Chapter five

"No, he's... he's in France. He just left."

I whispered it like a prayer, like if I said it enough times, the laws of physics would rewrite themselves. I shook my head, my hair coming loose from the elaborate stage pins, my mouth falling open in a silent, jagged scream. It was impossible. He had walked out of the penthouse. He had gripped his bag. He was angry. Angry people don't just disappear.

"We... Sarah, I er... get my phone!!!" I shrieked, the sound tearing through the hushed theater like a gunshot.

I didn't wait for her. I turned and scrambled off the stage, the heavy silk of the costume gown snagging on the edge of a prop table. I didn't care. I ripped the fabric, my breath coming in shallow, panicked stabs. I was grabbed by a pair of able hands, a stagehand trying to steady me, but I shoved him off with a strength I didn't know I possessed.

"My phone!!!"

Sarah scrambled toward me, her face a blurred mask of tears, and thrust the device into my hand. My fingers were shaking so violently I nearly dropped it. I fumbled with the power button, the seconds it took to boot up feeling like agonizing hours. The Apple logo glowed, mocking me with its white light.

The moment the home screen flickered to life, I ignored the three hundred missed calls. I ignored the texts from news outlets. I went straight to his contact. Jax.

I hit dial and pressed the phone to my ear so hard it bruised my skin.

Ringing

"See? Sarah, look! His phone is ringing!" I let out a hysterical, broken laugh, my eyes wide and wild. "He has landed. There is no way Jaxson would be dead. Do you hear that? Dead people don't have phones that ring! Maybe he’s in the hospital. He’s just waiting for a rescue... or maybe he wasn't on the plane. Maybe he stayed behind to wait for me..."

I paced the small area behind the curtains, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I was bargaining with the universe. I'll give it all up, I promised the dark rafters of the theater. The fame, the career, the house. Just let him pick up.

Ringing.

Then, a click. The ringing stopped.

A flicker of pure, blinding hope ignited in my chest. I felt my knees go weak with relief. "Jax? Jax, baby, is that you? Oh thank God, I didn't mean it, I promise I—"

"Hello? Is this Jaxson’s girlfriend?"

The voice wasn't Jaxson’s. It was husky, older, and carried the heavy, clinical weight of someone standing in a field of debris. My breath faltered, splintering into a thousand pieces. The hope in my chest didn't just die; it turned to ash.

"Yeah," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the theater's cooling system. "Where’s my boyfriend? Is he okay? Is he... is he hurt?"

I dreaded the truth. My hands were slick with sweat, my head already spinning in a slow, sickening circle. I wanted to hear that he was in surgery. I wanted to hear that he’d broken every bone in his body. Anything but the silence. Oh God, I have never been so prayerful, but I am now. I will give my life to you completely if nothing happened to him. Just give him back.

"Uh... we’re sorry to inform you, but Jaxson just lost his life." 

The man’s voice was calm. Professionally empathetic. Final.

My mind simply seized. I forgot how to talk. I forgot how to think. I couldn't even swallow the lump of lead rising in my throat. I stood there, center-stage in the wings, with the eyes of the entire crew fixed on my face, but I wasn't looking at them. I was looking at the way the light caught the dust motes in the air, thinking about how unfair it was that the world was still turning.

The phone slipped from my numb fingers. It hit the wooden floor with a sickening crack, the screen splintering into a web of glass.

All I could see was his face. Not the laughing golden boy on the billboards. Not the man who loved me. I saw his angry face in the penthouse. I heard my own voice, sharp and lethal, telling him to go away and never come back unless he was dead.

I had spoken the ending of his own life into existence.

"Valerie?" Sarah’s voice was distant, like she was calling to me from across a canyon.

She came behind me immediately, her arms wrapping around my waist to hold me up as my legs finally gave out. I didn't cry. I couldn't. I just stared at the broken phone on the floor, the silk of my dress pooling around me like a shroud.

"I should've gone to France with him." I hollowed out, "He begged me! He begged me to go to France with him, why didn't I Sarah?" I yelled out, mucus running out of my nose. My hands shaking, Sarah was shedding the tears that I couldn't. 

But my tragedy was far from over.

The theater had gone deathly quiet, but in the distance, I could hear the audio from the news broadcast in the lighting booth, a low, rhythmic drone that suddenly sharpened as a "Special Report" graphic flashed across every monitor.

"Valerie, don't look," Sarah choked out, trying to turn my head away. "Please, don't look."

I pushed her off. I had to see. I had to know just how much of my soul was left to burn.

The screen didn't show the mountainside this time. It showed the 405 freeway, a graveyard of twisted metal and flashing sirens. A news anchor, her face tight with professional gravity, spoke over the footage.

"We have received confirmation on the identities of the victims in the multi-vehicle pileup that has paralyzed the 405. Real estate mogul and doctor Arthur St. Claire and his wife, Julianna, were pronounced dead on the scene after their vehicle was struck by a heavy-duty transport."

I felt my heart stop. I waited for the impact, for the world to finally end, but the reporter continued, her voice growing even more urgent.

"In a stunning turn of events, sources within the District Attorney’s office have revealed that at the time of the crash, a sealed indictment was being served at the St. Claire estate. Charges of multi-billion dollar embezzlement and racketeering have been officially filed against Arthur St. Claire. It appears the mogul was fleeing the city when the accident occurred. His entire estate, including all personal and business assets, has been frozen pending a federal investigation into what is being called the largest financial fraud in the city’s history."

The camera zoomed in on my father’s car, a crumpled heap of black metal. Behind it, federal agents were already cordoning off the area, not with flowers, but with evidence bags.

"No," I whispered, the word barely a breath. "Not my mom. Not him." I couldn't feel my legs. He had called. My father had called me, FUCK. 

Everything was happening at once. The love of my life was a smear on a mountainside because I had cursed him. My parents were gone because of what I don't even understand but father called. He called me and I didn't even look at it twice. 

The lights of the Bradbury began to swirl. I saw the director, the stagehands, and the actors staring at me, not with pity, but with a horrifying curiosity. 

"Valerie!" Sarah’s voice was the last thing I heard before the gravity of the world finally won.

My kne

es hit the wooden stage floor first, and then the darkness rushed in to meet me.