Starlet: A Dark Retelling

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Starlet: A Dark Retelling Page 26

by Cora Kenborn


  The package is a large manila envelope, distressed and worn by time. It’s fairly thin, and just like Vanessa said, sealed tight with Dominic’s name written across the front. When I ask where they found it, she just shrugs and says “somewhere” while waving a hand around the room.

  Thanks. That’s helpful.

  As she escorts me out, I stop her just before we reach the reception desk. “I was told Miss McCallum died of an allergic reaction to her medication.”

  “That’s right.”

  “As far as we’re aware, she hadn’t been prescribed any new medication.”

  She shrugs, tucking a piece of her straight brown hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t question Dr. Everly. He’s very thorough.” Giving me a curt nod, she disappears down the hallway before I can say another word.

  But I keep standing there because there’s something bothering me. Like pieces of a puzzle I can’t quite turn the right way.

  Vanessa’s words linger like a whisper in a silent room.

  “I wouldn’t question Dr. Everly. He’s very thorough.”

  Everly.

  Everly.

  Everly.

  Then the puzzle piece snaps into place.

  “Isn’t it ironic that I never knew his name until six months ago? Dr. Everly, Moss Valley’s director, likes his experimental drugs, one of which, it seems, works as quite the truth serum.”

  My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh my God!”

  I want to throw up. I want to call Detective Rubio and demand an investigation, but I can’t. I have nothing but a conversation no one can prove. Taking a deep breath, I turn my attention toward the blonde girl at the reception desk and force one last performance.

  Clearing my throat, I flash a camera-ready smile. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you.”

  She glances up, blinks, then lets out a shriek so loud my ears ring. Eyes wide, she flaps her hands in the air before slapping them over her mouth. “Holy crap! You’re her.”

  I cringe, wondering if I’m about to be slapped with another scarlet letter. A woman might have been murdered and proving it all rides on which direction this girl’s moral compass points.

  I don’t have time to assess her ethics, so I take a risk. “Are you a fan?” I hope.

  Her palms slam onto the desk as she leans forward. “Are you serious? I’m your number one fan! I was so mad when they recast Kya Perrone in Bound Fate.”

  Thank God.

  “That’s very kind of you…” I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to get the hint.

  “Dianne,” she squeals again, tapping the nametag pinned to her shirt. “I’m Dianne Manns. I’m thirty-eight and originally from Chicago.”

  Way too much information, but okay. “Well, would you like an autograph, Dianne?”

  Her jaw drops. “Are you shitting me?”

  “It’s the least I can do for my number one fan.” And my only hope at getting into hospital records.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” The words keep spilling out of her mouth as she tears her desk apart looking for a piece of paper and a pen, finally shoving them toward me. As I sign Alexandra’s name, I try to figure out how to slip what I need into the conversation when she flings the door wide open. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s Alexandra Romanov doing at Moss Valley?”

  “Brenda McCallum was a close personal friend.” I pause, pen in hand and look up at her. “Did you know her?”

  She nods. “Interesting lady. So sad what happened. At least she got one last visitor before she passed.”

  The pen flies out of my hand. “I’m sorry?”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that.” She knows she’s said too much. I can tell by the hurried way she stashes her autograph away and straightens her already tidy desk. But it’s too late.

  “Dianne, you wouldn’t happen to keep visitor sign-in logs by any chance?”

  “Of course, we do. Hospital policy.”

  “Would you mind if I took a quick peek at it?” She gives me a sharp look, and I smile, covering with, “I’d like to thank whoever sat with Brenda in her last few hours.”

  Her timid smile tells me she seems to buy it, but she still hesitates, worrying her lip. “That’s confidential information. I could lose my job.”

  Leaning onto the desk, I go in for the kill. “But it can be our little secret.” I smile, holding up my pinkie finger. “Just between me and my number one fan.”

