Chapter 35 It’s game over!
It’s game over!
Josie
Hugo: The jig is up, Savannah Bateman. Call me.
“I need some air.” I lurch for the staircase, no longer interested in Sean’s illegal white tiger or alien autopsy lab or whatever else it is he’s hiding in that “storage” room. I have bigger problems.
“What’s wrong?” Sean asks, chasing me down the stairs.
My shaking hands pass him the phone as I escape out the front door and pace the mansion’s threshold while he reads.
“You’ve got this,” Sean says in a voice so firm and assertive that it’s never been clearer why they made him captain. He captures my shoulders to stop my pacing and presses the phone into my hand. “Call him.”
“What? Like right now?”
“Call him,” he repeats. “You control the narrative, remember?”
“I’m not very good at that!”
“Well, I’m here now. I’ll help you.”
I pull up the phone screen. It’s too bright. It’s burning my retinas. Hugo Valencia knows who I am! It’s game over! It really is!
When it becomes clear that I’m trapped in a panic loop, Sean reaches over and taps the CALL icon for me and then SPEAKER. The phone rings once before Hugo picks up.
“Bueno.”
English, Sean mouths at me, frowning and crossing his arms over his Han Solo vest.
“Hugo, hello,” I say. Sean gives me a quick, encouraging nod, so I keep going. “I got your message.”
“Ah, Josie.” The Jabba-the-Hutt chuckle. “Or should I call you Savannah?”
I wince internally at the sound of my name. “How did you find out?”
“I thought you might ask that. It’s easier to show than tell.”
A download symbol appears on my phone. The image that loads is a screenshot of a social media post by the Ferris wheel worker in Vegas. The text reads: Look who I ran into at work!!! Our selfie is there. Our names are hashtagged. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing incriminating about it at all.
“I don’t understand.”
“Look closer.”
My face is almost totally obscured by the beard and glasses. I’m not wearing a sign that says, HEY, EVERYONE, I’M REALLY SAVANNAH BATEMAN. So, what is it?
Sean, who’s been scanning the image over my shoulder, groans quietly and points to himself in the photo. I pinch the screen to zoom in, and sure enough, there’s a newspaper article visible on the phone screen in his hand—the one about Chuy.
Oh no. “I knew there was something familiar about you!” Hugo’s voice buzzes with excitement.
“Who else have you told?” I ask, teeth chattering even though it’s a balmy sixty-nine degrees.
“No one.”
Hope swells in my chest. “No one?”
“No one yet. I have to figure out how to roll this out. Luckily, with el Día de los Muertos around the corner, it’s perfect timing!”
“What do you want, Hugo?” Sean cuts in, his tone laden. “Money?”
Hugo chuckles again. “That must be the dashing Mr. O’Sullivan. How are you, sir? And to answer your question, no, I don’t want money. I’m not an extortionist. I’m a talk show host. I deal in information, especially exclusive information. And it seems your girlfriend has been holding out on me.”
“She didn’t hold out on you. The way I see it, you’re the one breaking the deal. You promised you’d leave Josie’s past alone, and here you are, ready to dox her without hesitation. I wonder how your future sources will feel about that.” He points at me, forms a fist, and shakes it.
Control the narrative—right! “He’s right, Hugo. I held up my end of the bargain. I expect you to hold up yours.”
“I’m afraid that deal’s off the table,” Hugo replies in a somber tone. “I’ve been chasing this story for over a decade. And the people deserve answers. Where is the puppet, Savannah? What did you do with Chuy?”
Prickles break out all over my skin like I’m being bitten by some variety of California no-see-ums. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes to keep from crying. It’s hard to do while holding a phone, but Sean ends that problem by taking it from me.
“Everyone’s got a price, Hugo,” he says. “Name yours.”
“This story is going to get out whether I break it or not. I’m not the only one with access to that photo, so you might as well tell me.”
My distress must be written all over my face because Sean pulls his shoulders back and uses his anything’s-possible voice. “Look. We can make this a win-win. Keep this quiet, and we’ll give you a story, Hugo—a story so big no one will care about Josie’s past.”
“What?” Hugo chuckles. “Are you going to propose to her?”
