Chapter Eleven Evie
Chapter Eleven
Evie
I hate the dark, and I hate this set.
Because I’m standing in the middle of Frazier Park, which is a cold-ass forest, in the middle of the night, inspecting fake rocks that are hiding the fog machines—machines that keep malfunctioning and creating too thick of a haze over the Styrofoam headstones in this man-made graveyard.
Yeah. This sucks.
My radio goes off, so I reach down to silence it. Fuck, I’m in the worst mood, no matter if it’s Friday. Maybe it’s because after the dinner at Chase’s restaurant, I went home and drank a bottle of wine while revisiting every single moment before and after the almost kiss.
Then repeated the overthinking over the next few days.
Shit. Why did I do that?
I mean, I know why—him and his moment . . . I just need to make it another few weeks, and then I’m home free and safe from any more regrettable decisions.
Plus, since I’m on location for the next few nights, avoiding him should be easy.
My thoughts are interrupted by the Double D’s.
“Night shoots,” Devin says like he’s a rapper saying West Side as he and his brother join me.
I turn and try to smile . . . I don’t have it.
“Oh. Our buddy’s salty today,” he says to his brother, who responds, “Brine it up.”
“There truly isn’t enough sarcasm in the world to bring me even the slightest bit of joy in this moment.”
Devin puts his arm over my shoulder. “We have some good news that might cheer you up . . .”
I look up at their faces, lit up with the kind of golden retriever enthusiasm I’ve come to find endearing. I’m still frowning, though.
“Okay . . . out with it.”
Derek looks at Devin, who nods before Derek says, “We found your fish.”
My eyes spring open as my lips part. Yep, that turned me right around.
“No way. Where was she? Who took her? Did you bring her?”
I look around, not seeing her bowl until I notice they’re looking at each other in that silent-communication way that always ends with me being annoyed.
The pit in my stomach hollows me out, dousing my happiness so I narrow my eyes.
“Why are you looking at each other like that? Explain found . . .”
Derek shrugs. “Well, not found-found . . .”
Devin jumps in. “We sweet-talked the lot security guy, and he let us see the surveillance. Some extra took her—”
Derek cuts back in. “But we figured we could track them down, because the other day, when you told us the story about how you got her, we felt so, so—”
I cut him off, feeling like this might be the straw that makes me break his back.
“So you thought you’d Scooby Doo it? You’re gonna unmask evil Count Von Peterson, who’s been hiding among us in his prosthetic mask, and save my fish?” I snark as Devin starts to nod, but Derek slaps his shoulder.
I snap my fingers and stare them down. “I barely have the patience to live today, and you two might push me over the edge. Speak only when spoken to. Got it.”
They nod as I drop my bag to the ground and look around for what I came to do.
“Okay,” I breathe out, returning my attention to the Double D’s. “Go find someone to turn on the fog machines. Let’s see what’s happening.”
My puppies take off out of the graveyard just as my name is called by the guy from the FX team who works primarily on mechanical aspects, aka these stupid machines. So I point the boys in the right direction and wait.
But I still feel antsy and so on edge. Because it’s not just the almost kiss with Chase. It’s this set, the dark, and being out here without . . . Absolutely not.
If I complete that thought, I’ll need to check directly into a facility that deals with psychosis.
Joe waves at me again, standing with the Double D’s, letting me know he’s ready.
“Let it rip,” I call out, hearing the hiss of the machines as they kick on. It sounds a lot like a big cat hissing as the liquid spits and flows through the hoses.
I wait to see how big the problem is, but I don’t have to wait long because in two seconds flat, it looks like an LA sky.
“Holy shit,” I blurt out. “You made smog, not haze.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Joe calls over to me. “And it doesn’t lessen with fewer machines. It’s all coming out this thick.”
I close my eyes for a moment because I have to remind myself that I am the boss for a reason, but stupid never gets easier. Especially when I’m in the trenches with this Chase hangover.
“Have you tried watering it down?” I say as nonchalantly as possible, hoping my face isn’t giving away how truly stupid Joe is.
“Look, I just poured in the stuff labeled ‘fog juice’ and got smog.”
The heat traveling up my neck reaches my chin as I suck in a breath, ready to blow, but the Double D’s save Joe’s life.
“We’re on it . . . More water, boss, less glycerin.”
I nod, turning around and staring at the gathering fog as my phone buzzes, so I pull it out of my pocket while raising my brows because I can’t even see my feet.