  When Dianne’s eyes go wide and glassy, I know I’ve got her. The promise of sharing such a “special” bond is too enticing to pass up. “Okay,” she says, locking her pinkie around mine. “But don’t tell anybody. Promise?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  But as soon as she pulls up the ledger and flips to the day in question, my smile fades. Black spots race in from the corners of my eyes and dot my vision as I stare at the name.

  Ross Gregory.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Angel

  A confrontation takes a level head. That’s why I insist that Lars drive me back to Bel Air. When the static clears, I get behind the wheel of one of the many unused Audis, and two hours later, I’m staring out the window at Silverline Studio’s security gate.

  Sal, the night guard, raises an eyebrow as he peers into the car. “Kind of late on a Sunday night, Miss Romanov.”

  “I realized I left a piece of jewelry on set.” Even I’m surprised at how easily the lie rolls off my tongue. “It’s a family heirloom.”

  “Technically, you don’t work for Silverline anymore.” Hesitating, he glances toward the lot. “In fact, I’ve been instructed not to let you—”

  “I’ll be quick, I promise.” I flash him the sincerest smile I can muster.

  A quick nod is all the acknowledgment he offers before waving me through. Hitting the gas, I leave him behind along with his wavering guilt. I don’t think about what will happen to him after tonight. I’m winging this.

  The studio is dark and deserted, the familiar rush of constant movement now a sinister calm. There’s an overwhelming sense of prophecy in the air, whispered chants from the past bleeding into the present.

  Fate always finds a way.

  Standing in the elevator, I stare at the slot for the keycard, and it’s as if someone else reaches into my purse and produces the plastic square. Like someone else hits the button for the penthouse. Like someone else steps inside the lobby.

  He’s exactly where I knew he’d be. Not just because he’s a creature of habit or because he’s a workaholic. It’s because Silverline wasn’t my first stop. I knew he’d be here because I knew he wasn’t at his house.

  I left there an hour ago.

  Flinging the door to his office open without preamble, I find Rosten coming out of the attached bathroom in a white robe, rubbing a towel over his wet head. Our eyes meet, and instead of shock, a slow smirk creeps across his face.

  “Alexandra. To what do I owe this unexpected and illegal surprise?”

  “Why did you visit Dominic McCallum’s mother the day she died?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dropping the towel, he saunters over to his desk.

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about,” I hiss, ignoring the churning in my gut and storming across the office. “I saw your alias on the visitor’s log, Ross Gregory. That’s the name you use to make reservations at Amalia.”

  I wait for the revelation to knock that smug look off his face, but it doesn’t. “You need to get out of that house more, Alexandra. It’s making you delusional.”

  Oh no. Not this time. This ends here.

  “I assure you I’m quite coherent about this,” I say, and his jawline tightens. Greg Rosten is used to me backing down. It’s my only advantage, so I keep my finger on the button. “I know all about your history with Brenda McCallum. How you made her life a living hell after she refused to sleep with you. But ruining her wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to go after her son, too.”

 
There’s a brief wrinkle in his confidence before he takes a step toward me. “It would be wise for you to retract such statements, Miss Romanov.”

  “Why? Does the truth sting a little? Dominic told the world exactly what you are, and you tried to destroy him.”

  “If you tell lies, expect to get your tongue cut out. You’d do well to remember that.”

  We all pay prices in life. This is yours.

  “Lies?” I let out a bitter laugh. “God, you really believe that, don’t you? For the record, I know you were the one who released that picture. And it’s because you’re a coward.”

  His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t react. That’s not good enough. I want rage. I want to see the king get off his throne and fight. If I’m going out, I’m going out in a blaze of glory.

  “That’s right, a fucking coward. You couldn’t even do it yourself. You paid a hacker. If you’re going to be an asshole, at least own it. Don’t hide behind someone with actual balls, like a scared little girl.”

  That pushes him over the edge.

  In one long step he has me backed against the desk, his hand gripping my jaw. “You want to see what I can do, little girl? You have no idea.”

  His hold is vicious, and while instinct screams at me to cower, there’s a voice in my head whispering demands. Imploring me to take a stand. To end the pain.

