Chapter 18
NOELLE
The room is still echoing from the sound of the gunshot as the actor clutches his bloodied chest and falls to his knees.
My ears are ringing, so I can’t hear his cry of pain. But from the twist of his features, I know what it is.
Crimson blossoms across his chest, faster than I ever could have imagined.
Faster than the special effects we used in the theater.
Faster than anything I’ve seen in the movies.
It pulses out of him, slicking his hands and dripping onto the floor.
Just as quickly, his skin pales from bronze to a ghastly white.
No, he mouths. Please.
He places one bloodied hand on the stage in an attempt to hold himself up. He lifts his head, his agonized gaze locking on Dario’s.
This time, when the injured man speaks, my hearing has come back enough to hear him.
“Please,” he gasps. “I don’t want to die. I’ll do whatever… you want. Just… the hospital… please…”
“You should have thought of that before you refused to play your role,” Dario replies coldly.
“I made it perfectly clear what the consequences would be. It’s your own fault for not listening to me.
” Then Dario glares at the red splotches marring the glossy wood.
“And now I’m going to have to get this cleaned up before we continue. ”
With a snap of his fingers, Dario gestures to a terrified woman standing just off-stage. “You. Clean this up. Now. Before it stains.”
Despite the terror locking my muscles, I take a staggering step towards the young man bleeding to death center-stage.
I don’t know his name, or that of the three other actors on stage with him.
I never got the chance to ask. Dario just dragged me from my concrete holding cell, marched me into this weird little theater, made me change into my costume at gunpoint, and then dragged me onto the stage for the start of the performance.
“A long-awaited performance,” he announced to the cast with a triumphant smile. “Now that I finally have my perfect leading lady, I’m thrilled to say that the show can go on.”
Back then, I still didn’t understand.
I thought Dario was just some crazy guy with a theater obsession.
I thought he was one of those sleazy predators we were warned about in college, the ones who prey on young, aspiring actors only to scam them, or worse, pressure them into having sex in hopes of landing a role.
When I first saw the small cast gathered on stage, I thought they’d been tricked into coming there.
Or that they thought they were part of some experimental performance, and this was all part of it.
But stupid me, I was actually relieved to see them.
I thought, Oh, they’ll see how scared I am.
They’ll realize I’m in trouble and step in to help me.
When Dario introduced me to them, his large hand clamped around my arm and that awful gun pressed against my back, I was a breath away from begging for help.
But Dario anticipated it, laughing as he dug the gun even harder into my skin.
“Oh, Noelle,” he chuckled. “They’re not going to help you.
They know what happens to people who defy me. ”
Then he pointed his gun at one of the actors, who looked like he was about to burst into tears, pee himself, or both, and asked, “What happened to the last person who tried to escape?”
The actor grimaced. His gaze dipped to the stage as he replied quietly, “He was killed. Painfully. Just like what will happen to us if we try anything stupid.”
Even then, I didn’t realize the extent of Dario’s madness.
Kidnappings, secret theaters set up in a basement, guns, talk of killings… I didn’t see how it could get worse.
But now.
There’s a man bleeding to death on stage less than fifteen feet away from me.
My captor has a loaded gun, and he clearly won’t hesitate to use it.
The door to upstairs is locked—Dario made sure to show me first thing when he brought me into the theater—so there’s no escape, even if I wanted to risk being shot.
And if I refuse to play along with his screwed-up production, like the man Dario just shot did?
A shudder runs through me.
If I refuse, I’ll end up just like him.
As the stagehand slash cleaning woman rushes over to clean up the blood, Dario shoves the bleeding actor off the stage. A moment later, there’s a heavy thud, followed by a pained moan.
“Okay,” Dario announces. “Since Hector”—he glares at the man on the ground—“refused to play his part, I need the understudy out here. Now!”
Hector. Not just a nameless actor. Hector.
Hector, who was shot because he refused to play his role in Dario’s homicidal production.
Hector, who was probably kidnapped, like I was.
Hector, who’s probably dying.
A lump lodges in my throat. My already stuffy nose prickles with threatening tears. Panic expands inside me, compressing my heart and lungs. Tremors wrack my body, and I wrap my arms around myself to keep from completely falling apart.
Part of me wants to just give in to the madness. Give myself over to the fear and disconnect from it. Retreat into memories and fantasies that will never become reality.
But Webb.
