Page 13 of Romance Is Dead

“Well, that can’t be good.”

The next morning, Brent and I were standing in the foyer of the house, fresh out of hair and makeup.

It was early, the sun just creeping through the windows and suffusing the set with a warm glow.

Scott and the rest of the props crew were bustling around, prepping for the day’s shoot.

And in the dining room to our right, a clean-up crew was scrubbing at the wall where someone had spray-painted graffiti overnight.

“Quick, what are the odds Natasha’s already found some poor PA to fire?” Brent smirked, his black leather jacket and dark jeans a sharp contrast to his usual tees and athletic shorts.

Despite believing this was a very real possibility, I laughed.

The odds game was a relic from a bad vampire movie Brent and I had starred in together two years ago, a way for us to kill time on long days of shooting.

We bet on everything from how many takes our hungover co-stars would blow to how many times our fake fangs would fall out over the course of a day.

Brent usually won because he’d actually taken a statistics class in college while my guesses were based purely on vibes.

“I’d say. . . ninety-two percent,” I wagered. “It’s only day four and we’re already dealing with the death of a crew member and vandalism? Please. She’d need to blow steam somehow.”

“Ninety-two? This is a serious game, Quinn. I give it a solid twenty-three percent chance. Not impossible, but unlikely since Trevor dipped and we’re already down one.”

“Dipped? He didn’t leave — he died!”

“Well, he definitely left this life.”

“That’s awful.” I shoved his shoulder as he winked mischievously.

Things hadn’t always been this cordial between me and Brent.

We first met nearly ten years ago, both of us freshly in our twenties and starring in the same zombie movie.

What started as on-set flirtation quickly led to late-night hookups.

It ended how you’d expect: with Brent hitting on one of the extras and me getting unreasonably jealous.

I may have stolen his guitar and smashed it in front of the entire cast and crew.

All of this made it incredibly awkward when we found ourselves working together again a few years ago.

Thankfully, we’d both gained a little more maturity by then, even if he’d needed it more than me.

The odds game became a way for us to co-exist without expressing blatant contempt for each other.

And eventually, with something resembling friendship.

Chloe and Audrey filed in behind us, the two of them letting out identical gasps when they spotted the mess in the dining room.

“What happened?” Chloe stood on her tiptoes, trying to get a better look around the crew, who were still blocking the graffiti.

“No idea,” I said. “We just got here too.”

“How did someone get in?” Audrey glanced around nervously, like the culprit might still be lurking on set. “I don’t think they’re going to be able to scrub that off — they’ll have to repaint.”

It did look bad. The crew had managed to lighten a few spots, but the pigment was still boldly visible. Tossing their brushes to the ground, they stepped away to take a break, finally revealing what had been painted on the wall.

My heart stuttered. Filling the wall was a symbol, a giant circle with a distorted cross cutting through the middle. Below, in jagged letters, were the words “Run, Rabbit.”

“Ugh!” Chloe grimaced. “That’s creepy.”

“Fucked up,” Brent muttered under his breath.

Audrey only nodded, her mouth opened in a little “o” as she stared at the wall.

While the others were creeped out, I was likely the only one who understood the full significance.

The symbol was from a movie I’d filmed years ago called Hearts Stop .

I played a nurse who’s killed off early in the film, the villain whispering, “Run, rabbit,” before murdering her in the halls of the hospital.

The movie was a cult classic, amassing a dedicated niche following but not widely known by the public.

Whoever did this was obviously familiar with the movie — and considering the significance of the phrase “run, rabbit” it was hard to interpret it as anything but a threat. To me.

Staring at it, goosebumps prickled up the back of my neck.

“You four!” Natasha strode across the dining room from the kitchen, bumping into the crew as she gesticulated vaguely. “Don’t even look at it! We’re proceeding as usual, there’s no use gawking.”

Brent rolled his eyes. “What the fuck’s us looking at it going to do?”

Natasha looked like she was about to go from a seven to a nine on the rage scale, so I hurried to step in. “Where would you like us?”

“In there.” She motioned to the parlor, where the set was ready for filming. “Call time won’t be affected, so you all need to be ready.”

“Do you know who did this?” Chloe murmured.

“How should I know?” Natasha raked a hand through her short, spiky hair. “Someone obviously got in here overnight. Crew swore they locked up, but clearly something was missed.”