  Biting back fear, I grab hold of his wrist and tug hard. It’s not enough to free myself, but it’s enough to free my words. “That’s what I mean,” I rasp, fighting his hold with both hands now. “Threats. Extortion. That’s what you do, but it won’t work. You can cut us and make us bleed, but you will never silence us. This time you’ve gone too far. You won’t get away with murder.”

  He’s silent, and for the briefest moment, I think I’ve won. Then a slow, twisted smile spreads across his face as he brings his mouth close to my ear. “Oh, sweet, Alexandra. I already did.”

  “W-what are you talking about?”

  “Violet said you were starting to remember things. I see it now. It’s in your eyes. You can hide words, but the eyes don’t lie. I always knew you’d come back to me.”

  “Violet? When did you…?” The words die on my lips. I don’t have to ask. I can see it on his face.

  “Nice girl. Talkative. It seems we had a common enemy in that lover of yours,” he muses, his index finger stroking my cheek. “It was quite an enlightening chat.”

  “What did you do to her?” I’m terrified of the truth, but I owe it to her. It doesn’t matter if his hand dealt the final blow. Violet’s death rests on my shoulders.

  “I didn’t do anything.” He smiles. “It’s what you did to her. Or don’t you remember?” Cocking his head to the side, he strokes my hair. “How easily the young mind molds…and breaks.”

  “No! I’d never hurt her!”

  Six. Six. Six.

  “Don’t worry, Alexandra. Even when they lock you up, they can’t keep me away.” There’s a darkness in his eyes. Only I’ve never seen it before.

  Yes, you have. Look around. Remember.

  Rosten’s grip moves from my jaw to my neck, squeezing until I’m gasping for air. A sinister smile pulls at his mouth as he shoves me onto his desk, the back of my head slamming against the wood. “Even in a straightjacket, you’ll still be my special girl.”

  Special girl.

  The wave comes slowly at first. My chest tightens, the muscles weaving into hundreds of tiny little knots, a futile attempt at blocking out whatever’s trying to get in. This time nothing can stop it. Not static. Not light. Not zigzag lines. The key has turned, and the lock is open.

  “I want to go home!”

  “Just relax. You want to be a good girl, don’t you?”

  “No! I’m scared!”

  “Finish your juice, and I’ll make you feel better. There you go. That’s my special girl.”

  The scream comes from the back of my throat. A choked gurgle that burns in my chest and fills my mouth with the taste of pennies. The barrier is broken, and truth comes crashing in. I fight it as hard as I can, thrashing against him and the memories filtering through my mind like paint being splattered on a blank canvas.

  “No!” I scream. “You’re lying.” The room spins along with my head. The walls are alive, bleeding with the tears of the past. I blink, trying to stay focused. Trying to stay in control, but something keeps dragging me under. “What’s happening to me?” I demand, but my voice sounds thick and full of rocks.

  “Shhh,” he whispers, climbing on top of me, his heavy weight crushing me against the unforgiving wood. “It’s all going to be all right. I’ll take care of you.” His lips graze my neck as his free hand reaches for the button on my jeans. “Just like I always have.”

  “You killed them both.” The words are as flat and emotionless as they are inconsequential. Whether he admits it or not, when he’s finished with me, I’ll be dead, too. If not by his hand, by my own.

  “Not directly,” he grunts, jerking my jeans down and tearing the sash off his robe. “I never get my hands dirty. You should know that.”

  I struggle beneath him, but his weight is too heavy. My stomach churns, bile creeping up my throat, but my death won’t be in vain. I won’t slip away quietly. Reaching out, I slap my palm against his desk for leverage. If I can just grasp the edge…

  “No! Stop!” I cry.

  Tears stream out of the corners of my eyes as a woman with long raven hair grabs my chin and leads me into an elevator. “Tears are a tool not a weakness. You’ll stop this crying right now, Alexandra. We all pay prices in life, darling. Now smile pretty and be quiet. Remember, you’re his special girl.”