I know he’s coming. I’m sure of it. Out of the three times I triggered my necklace, one of them had to work. And if he can track me here… He has to be on his way. I just need to hang on until—
What if he doesn’t come in time, the terrified part of me asks. This isn’t an ordinary play, where the actors pretend to die tragically, but then they’re back up to take their final bows.
No. There’s no pretend in this play. When the character dies, it’s real.
That’s why Hector was shot. Because in this play, which I know terrifyingly well, Hector’s character is supposed to stab his friend, causing a long and painful death.
But right before the scene was about to start, Hector refused to do it.
“I can’t,” he declared, tossing the knife to the ground. “I won’t kill him. I won’t.”
So Dario shot him.
“Jesse,” Dario snaps, his attention turning to a twenty-something blonde man cringing by the curtains. “Get over here. You’re playing Hector’s part now. And Paul.” Dario snaps his fingers at the man who narrowly escaped being stabbed. “Stop crying. It’s completely out of character.”
Jesse hesitates for a moment before walking slowly out to center stage. Paul whimpers. When I glance at him, I spot a tear trickling down his cheek.
“Take the knife,” Dario orders. “And don’t even think about trying to use it on me.” He points his gun at Jesse. “Or you’ll be joining Hector down there.”
Jesse takes the knife from Dario, sniffling as he does it. Then he looks at Dario with a pleading expression. “Please,” he begs. “I don’t want to kill anyone. Please don’t make—”
“You will follow the script!” Dario roars.
His gun trains on Jesse’s forehead. “If you fuck this up, I’ll have to find another understudy.
I’ve already waited too long for this performance.
” His voice dips to a low snarl. “If you screw this up, I won’t just shoot you.
Oh, no. I’ll keep you alive for a different role, instead.
How about one where your eyes get ripped out?
Or we could have you chopped up and made into soup. Would you prefer that?”
Jesse recoils. “What?”
Dario lets out an aggrieved sound. Then he turns towards me. “Noelle. You know which plays I’m talking about, don’t you?” When I don’t immediately answer, he barks, “Don't you?”
In a quivering voice, I whisper, “Yes.”
Of course I know the plays Dario’s talking about. After spending a semester in college studying Shakespeare, I’m well aware of the many doomed roles Dario could punish Jesse with.
“And Noelle,” Dario prompts, “I bet you know all the parts I could give Jesse. The ones where the character dies a long and excruciating death. Don’t you?”
One look at Jesse's terrified expression has me shaking my head instinctively. I can’t say it. I don't even want to think it.
“Noelle. Answer my question.”
I take a shuddering breath. Hot tears leak down my cheeks. “Yes.”
“And do you think Jesse would enjoy playing any of those roles?”
“No,” I whisper. “But… please. Don’t—”
“There. You heard it from another professional,” Dario interrupts. He flashes a menacing smile at Jesse. “So. It’s killing Paul here, or a slow and torturous death. Your choice.”
“I don’t want to die!” Paul suddenly shrieks. “This isn’t right!”
“It’s not your choice!” Dario yells. “This is my performance! And you’ll do what I say!”
My feet start moving backwards of their own accord. It’s not that I’m trying to run. Or that I have anywhere to go if I do. Not in this locked-down basement with the unbreakable windows and Dario wielding his gun…
A hand touches my arm, startling me. I look over to see another actor—captive—shaking his head slightly. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “I know what you’re thinking. But Emily tried that last week. He didn’t just kill her. He tortured her. She was begging for death before it ended.”
I shake my head in unthinking denial. “No. This can’t be happening. It can’t.”
Sympathy darkens his gaze. “I didn’t think it could, either.”
“If I do nothing,” I whisper, “I’ll die anyway. We both will.” Because I know how this play ends—with both young lovers tragically taking their lives.
But I don’t want to die at the end of the play. I want a future with Webb.
Still speaking quietly, he replies, “I know.” His shoulders sag. “I know. But if we refuse, he’ll make it worse. Trust me. I’ve seen it.”
“We could—” I swallow my words as Dario flashes a quick glance at me. When he doesn’t see me talking, he goes back to badgering poor Jesse. “We could both take him on,” I whisper. “If we can get the knife…”
“Alright!” Dario announces. “Fortunately, Jesse has seen the error of his ways. Hopefully, we won’t have any further interruptions.” Then he claps his hands. “Now. Back to your places. Let’s get on with this.”