Chapter 36 #2
Willow was bone weary, wondering if she could manage to keep a smile on her face.
She was immediately surrounded by attendees who wanted to congratulate her on her presentation, thank her for attending the conference, or simply have the chance to meet someone whose work they'd admired from afar.
She handled each interaction with gracious professionalism, but the exhaustion grew more pronounced with each conversation.
She glanced over her shoulder, spying Casper just a few feet away. She smiled, glad he recognized that she wanted him close while still allowing her peers access.
"Ms. Thorton, what an honor," said a woman in her fifties who introduced herself as a television producer from Chicago.
"I’m Shonna Barkley, and this is my husband, Tony.
We've been following your work since your Oscar win, and I'd love to discuss a project we're developing that might be perfect for your sensibilities. "
"I'd be happy to have you contact my agent," Willow replied, smiling at the woman and her husband, while lacking the mental energy to engage in a conversation about a project.
A server appeared holding a silver tray with flutes of champagne.
“Oh, champagne! Yes, yes,” the woman exclaimed, her eyes lighting as she reached over to take the two closest glasses.
The woman handed one to her companion, and Willow accepted the last glass of champagne, still managing to keep a small smile on her face, though she could feel herself wilting.
The woman launched into a description of the screenplay idea she had, and Willow sipped the champagne quickly to keep from having to engage in the discussion.
Although in truth, Ms. Barkley hardly stopped talking long enough for anyone to get a word in.
But the cool, bubbly liquid satisfied her parched throat.
She finished the bubbly drink as she continued to nod politely in conversation about potential projects and industry trends.
But within minutes, Willow began to feel lightheaded and woozy.
Her movements seemed to require more effort than usual, and she handed the empty glass to another server passing by.
She struggled to find the right words during what should have been routine professional conversations.
The couple said their goodbyes, promising to contact her agent.
Willow hoped her goodbye sounded normal even though her tongue felt thick and unresponsive.
She hated having pushed herself so hard during the weekend, which added to the accumulated stress of the past weeks.
Her body was giving way to exhaustion. But as she tried to focus on a new screenwriter’s enthusiastic greeting, the room seemed to tilt slightly, and her thoughts were unable to make sense of what the young woman was saying. Something was wrong.
The realization was just beginning to penetrate her foggy consciousness when the building's fire alarm system blared into deafening wails, immediately throwing the cocktail party into chaos.
Emergency lights began flashing, and automated announcements instructed everyone to evacuate the building immediately through the nearest exits.
The orderly cocktail party transformed into a scene of mass confusion as 400 people tried to leave the venue at once. Panic spread through the crowd, with attendees pushing toward the main exits in a dangerous crush of bodies that made her feel even more disoriented and vulnerable.
Through the chaos, she caught glimpses of Casper fighting against the flow of evacuating guests, trying to reach her position, but the crowd's momentum seemed to carry people away faster than anyone could move against it.
Her evening gown tangled around her legs as people jostled past, making it even harder to maintain her balance on unsteady legs.
She tried to call out to him, but her voice seemed weak and the alarm bells drowned out everything else. The flashing emergency lights made everything look surreal and disconnected, like scenes from a nightmare where nothing moved the way it should.
Then she lost sight of Casper completely as a fresh wave of panicked evacuees swept between them, and terror began cutting through the fog in her mind. She was trapped in a crowd of strangers amid chaos.
A gray-haired server appeared beside her suddenly, his grip firm on her arm as he began guiding her away from the main crowd. "This way," he said urgently. "There's a safer exit through the kitchen. It’ll be less crowded."
In her impaired state, his words seemed reasonable, even helpful. But as he pulled her toward a service corridor, some instinct deep in her mind began screaming that this was wrong, that she was walking directly into the trap set for her with such devastating precision.
His fingers dug into her arms, propelling her forward with increasing urgency.
The delicate fabric hem of her evening gown began to tear as he dragged her along the carpeted corridor and through several doorways.
Her high heels snagged as she stumbled on the carpet, sending sharp pains shooting up her ankles.
“Too f…f… fast…” she managed to say, hoping he would slow down.
"You're mine," he said, his voice taking on a possessive tone that chilled her blood. "You've always been mine. My Rose."
The drugs coursing through her system made every movement seem to take too much effort, but terror began cutting through the fog. When her legs gave out completely, he swept her up into his arms, and she instantly felt that this wasn't Casper's familiar, protective embrace.
"Casper?" she mumbled, her tongue thick and unresponsive.
Her captor's grip tightened painfully. "He's nothing. He never deserved you. He didn't wait for you for years like I did. I waited for you to finally see me as more than a brother. You belong to me."
Brother? The word penetrated her drugged consciousness like a knife. I don’t have a brother.
Fighting against the induced stupor with every ounce of strength she possessed, Willow managed to swing her hand at his face with desperate force.
Her fingernails caught on something that felt rubbery, and as they curled in, she tore away part of a facial prosthetic.
With the hall lights still strobing, the torn facial image that met her gaze now glared at her, their gray hair sliding to the side, exposing dark brown.
She screamed for help with what little voice she had left, but the fire alarms drowned out her cries completely.
Through her blurred vision, she caught a glimpse of a face she recognized.
Doug. Doug Malone. Not my brother. Rose’s brother.
The man who had hugged her just days ago in Los Angeles, who had seemed protectively concerned about her safety.
Now he snarled, his lined brow now dripping with sweat. “The kitchen is just a floor below and should be empty by now.” He shoved a stairwell door open with her body in his arms and began carrying her down the concrete steps. His breathing heavy, she heard the air rasping in and out of his lungs.
Her dress was making the process more difficult, and he tripped on the trailing material that caught around his feet. They tumbled down several steps to the landing, and she cried out in pain.
“Goddammit!” he cursed, trying to untangle his limbs from hers and the evening gown that still threatened to make every movement impossible.
He whipped out a pocket knife, and her gaze landed on the blade but her body was unable to stop whatever his intent.
He slashed at her dress’s skirt, shredding the material until he could free her legs.
Then he folded the knife back and shoved it into his pocket as he stood.
“Come on,” he growled, taking her arm in his bruising grip once more.
Pulling her to a stand, she winced at the pain in her ankles and crumpled to the floor.
“No, no,” he screamed. “You need to come with me. This is our chance. Our chance to escape together. Our grand scene… remember?”
The reality of her situation crashed through the hazy mind. This wasn't a stranger obsessed with her teenage character. This was someone she had trusted, someone who had been part of her television career, someone who had twisted their relationship into a dangerous delusion.
The pain in her head intensified, and with drunken movements, she swiped at her forehead.
When her hand moved down, she stared at the red now coating her fingers.
As consciousness began slipping away completely, her last thought was a desperate prayer that Casper would find her. Then the world faded to black.