Epilogue Reyna
Ten years later
“Take deep breaths and—”
“Stop telling me to calm down,” I snap at Maddox. “I’m calm.”
I’m going to throw up.
“Yes, you look like the very definition of calm.”
He snatches my hand when I raise it to my lips to let loose on my poor fingernails. It’s a habit I’ve picked up since I started this project three years ago.
Death Touched has consumed every second of my life recently. I feel ill thinking about everyone who’s going to watch it, and the reviews they’ll leave afterward.
Right after I graduated, Maddox slapped a ring on my finger, and we moved to California when I got a job as a runner for a TV show. Then many, many more assisting roles later, I managed to score a gig writing the screenplay for a box-office horror.
Fast forward to today, and my name is listed as director of Death Touched on IMDb. It may not be a box-office hit, but it’s still my name there in shining lights.
I didn’t expect that I’d direct anything that’s even remotely romantic, and yet here I am, about to attend the premiere of a movie about a serial killer who falls in love with his victim. It’s truly a wonder where I got my inspiration from.
Leaning against the headrest of the limo, I fidget with the bracelet Mom used to wear. I wanted her to be here for my official debut.
“Everyone’s going to love it,” Maddox repeats for what has to be the millionth time.
“I love you, and your opinion means the world to me. But you’re biased. Nothing you’re saying counts.”
He chuckles, unbuckles my seatbelt, and pulls me onto his lap. I frantically swing my gaze to the front of the limo to make sure the divider is still up.
“If anyone says anything negative, I can always kill them,” he offers.
I hit his chest. “You can’t go around killing people for having an opinion.”
Shrugging, he kisses my shoulder. “I’d do it for you.”
I squeeze his hand because if I don’t, I’ll rip the skin from around my nails. I need a drink. ASAP. I settle for distracting myself by caressing the gray hairs that have started growing around Maddox’s temples. I shouldn’t be surprised that my old professor aged so well.
Minutes later, we pull up in front of the theater hosting the premiere. Photographers are already out front taking pictures of the cast and the various A- and B-list celebrities who wanted to attend for some reason.
Maddox steps out first, offering me his hand. The paparazzi go wild when they realize who’s arrived. For a moment, I’m sure they’ll start shouting for Maddox since he’s been making headlines and has quickly risen through the art world, becoming as big of a name as Basquiat.
No one has ever particularly cared about my existence during premieres. It’s fine by me because I prefer being behind a camera to let someone else have their moment of fame.
But no one is calling for Maddox this time. They’re all saying my name. Even the cast and crew wave at me.
It’s heady.
And downright nauseating.
Maddox gives my hand a comforting squeeze, and I plaster a smile on my face that hurts my cheeks. I’ll never get used to posing in front of cameras or making small talk with strangers.
Beneath all the anxiety and panic, the elation whips the breath right out of my lungs. This is really happening. I know Mom is here with me in spirit, hanging around wherever Dad is, and telling all her ghost buddies that her daughter is a famous director.
I breathe a little easier once the cameras are away and there isn’t so much commotion going on.
Until the air is sucker punched out of me, and I’m bulldozed into Maddox.
The high-pitched scream that follows pierces my eardrum and rattles my brain against my skull.
I’m yanked right back to where I was only to be gut-punched by a baby bump.
People glance our way as Kimi starts yelling, “This is my best friend.”
My cheeks burn from how much she’s beaming. Owen pries her off me before she can do any more damage or rip my stupidly expensive dress.
“You fucking did it, bitch,” she squeals. “If it weren’t for this”—she points to her very pregnant stomach—“we’d be getting blackout drunk tonight.”
“I’m excited for bed,” I grumble through my grin.
Before Kimi can say any more, I’m crushed into a hug that realigns my vertebrae with a click. Dad lets go of me just as quickly, stepping back and fixing his mask into place.
He clears his throat. “Your mom would be very proud of you. I’m proud of you.”
Oh God, I think I’m going to cry.
Kimi rushes forward to fan my eyes. “We can’t ruin your makeup.”
I laugh, taking in everyone who’s supported me every step of the way and who became my family when Mom died.
Someone else calls my name, and Maddox follows close behind while I talk to them. He’s forever playing bodyguard.
The room grows louder the more the drinks flow.
My face hurts so much from smiling and laughing with the people I worked with to turn my dream into a reality.
Most of the cast stays behind as we head into the theater to watch the movie Maddox and I have seen a hundred times.
Kimi, Owen, and Dad sit at the back amongst people I don’t know, while Maddox stays by my side, occasionally giving my hand a gentle caress as a silent reminder that he always has my back.
As the movie starts, I genuinely think I might die. I’m not sure how I’ll cope if someone walks out.
Maddox leans over right before the serial killer murders his first victim. “I forgot to ask if you credited me at the end.”
I send a glare his way, biting my lip to contain the grin spreading across my face. Every person who’s seen this scene has praised its delivery—it’s the one I took the most control over. I wanted every minute detail to be perfected to the image I had in mind—and Maddox delivered.
Several people died in my creative pursuit. Whenever inspiration strikes, Maddox tracks down one of the subjects he’d been eyeing and carries the kill out in my vision. Then he brings me over to admire the aftermath of our art. What’s a bit of love, lust, and light dismemberment?
We’re a match made in a nightmare. Maddox and I work well together.
I’m his muse, and he’s mine.
I’ve always been fascinated by death.
It’s a good thing I’ve married a serial killer.