Do Not Open

by Kiersten Modglin

I click on the “About” section and see the company was founded by Owen Doyle more than ten years ago.

I check the email server which also seems real. @epicscopeprod.com It seems too good to be true, though. Right?

I toy with the idea of telling him I’m a fan of his work, too, but decide against it. I don’t want to seem like I’m sucking up. Whatever. Who cares? It’s probably a scam anyway. Send.

Luckily for me, Kassara is well-versed in, and completely immune, to my cynicism and terrible personality.

That’s the burden of being a writer, truly. We spend so much time in our heads, we rarely experience the world outside of it. Not in the same way other people do.

When I look at the screen, I have to do a double take. “Oh my god. It’s him.” Kassara turns her head to face me, cautious optimism in her eyes. “Him who?” “It’s Owen Doyle. The producer.”

Her excitement is infectious, but I fight against it, a growing sense of worry looming in the pit of my stomach.

What if I’m not fancy enough? I don’t know anything about Hollywood. Besides that, I haven’t spoken to anyone aside from you in a year. I’m socially awkward.

Besides, I hate to break it to you, but the me who wrote those books he loves so much is long gone and buried.”

Bitterness creeps into my chest. She knows how I feel about Darlene Cosgrove—how fake she is, how she pretends to be something we both know she’s not.

“Should I agree to go to his house? That feels a little strange, doesn’t it? Maybe I’ll ask if we can stick with the original plan and meet for coffee instead…” “I don’t know. What if that comes across as rude?” she asks, touching a finger to her bottom lip thoughtfully.

Bruh who cares if it sounds rude... why r u going to someone's house u never met

For all I know, he’s going to do some documentary on what happened to Declan and Liam and is just luring me there to get my take on it.”

“If it were you, you’d just say yes to his offer?” She sucks in a breath, speaking slowly. “If it were me, I’d take him up on the offer to meet at his house, yes. I don’t really see the harm. If he were to try anything, it’s not like we don’t know who he is. He’s a huge name. He’s not going to risk his reputation. Besides, his wife will be there, and you’ll be able to give me the address.

Girl dont be daft

One tap, I’m safe and sound and on my way to stardom. Two taps, I’m locked in a concrete room. Save me.” It’s a joke, but I don’t like it.

This is a high-powered film executive. He’s not going to do anything to harm me.

“They’d be really proud of you, you know?” she says gently, and I don’t have to ask whom she’s talking about. “Well, they aren’t here, are they?” My voice sounds more bitter than I mean for it to—as bitter as this cheap wine.

I’d expected to wait days for a response like last time. Could it be him again already?

3 p.m. work for you? A perfectly safe time. Not yet dark. Not late enough for anything nefarious to happen. It instantly puts me at ease.

I realize I’m living a dream that, two years ago, I would’ve celebrated. A dream Declan and I fantasized about, a dream we worked so hard for. The problem is, back then, I would’ve had my husband and son to celebrate with me. Declan likely would’ve accompanied me to the meeting. Now, I’m alone.

Dang

I square my shoulders toward the front door, aware I’m likely being watched right now from somewhere inside the house. Then again, maybe not. Not everyone is as bored and paranoid as I am.

I turn around at the creaking sound behind me, noticing the double iron gates closing on either side of the circular driveway. They’d been open when I arrived, so I had hardly noticed them.

“Ah.” He sighs, looking away regretfully. “I’m sorry to say Audrey couldn’t make it today after all. She got a call early this morning about one of our productions and had to head to the office in LA to deal with that. It’s killing her not to be here.”

Sus

“It’s fun for me to plot through the eyes of a reader and try to figure out what you’ll be guessing, so I can lead you off course and down the wrong path.”

“Thank you.” His voice is slower this time, like he’s mulling over the words. Suddenly, there’s a sharp ache in the back of my head. I no longer feel electric. Instead, I feel as if I’m static.

“Mari? Is everything alright?” He says the words, but there’s no emotion in his voice.

The last thing I remember is…meeting Owen. What happened after I left? Did I leave? Did I do something to embarrass myself in front of him?

I search for my purse or my phone, but neither appear to be in this room.

The door is stuck. Locked. I am locked inside.

“You’re going to stay with me for a while. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to get to know you better.” His grin goes wide. “I want to make sure you’re okay because I don’t think you are.”

“Of course I can. More than that, I have to. It’s my duty. My obligation. Mari,” he says, eyes sparkling, chest puffing, “I’m your number-one fan.”

“I understand this is all somewhat upsetting, but I assure you I have no plans to harm you. I love you. Don’t you see that?”

“I don’t understand. You could’ve just emailed me. I respond to every⁠—” “I did. Several times. We’ve talked so much, Mari.” He tilts his head to the side as I run back through the thousands of emails I’ve responded to over the years.

“Your family is gone, Mari. I know about the shooting. I know you’re alone.”

“I’m a teacher, actually.” He stands, approaching the door and walking out without warning. I have no idea what just happened.

“Do you know what happens next?” I swallow. Eventually, the killer catches her and kills her, leaving his initials in her skin. But first… “He chases her.” He closes the book, his eyes going dark. “Run, Mari.”

“You just…tried to attack me.” I put my hand to my scalp, searching for blood. Thankfully, I don’t feel any. “We were playing a game,” he says simply. “Acting out your book. I thought you knew.” “Please”—I struggle to sit up—“I need to go home.”

How could I have ever been stupid enough to believe his lies? Why did I think anything so amazing could happen to me? I haven’t written, released, or promoted in a year. I’m barely alive—a shell of who I used to be.

And what the hell is taking Kassara so long with the cops?

Girl he prob texted her off ur phone

By the time he returns, my body is trembling with pain from the lack of alcohol and food. I’ve licked up the droplets of wine from the wall and carpet, but there wasn’t enough to matter.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, releasing a long breath. “You have to quit drinking so much if you want to be able to write.”

“You’re the one bringing me alcohol now,” I say, instantly regretting the words because I don’t want him to stop. “How is that fixing me?” “I will bring you two glasses of wine a day. Enough to make sure you don’t go into withdrawal, enough to make sure you don’t die. But not enough to sustain the nasty habit you’ve picked up.”

Once you’ve lost the two people who matter most to you in the world, no other loss or pain can compare.

I understand now why people lose their minds when left alone for too long, particularly when your mind isn’t a safe space to begin with.

It’s red and weeping—clearly infected.

This is not the house I visited before. Wherever I am, it’s not the place I was supposed to meet “Owen,” not the address I gave Kassara.

“What are you talking about? I told you, I’m fine.” Then there’s another voice. A woman’s voice. Someone else is in the house. “I’m worried about you, Chris. Something’s going on. I know it is.”

I twist the doorknob, and the door pulls open with a sharp click. The gust of air that hits me is so clean it makes my eyes water. Wherever their voices are coming from, they’ve stopped.

In the distance, there is a sudden, loud blaring sound. Re-re-re-re-re-re! It drowns out whatever’s being said. A door shuts, and the sound stops. Then footsteps. He’s coming. Someone’s coming.

The door unlatches, and I push, but then, before I can take a single step, I’m pulled backward by my hair. I scream, hoping someone will hear me.

“It’s like you know me better than anyone else.” The lie is heavy and bitter on my tongue.

even im sick