  As my fingers finally wrap around the desk, I turn my head and vomit, one word on my lips. “Papa!”

  I blink, opening my eyes against the harsh light. Everything hurts, and my arm feels like it’s been beat with a sack of bricks. Groaning, I pull myself upright, rubbing my eyes while trying to get my bearings.

  Where the hell am I? Everything is black and white and clean. So clean my heels squeak against the marble floor.

  Whipping my head around, I take in the black granite island spanning the length of the spotless kitchen and the immaculate white marble floor I’m sitting on.

  Sitting on in a red dress and matching red heels.

  Something’s wrong.

  Pressing the heels of my palms against my temples, I take deep breaths and force the spinning circles in my head to slow down. I’ve lost time before, but this feels different, so I count backward from ten, trying to remember how I ended up in the kitchen.

  Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Five… I remember going to Silverline Studios, but I can’t remember why. There’s a wall blocking last night from today. It’s as if it never happened. Four. Three. Two...

  “Oh my God.” Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I claw at my body, desperate to rid it of its tainted skin. I feel his hands on my throat. His weight on my chest. The scream I let out is inhuman, a wail of pain torn from the depths of my soul.

  Crawling to the cabinet, I turn and collapse against it as my phone catches my eye. With nothing left inside me, I wrap my fingers around it, hot tears pouring down my cheeks.

  Even as I dial the number, I know he won’t answer. It doesn’t matter. I still leave a message. “Dominic. Please, I need you.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Dominic

  It takes about five and a half hours to drive from Phoenix to Los Angeles. After hearing Angel’s message, I make it in four. I weave my Harley in and out of traffic like I’m threading a fucking needle, the whole time choking the life out of the handlebars and wishing they were Rosten’s neck.

  I warned him.

  Now, I’m going to kill him.

  I don’t care if I spend the rest of my life behind bars, or if I fry in the chair. I’ll go to either with a clear conscience and not one damn regret.

  That’s not true.

  I’ll always regret leaving her alone. For wall
owing in my own grief and putting three hundred and seventy-two miles between us. For letting my biggest fear become reality. For giving Rosten the chance to take the only thing left in this world I care about.

  No. That I love.

  Once I’m through the gate, I barely make it into the garage before everything becomes a blur, and I’m standing outside the elevator, jabbing the call button over and over until it finally arrives.

  Then I pace the four walls like a caged animal, my teeth bared and my predator instinct hungry for the kill. I think of all the ways I can make him suffer. I want to remember his screams. I want them burned into my soul.

  As soon as the doors open, I’m on the hunt. “Angel?” I yell, because I don’t give a fuck anymore. Let them ask. I’m going to prison anyway. “Where are you?”

  Hilda slides in front of me out of thin air, and I growl, circling around her. “Get out of my way.”

  “She’s in the kitchen,” she calls after me, and I pause, glancing over my shoulder. The moment our eyes lock, she nods. “She won’t let anyone near her. We tried, but it’s only you who could ever save her.”

  Gritting my teeth, I head toward the kitchen when she calls out again.

  “Dominic.” I pause mid-step, my fists clenched by my side. “The mind can be a prison,” she says quietly. “Sometimes the only escape is to surrender freedom.”

  I don’t stop to analyze what that’s supposed to mean. I have a singular focus and that’s all that matters as I continue toward the kitchen.

  “Angel, I…” I freeze the minute I see her. I want to hold her in my arms and shield her against the world. But I can’t. The world has already eaten her alive and spit her out. All I can do is stand there and breathe through the black fury burning in my veins.

  She’s sitting on the floor, slumped against the counter like a broken doll. Although she’s in a beautiful red dress, what’s behind it is damaged. There’s no spark in her eyes. No life.

  I approach her slowly, afraid to speak and afraid not to. When I call her name again and she doesn’t respond, I do the only thing I can think of. I bend down and scoop her into my arms. Angel’s head lolls against my chest, her arms hanging listlessly by her side as I carry her out of the kitchen.

 

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