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“This is new,” Danielle says, resting her bag on the table. “I got all excited because I thought I’d be the first one here.”
“No work today,” I say, dancing my fingers across my closed laptop, finding it hard to control my anticipation. “Nowhere else to be.”
My heart is fluttering. Tonight’s meeting isn’t just about exposing Marley and proving myself right; it’s about taking back control of my own story. For years, the black hearts stalker has maintained leverage over me, ruining my relationships and opportunities. And I’ve let them, acted like some weak-minded character in whatever narrative they created. Now I’m the onedeciding what happens next. After tonight, no one will think I’m crazy or paranoid.
Danielle leans back in the booth, crossing both arms over her chest. “Working on anything new?”
“Yes, actually,” I say with pride. “I have a new story I can’t wait to share.”
“A new story?” Victoria says, walking up behind me. She unwraps the thick scarf around her neck. “That’s exciting.”
I don’t plan on sharing my latest addition toThe Mistake. My purpose for this evening’s meeting is to share a story where I can control the aftermath.
“An idea came to me,” I say, pulling out my laptop. “I’m thinking this could be the start of a new book.”
“How exciting!” Victoria says, eyeing the menu for this evening’s specials.
“Maybe it’ll inspire me,” Danielle adds. “I don’t have anything new this week.”
We continue our small talk while we order drinks and appetizers. Eventually April arrives, apologizing for being late, and then finally, Marley. It’s all I can do to not start reading my hastily written story right away, but I wait; I don’t want to appear too eager. So, I listen as Victoria shares an excerpt from her latest book. It’s an interesting scene about a police interrogation, but no notable crimes take place. The tension inside my body unwinds, knowing there won’t be any other crimes I have to worry about preventing.
“Danielle?” Victoria says, after she finishes. “Anything you want to share?”
“Just an observer tonight,” she says. “Becca said she’s been working on something new.”
“That’s right,” Victoria says. “Go ahead, Becca. Tell us all about this new story?”
I must calm myself as I begin reading. “I got this idea the other night when I was walking home from work and crossed by Banyon’s Bridge.”
Banyon’s Bridge is in the center of downtown Whitaker. It hovers above the roaring river that snakes its way through the business district. The bridge receives a lot of foot traffic, especially on nights and weekends, because there are many local restaurants and pubs in the area. Really, in all of Whitaker, there’s only a few lively spots. Right outside WU, where we currently are, the other half of downtown where Mario’s Pizzeria is located, and the strip of establishments near Banyon’s Bridge.
“Cute,” Victoria says. “I love a story inspired by a local setting.”
I begin reading the story I crafted only a few hours ago. It’s about a man being pushed over Banyon’s Bridge by a sadistic passerby. It was hastily thrown together, and, stealing a page out of Marley’s book, I even took some of the plot points from stories online. I have no interest in writing a compelling story. Instead, what I’m doing is setting a trap, hoping whoever is behind this, the most likely culprit being Marley, will arrive at Banyon’s Bridge later tonight to take the story into her own hands.
I made sure to make the setting winter and specified that the murder took place on a Monday night at midnight. If someone is trying to use the stories in our group as an inspiration for murder, I’ve given them the perfect setup. I will no longer be at the mercy of the black hearts or Marley’s re-enactments. For once, I’m one step ahead, and that gives me a sense of authority I haven’t felt in a long time.
When I finish reading, the rest of the group applauds, as they always do.
“Looks like you were able to shake off your brain fog from last week,” Danielle says.
“That was excellent,” April agrees.
“I just needed to reflect.”
“I told you taking a break is part of the writing process,” Victoria says. “And you’ve come back with a really chilling story.”
I angle to face Marley, waiting for her reaction. “What about you? Did you come up with anything new this week?”
“Not this week,” she says, plainly. “Still struggling.”
“Two weeks in a row?”
“I guessRosebudreally took it out of me,” she says, her smile falling flat. Just as quickly, her eyes light up again. “Good thing I have the rest of you to inspire me with all your talent. So, who’s next?”
“I’ll go,” April says. “Like Becca, I needed a couple of days to recharge.”
She begins reading her story (about another lackluster husband, surprise surprise), and the rest of the group listens. As the minutes pass, I find it harder to follow what she’s saying. I’m too busy eyeing the members of the group, especially Marley, replaying my own writing about Banyon’s Bridge.