him that you were going to..." As Andrew steps into the hotel, I grab him by the arm, jerking him down to the white carpet. He makes a satisfying noise— like an animal in pain— as I wrench his arm back and jab my knee into his back. I can feel the slight flexibility of his spine, and I know it can't take much more pressure. I hear the door click shut, and the imposter scuttles away to the other side of the room.
"He told me everything," I hiss into Andrew's ear. He squirms under me, but all he can move is his right arm and his legs. His right hand tries to grab me while his legs try to kick me, but I can barely feel his fingernails or his shoes kicking against me. I grab him by his rusty red hair, yanking his head back. "You're more than a liar, more than a traitor, more than a psychopath. You're a coward. You were hoping to hide behind another liar and psychopath to fulfill your plan, and you were hoping never to see my face, but now you have to see it, and you have to look at this face as I tell you what's going to happen next."
He grunts, still struggling, but his legs aren't kicking quite as high, and his hand is only slapping against my arm.
"You're going to write a letter to Ellie. You're going to apologize for everything you've ever done. Then, you're going to disappear just like your real father did. We won't ever see you again, we won't ever hear from you again, and you certainly won't send anybody to bother us again. Do you understand?"
He turns his head. I can see his teeth are gritted from the tension in his jaw. "Why would I do jackshit that you want me to do? What could you possibly do to me that you haven't already done?"
"You know what I'll do. You already mentioned it," I say. "Remember? I have enough money and friends in low places to make you disappear. You called me a money magician. Poof and you disappear. But let me assure you that if you fuck around with us again, I won't hire people to end your life. I'll do that myself, and they'll just be there to make you disappear permanently. Everyone in Saffron will just remember you as that cop that lost his mind. Write the letter or become a caricature people will laugh about for the next three years before you're completely forgotten."
"Everyone else in our family is gone. I can't let Ellie down," he says. He's stopped struggling against me.
"You already have."
He lowers his head. Against some of my best instincts, I lift my knee off his body, standing up. It feels like I'm a Titan standing over a human that's just recognized their mortality. It's a cocaine high, but it's not a feeling I can keep unless I know that Ellie is safe.
I nod at the imposter. He grabs a pencil and piece of paper off the coffee table and hands it to Andrew. Andrew barely even sits up, his body appearing more gelatinous than before, but he takes the pencil and paper. He presses the paper against the wall and begins to write.
I look toward the kitchen. Ellie leans against the threshold. Her face is impossible to read, but she gives me a small smile when I catch her eye. It reminds me that sometimes being good and being violent aren't entirely separate. Sometimes we have to go to war for those we love. Sometimes we go to battle to ensure that peace can be reached in the future.
Chapter Fifteen
Ellie
"This is Elixir, the #1 online radio station, where we bring you new music and honest, raw interviews." Brett Dreyer smiles at me with his bright bleached teeth as I sit in his studio for the second time in two weeks. "We have Miss Ellie Rue here. This is the first time we've had a musician here twice within a month, but her people reached out to my people, and there is no way I could refuse to let her come back after the last couple of weeks she's had. I've never seen someone crash and burn so badly and so quickly without a massive amount of drugs and some slurs thrown around, or at least a dead hooker. It's honestly quite an accomplishment. Do you have any regrets, Ellie?"
"I do," I admit. "Just not the regrets people think I would have."
"What do you mean by that?"
"It's hard to explain, Brett. But I like to think of it from the perspective of a mother— if I ha
d a daughter, I'd tell her to keep her head above the fray. I'd tell her that nothing matters except what she decides matters. If she decides that public opinion matters— which is completely understandable, considering we're a social species— it will always matter to her. But we can only care about so many things. We can only dedicate our time and our thoughts to so many people or interests. And I'd prefer to give my time to the interests and people who matter in my life."
"Wow. That's very powerful. Is there someone who matters more significantly than other people in your life?" he asks, the corner of his lip curling up.
"There are a lot of people who matter in my life," I say. "Most of all, the fans who have stuck around through all of this. I know it would be easy to turn against me during this and I'm so, so happy that they have stood by me. I would hate for my fans to be blindly loyal to me because if I put out a terrible record, I'd want them to be honest with me, but I've read some of the statements fans have put on social media and I'm so grateful to all of them. I'd also like to specifically give a shout-out to a fan named Jasmine. I'm sorry that I don't know her last name and it's likely best that I don't publicize it, but I've heard how much she supports me and I want her to know I appreciate it. I wish I could reach out to all of my fans and say that."
"That's very nice of you to say. Now, we were told that you were going to play a new song for us. What is it called?"
"Legacy."
"Well, let's hear it then. I'm very interested in hearing what this sounds like after the two weeks that you've had."
An intern hands me my guitar and a pick. I press the guitar close against my body. When I play the first few notes, I remember waking up and seeing Jake's face. I remember knowing that the world could collapse in on itself and he'd be the person stopping me from falling into the chasm.
"If you bury me tonight/Engrave my epitaph with something worth putting in stone/When you speak of my flaws/I hope they aren't things that seep into the marrow or bone/and if I'm dead and gone, I hope when you speak my name, it gives you some strength/I hope it brings you to life/But while I'm alive, I'm going to live in a way where my life isn't defined by a grudge and a knife/I'm not going to be defined by a lie."
I let the lyrics wrap around me, singing them like they're a prayer to myself. I know this isn't what people want— they want me to tear down Anya Bowline, so the drama can continue— but this is what I need. If they hate it with all of their hearts, I'll still listen to it and know that it's what I need to hear.