Intuition tingled at the back of my mind. We were only four days into filming and things were already going seriously wrong.

“Now go!” Natasha shooed us away. “Go wait over there until we’re ready.”

Twenty minutes later, Teddy had barely stepped foot in the house when I grabbed his arm and tanked him into the kitchen. I pushed him into the breakfast nook, where we’d be shielded in case anyone passed by.

“Damn, Jigsaw, you trying to get me alone?”

Ignoring him, I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Someone’s trying to scare me off.”

“What?”

“The spray paint.” I motioned toward the dining room as I explained the significance of the symbol and phrase. “It’s the killer. They’re warning me to stop investigating, I know it.” I chewed on one of my fingernails, the thought making me uneasy.

“How would they know we’re investigating? We haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I don’t know! But it’s too much of a coincidence not to be intentional.” I glanced behind us, making sure we were still alone. “Also, I found the man in Trevor’s photo.”

“Where?” Teddy peered around the kitchen, as though he expected him to be right there in the room with us.

“Oh my God.” I pressed my eyes closed. “No, I mean I found out who he is.” Quickly, I filled him in on the visit with my dad — the scrapbook, the photo, and my dad’s history with him.

“Wait, your dad was Puzzle Face? The Puzzle Face?”

I nodded impatiently. “Yes, and he said that Scott is a real asshole. He was fired from a movie after attacking someone who ruined a prop. That sounds awfully familiar, don’t you think?”

“You two sound so close. It’s cool that you continued the family business.” Teddy looked impressed, and a little wistful, which was not the reaction I’d been expecting.

“It’s not really a family business, it’s — Never mind.” I took a deep breath, trying to push down my irritation that Teddy seemed more interested in my dad than the very real threat of a murderer. “Did you hear me? We have our first suspect!”

“Oh. Right.” Teddy’s eyes refocused. “So. . . what do we do now?”

“We need to talk to him. Or maybe look around the props trailer for clues? What do they do in all those mystery novels you read?”

“Something to make things worse, usually.”

“Let’s not do that. How about you meet me at my trailer later tonight, around ten? We can try to sneak into the props trailer. Depending on what we find, maybe we can track him down and talk to him.”

“Got it.” He gave two enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Actors to set!” Natasha’s voice cut through the house. “Actors, let’s go!”

We peered around the doorway before leaving the kitchen — the last thing I wanted was someone to see us sneaking around and start a rumor about me and Teddy.

The coast was clear.

Moving into the parlor, I passed the Ouija board sitting on the coffee table and my stomach lurched.

I’d been so focused on telling Teddy about Scott that I’d forgotten which scene we were filming: the seance scene that culminated in me giving Teddy a lap dance.

The one that had resulted in some not-so professional touching, and some very not professional thoughts, the day before.

You’d think I would have realized that rehearsing something meant we’d eventually have to film it, too, but I’d obviously blocked that out.

Natasha wanted to film the dance sequence first, which only spiked my anxiety further. As we ran through the choreography, I tried not to remember the way Teddy’s breath had caught when I straddled his lap, or the way I’d been so tempted to taste his mouth when we drew close.

There was no attraction between me and Teddy, I reminded myself. “My Heart Will Go On” is just a really sexy song. It would make anyone feel like making out.

As Teddy and I hit our marks and waited for Natasha to call action, I tried a new tactic.

Every time we got close or had to touch, I would summon the grossest, worst images from my decades of watching horror films. I tried it as we waited for the cameras to roll, focusing on replaying the pea soup scene from The Exorcist in my head instead of noticing the way Teddy’s mouth tugged up in a playful smile as we made eye contact.

Was he thinking about our rehearsal, too?

Pea soup, pea soup.

“Action!”

I launched into the choreography, this time set to a far more appropriate pop song.

When it came time to run my hand down Teddy’s chest, I pictured Jeff Goldblum transforming into a bug in The Fly instead of noticing the way Teddy’s pecs felt under my trailing fingers.

When I straddled his lap, I imagined the scene from Saw when the main character had to use the titular tool to get himself out of his leg cuffs.

And when Teddy’s hands circled my hips, ever so gently slipping up the back of my shirt, I pulled out the big guns: anything that happened in The Human Centipede .

“Cut!” Natasha straightened up, pulling off her headphones. “We got it.”