Los Angeles Paz
Los Angeles Paz
9:17 a.m. (Pacific Daylight Time)
I have no idea if Orion Pagan hates me or not, but I’m about to find out.
In the almost ten years since Dad killed Valentino, I’ve been in the same room with Orion only twice. The first time was during
my trial, when Orion took the stand and called my dad a monster. The second time was when Orion came to LA on his book tour
last November and I was next in line to meet him when I got nervous and left. Orion has never reached out to me, not even
when the docuseries had everyone on the internet dragging me. I get Orion hating Dad, but why would he hate me? If anything,
shouldn’t he thank me?
I’m the reason Valentino’s murderer is dead.
I can’t believe Orion flew out from New York for this audition. No, I can’t believe I’m stupid enough to be surprised by Orion flying out here for the audition. This story means everything to him. He even wrote the screenplay himself because he didn’t want Hollywood bastardizing the material like we’ve seen happen to too many great books. Of course Orion is gonna make sure that the actor playing his magical self-insert is the right person.
“What’s up,” Orion says, greeting me with a hand on his heart, the heart that he received from a transplant after Valentino
was declared brain-dead because my dad kicked him down a flight of stairs for trying to save my mom.
If only I had been a little bit faster with getting the gun—
“Howie?” Orion asks.
At first I think Orion is questioning my identity, but he’s actually just getting my attention.
“Sorry, I’m just nervous. I didn’t know you were gonna be here. I love your book.”
The lie is kind of true, but I’m genuinely more nervous about Orion recognizing me for who I really am than I am about the
audition.
“That means a lot,” Orion says, hand on his heart again. “We’ve seen thousands of people for this role, and your self-tape
legit blew us away. I seriously got chills watching you become Orson. Your performance was so grounded and haunting.”
The casting director nods. “You have a raw power of emotion that’s hard to find in young talent these days,” Wren says.
“Don’t be nervous,” Orion says. “You got this.”
“Don’t be nervous about this either,” Zen says as he takes his mark with a knife in his hand. “It’s just a prop.”
Okay, so no one here knows who I really am, which is great, but I really gotta act my ass off before, during, and after this audition if I’m gonna get cast as Death. I’ll come clean to Orion once I book the job . . . or maybe after I sign the contract . . . or when we’re on set . . . or done shooting . . . or during the premiere’s red carpet . . . or I’ll take it to my grave and be buried as Howie Medina.
“When you’re ready,” Wren says.
The scene for our chemistry test is one of my favorites from the book.
I get into the right headspace by using the “moment before” technique, where I break down everything I—Death—was doing before
this scene begins: I appeared in this forest to claim the soul of an orphan girl Vale had been taking care of after her parents
were killed in a war, and when Vale’s pleas for me to not take the girl failed, it leads to this moment where my scene with
Zen opens. Zen transforms into Vale—his posture slouching like he’s carrying the weight of the world, his breath building
as his blue eyes become oceans, and his hands shaking as he plunges the knife straight into his heart. The fake blade retracts
into the handle, but I’m not an actor seeing a prop or a suicidal guy who wishes his reflexes would shut down so he could
kill himself the same way. I’m Death watching the Immortal attempt suicide, my head cocked as I imagine the golden lights
emanating from his heart.
Vale throws the knife across the forest and falls to his knees, crying.
“Stop taunting me, Immortal,” I sneer.
“I am not taunting you. I am begging you to take me.”
There are hundreds of other souls waiting to be claimed by me as I hover over the Immortal, all threatening to turn into violent ghosts the longer they remain in this plane, but I cannot understand how this boy continues to defy my grasp. I kneel before him and hold his face, shivering even though he is warm. I cannot carry him into the afterlife. He is hyperventilating because he does not know why this is happening to him, but if it is not my responsibility to comfort the dead, I certainly do not have to tend to an immortal who cannot breathe when he will survive this just as he has drownings in oceans and plummets from tall towers and now knives to the heart. I am ready to depart when he asks if this is happening because of the eclipse. The same eclipse that made me Death. It is strange that our journeys as extraordinary beings began on the same day, but it is also less lonely. The universe may have gifted Vale with immortality because his life was threatened by unloving parents, but it does not feel that way to me.
“To kill oneself only to be anchored to eternal life is punishment,” I say.
“Living is painful, but it does not have to be a curse.”
“I am not living. I am Death,” I say, turning away to go vanish into the shadows.
The Immortal grabs my hand, his touch now burning. “Becoming Death does not mean you do not deserve this second chance at
life. I am terrified of walking this world alone. If we are to cross each other’s paths forever, perhaps we can get to know
one another.”
I stare down at our hands. It feels nice to be touched, to be wanted, but there is no way this will end well. If I have not always been Death and he has not always been the Immortal, that must mean that something will go terribly wrong here. I will not make the same mistakes of having my heart broken.
“I am not alive, and I will not fall into the trappings of life,” I say, snatching my hand out of his. I look the Immortal
up and down before turning my back on him, knowing that I will not be able to stay away from this soul, whose company I will
miss if I ever carried him into the afterlife.
Then applause rings through the air. The forest turns back into a studio. Vale changes back into Zen. And I become myself
again.
“Holy shit!” Orion shouts over his own clapping. “Guys, that was fucking amazing—excuse my language—no, fuck that, I said
what I said!”
“You were locked in,” Zen says, patting my back like he’s impressed.
I honestly feel like I disassociated and became the character. I’m still sinking back into myself. I’m Paz, I’m nineteen,
and I’m an actor who just crushed this audition.
“Off-the-charts chemistry, guys,” Orion says, and the casting director agrees.
“I mean, we’re kind of a destined match. Our names mean peace,” I say.
Zen looks puzzled. “Howie means peace?”
I tense up. I just said something really stupid and career-costing. Orion is no longer looking at me like I’m the perfect casting for Death and instead like I’m a plot point he’s working out in his book. Does Orion know Spanish? Would he know that my name, my real name, actually means peace? I gotta distract from this.
“I mean, no, your name means peace and calm and all that,” I tell Zen, flustered. “But my name has a lot of meanings. My favorite
is ‘heart brave.’ That feels so perfect for this story, right?” I only know that because Howie Maldonado told me.
“Totally perfect,” Zen says. He’s looking at me like I’m just an awkward actor again.
Orion isn’t as sold on that performance, but the casting director is, so she excuses me, letting me know that she’ll be in
touch one way or the other.
“Thank you for your time,” I say, rushing out before Orion can solve the mystery.
I’m waiting for the elevator, pressing the button a thousand times to make it go faster, when Orion steps out into the hall
and shouts, “Hold up!”
I can’t run away, not even when the elevator doors finally open. “Hey, Orion.”
“Dude, your performance was seriously phenomenal. It’s kind of an author’s dream come true to watch a character so personal
brought to life so beautifully.”
Wait. Am I about to get an offer?
My heart is pounding. “I’m so honored, I would kill for the chance to play this role.”
“You sort of have,” Orion says. “Didn’t you, Paz?”