Golds: Missing you. Just checking in to say hello and inform you that hangovers aren’t a thing with Italian wine. Isn’t that crazy . . . we went through three bottles and I feel great today.
I’m scowling, like fully giving my phone the biggest fuck-you my face can muster, my thumbs ready to delete the message, when Devin yells, “No fucking way.”
I startle, my head whipping in his direction, as my phone drops into the abyss of the goddamn fog.
“Motherfu—” I grumble, not finishing the crudeness before I look over to Joe. “Turn it off, please. I just dropped my phone.”
But nobody’s paying attention to me; they’re walking over to the craft services table. What is happening? I look around because I didn’t hear anyone call dinner . . . or whatever the equivalent of that is when 10:00 p.m. is the start of your day.
“Hello?” I yell, but Derek points to the table.
“We got catering.”
“And?” I whisper before letting out an annoyed breath.
My gaze drops back to the pillows of white smoke that hover around my calves. I don’t have feet. Jesus Christ. I squat down, trying to feel around for my phone because I can’t fucking see through the climate crisis they created.
But the moment my hand disappears, my fingers touch wet moss, making me jerk back with a gasp. Fuck. This is like those games at Halloween parties where you had to reach into a bowl and guess what you felt. And it was always peeled grapes labeled as eyeballs.
I loved that, but this . . . knowing there’s real forest under my hand . . . with bugs and shit that live in dirt . . .
“Gross,” I groan but commit to feeling around for the sake of my phone.
My hands find something wet again, but I keep patting around. I blow at the clouds in front of my face, trying to create some kind of path to see, but it’s too thick.
“There are wagyu burgers,” Devin shouts.
I flip him off under the fog, not even looking his way.
“Jesus, how far did this thing bounce,” I whisper, getting down on my knees as I expand my search, crawling around.
“You look like you’re floating,” Derek shouts, and I notice the fog’s covering most of my arms to my shoulders, but I keep sweeping the ground, my hands feeling dirty as the machines still work on overdrive.
“Hey, guys,” I yell. “Can someone turn it off already?”
I don’t wait to see if they heard me, stubbornly determined to find my goddamn phone. “I know you’re here,” I whisper, sliding my hand out and finally feeling something cold and steel. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” I quickly crawl closer, over the cold ground, putting my hand over it.
A smile blooms on my face as I turn it toward everyone surrounding the catering to tell them I found my phone, when suddenly all my breath is sucked out of me and I’m pulled under, enshrouded in darkness under a cloud.
All by a hand gripping my wrist.
But before I can scream, I’m jerked forward, dragged quickly into . . . Oh my god . . . My body lands hard with a thud.
My head shifts side to side quickly, my nails instantly digging into the dirt walls I’m surrounded by. I’m blinking a hundred miles an hour, fight or flight manifesting as freeze because I can’t move or even think.
Because I’m in a shallow grave.
I’ll be buried.
My chest is heaving even though my breath is stuttered and shaky. I’m trembling as fear wracks my body. Every memory, every worry is hitting me like bricks until there’s only one streamlined thought.
Billy’s here. He’s here. And he’s come back to finish the job.
That’s when my chest splits open from the terror that’s been lodged there, and I finally scream.
I scramble to my knees, frantically clawing at the moss and ground as I climb up and out onto my hands and knees. Desperately gasping for air, sucking in the haze surrounding me before pushing to my feet to run.
Because that’s the only thought in my mind.
Run.
My pulse in a full panic as my feet pound against the grass. I’m searching the distance in front of me, my vision blurred by watery eyes and speckled black dots as the scene before me ebbs and flows between present confused faces and a distortion by the past.
Because I’m back at Camp Weonoke. Back to that moment when I thought I would die.
I want to scream, He’s here. He’s back. But even as I open my mouth, nothing comes out. Or maybe it can’t because I think I’m hyperventilating.
Oh my god.
My chest tightens, making me grip it as I stumble, feeling like I may pass out. I don’t know what to do . . . or what’s real . . . until my eyes land on his.
Chase.
He’s here. Pushing past people, his steps picking up the pace as he rushes toward me, catching me as I all but jump into his arms.
My arms wrap around his neck as he grips the back of mine, holding me flush to him.
“Shh. Shh. Shh. Shh,” Chase soothes. “What happened? What’s wrong?” He pulls his head back to try and look at my face, but I’m too panicked to speak. “Evie . . . look at me. Everything’s okay.”
I can’t. The fear is too much. My entire body’s shaking and it feels violent. He tries to pull me back to see my face but I keep it buried because my mind is splintered.