Some part of my digestive tract leaps into my throat, but Sean shrugs his shoulders at me like he’s actually considering it. “What do you think? We don’t have to go through with it.”
“That’s your advice?” I sputter. “That I don a wedding dress and take a lap?”
“I don’t understand the big deal,” Sean shoots back in exasperation. “Who cares that much about a stupid old puppet?”
“Eh, it’s all in how you spin it,” Hugo admits. “But I have a lot of years invested in the Bring Back Chuy movement, and I’m not going to quit now that the prize is right on my doorstep. I know you know where Chuy is, Savannah, and you’re going to tell me.”
Sean mutes the phone. “Why don’t you just tell him? I’m sure it’ll blow over in no time.”
“I can’t,” I shoot back. “If this gets out, I’ll get canceled again, and Castillo Studios will take the brunt of it. It might even sour this crossover opportunity with Lost Star. I mean, who wants to partner with a studio that’s mired in bad press?”
“We’ll control the narrative,” Sean insists.
“We can’t control everything, Sean.”
“Sure, we can.”
“No, we can’t. Too many people are involved. Too much is at stake. This isn’t something you can fix.”
“If you don’t want to answer, perhaps I should just go ahead and break this story right now,” Hugo goes on, responding to our silence. “I may not have Chuy, but I have you, Savannah. With enough pressure, you will eventually cave.”
He’s right. If Hugo outs me, there’ll be no point in hiding Chuy’s whereabouts. But there is a way I can control the narrative that will protect the people I love. It’s the only thing that will work. The only thing that ever works: I have to disappear. Again.
I take the phone from Sean’s hand and unmute it. “Okay, Hugo, you win. I’ll give you Chuy, but on one condition: You don’t mention Savannah Bateman. You never saw me. I was never here. You found him on your own.”
Sean’s lips part in impressed surprise.
“But you’re an essential part of the story,” Hugo argues.
“I don’t have to be. Hugo Valencia solves decade-long mystery, locates beloved missing puppet has a nice ring to it, no? Maybe you got an anonymous tip or had a revelation looking through some cold case files. Spin it however you want.”
“Hmm,” Hugo hems.
“And to sweeten the deal, I’ll give you one last exclusive before you break the Chuy story.
Josie Days’s swan song. I’ll tell you all about my whirlwind romance with Sean O’Sullivan.
How we fell madly in love, and then it ended just as abruptly.
It was…”—I lock eyes with Sean as my insides wilt—“truly tragic.”
Sean shakes his head no, eyes wide.
“And then you’ll turn Chuy over to me?”
“I’ll tell you where to find him,” I promise, halting Sean’s wordless protests with a raised palm.
“But only after I’m out of the picture. No one needs to connect Josie Days with Chuy’s comeback, and once she’s out of the limelight, there’s very little chance they ever will.
In fact, it won’t be long before everyone forgets about her entirely.
” A rogue tear tickles my cheek, and I swipe it away as Sean’s expression transitions from despair to resignation. “It’ll be like she never existed.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Hugo replies.
Not good enough. I have to control this narrative.
“Come on, Hugo,” I press. “I know you don’t want Castillo Studios to suffer any more than it already has.
A win for Más Allá de las Estrellas is a win for Mexican television and Mexico itself, and you get that.
I know you do.” I pause and add one more thing, just in case, because although I don’t know Hugo that well, I do know people.
“Go on, Hugo, let yourself be the hero. Bring Chuy back to the world. You deserve nice things, too.”
The line is quiet. The October wind tousles Sean’s hair as he watches me, tight-jawed and grim in that Han Solo vest. Behind him, a sky full of stars glitters like the broken shards of all our possible futures. I swear it’s a scene right out of a movie.
“All right, then,” Hugo acquiesces. “It’s a deal. You’ll be the special guests on my show tomorrow evening.”
“Friday,” Sean interrupts. He clears his throat and finds his Captain Footwork voice. “Tomorrow, I’ll be taking Josie on a real date, just the two of us, so we can say our goodbyes. Surely you won’t begrudge us that?”
Hugo agrees, and when Sean hangs up, his small, pained smile threatens to snap me in two. I expect him to argue with me. To beg me not to end things between us. To tell me he’s got a better plan.
Instead he says, “So, you said you liked Hamilton, right?”