"And when all this is over/when I'm fading away/all that's left is you/all that I need is you/a living legacy," I sing, playing the last few notes. I keep my gaze on the guitar pick that I'm barely holding on to.
"Wow," Brett Dreyer says. "Those lyrics were great, as always. The passion for everything in your life really comes out. Your vocals have improved quite a bit too. Your tone is just so emotive and… I'm just... I'm… well, the fans know I'm a huge Anya Bowline fan, so I hate to heap praises on someone she's marked as her enemy, but that song was amazing. It's quite impressive. You should release it as a single."
"Thank you," I say. "But I just released an album, so I don't know what's going to happen to this song. But I love it, and I'm glad you like it too."
"I've heard you have something else to announce too. We've been talking all about it around the office, trying to figure out what you're going to say. I've heard rumors that Anya Bowline is going to release a nasty song about you, so I thought you were going to release a song too, but that doesn't sound like that's going to be it. So, what's going on, Ellie?"
I set my guitar pick down. "I just wanted to talk about something that I did lie about, and I know some people have suspected that I lied about. I wouldn't be surprised if you've suspected it, Brett, and from earlier in this interview, it sounds like you might have."
He laughs. "Well, it is my business to act like every rumor is fact, so I increase my chance of getting a bullseye on these kinds of things."
"I wanted people to know that Jake Amberden and I… we never broke up. We've been together this whole time. I love him more than I could ever express, even if I had dozens of albums dedicated solely to our relationship. I'm not telling people this because I think they need to know about my personal life, but because I hate the fact that I had a whole lie around it. He's as important to me as my music. I don't want to lie about my music, and I don't want to lie about him."
"Wow. Wow. You heard it here first, folks. So, is the end of that song about him, Ellie? Is Jake Amberden your living legacy?"
I smile. "It's open to interpretation."
"Oh, come on. You said you weren't going to lie about your music."
"It's about everyone that's treated me like a person instead of a celebrity," I say. "So, in a way, yes, it's especially about Jake, but also to my fans. Music allows us to live past our deaths, but that can only happen if people listen to it, so I'm incredibly grateful to so many people."
'Wow. I know I keep saying that, but you keep pulling out surprises. Folks, we have to go to commercial, and Ellie has to take a breath after dropping all those bombshells on us. I hope you'll stick around because we have some great music coming up next. We'll be back after these sponsors."
He flips a switch and turns to me. "Good job, kid."
I run my fingers over my guitar strings. "I hope you're not just saying that because I told your audience about Jake. I meant what I said about my personal life."
He shakes his head. "No. I mean it. You went through a trial by fire and you survived it. It would have been easy to lash out at me, to lash out at everyone, to use your pain to justify your actions— it would have been completely understandable— but you didn't. I'm just doing my job here, and you must think I'm a shitty person for throwing you under the bus, but you didn't see that and decide to throw a bunch of other people under the bus. So, I'm not promising I'll treat you with kid gloves in the future, but… you did good this time around. You've got my admiration."
He stands up, stretching, before heading out of the room. I settle into my chair, taking a breath before I need to leave. I know that everything is going to change after this, but I'm ready to deal with it. I'm ready to grow past my boundaries, shedding my skin until all that's left is my core.
And I know the one person who has always seen the core of me, even when I had draped myself with the glitter of Hollywood. Everything changes, but the best people remain by my side.
Cyrus Hadley pulls up the hoodie that Jake gave him. He still doesn't look like Jake, but he's only an inch shorter than him, and Cyrus has the right dark shade of hair. Standing next to him, Amelia Petrie looks a lot like me except her eyes are brown, so I hand her a pair of my sunglasses.
"I wore those a lot last summer. If the paparazzi see them, they won't notice any other small details."
"They just need to keep their heads low," Jake says. "The windows on the car are tinted, so that will do most of the work."
"Are you two going to wait a few minutes, then leave?" Cyrus asks.
"No, we'll wait longer than that," Jake says. "We want to make sure all of the paparazzi have time to follow you, and if there are any stragglers, we want them to head toward you rather than this apartment."
"How are you going to leave without your car?"
"We could use my bike, but the paparazzi knows about it, so I'm borrowing a friend's car. He lives a few blocks away. You guys should go."
"Alrighty. I hope you two have a great vacation," Cyrus says. Amelia gives us both a small smile. Jake and I watch them leave. It's a surreal experience watching our two doppelgängers. I've never truly thought about how much taller and broader Jake is than me. I never thought how he gives off such an imposing impression while I act like I've never experienced anxiety in my life.
"That was new," Jake says as soon as the door closes behind them. I hear the shouting and cameras clicking as the fake versions of ourselves drive away from Jake's house.
"I'll be really i
nterested to see those paparazzi photos," I tell him, looping my arm around his waist. "We should blow one of the photos up and put it on this wall."
"Why would I want a photo of another woman on my wall?" he asks, kissing the top of my head. "If we're going to have a massive photo on the wall, I think it should be of the two of us in my bed. With all the time you spend running, and the time I spend in the gym, we might as well show our friends the hard work we put into ourselves."
"Well, that would be quite arrogant wouldn't it?" I lean away from him to pick up the letter Andrew wrote to me. I know Jake compelled him to do it because he thought I'd need a reminder of my family, but all I need is right here.
"It would be incredibly arrogant. Arrogance is part of my brand."
I take a deep breath and let it go. The air feels crisper and cleaner than it does anywhere else, even the Adirondacks. It's the first time in a long time that the paparazzi haven't hovered over me, desperate to crush everything inside me. This is what freedom feels like.
