Page 14 of Romance Is Dead

Thanking the gods above, I jumped off Teddy and rushed off set. I’d managed to film the scene in just one take, and hadn’t fixated on Teddy’s physique — or the way he’d been touching me — once. Nope, I definitely wasn’t thinking about it at all.

Maybe horror was still good for something after all.

Thwack, thwack, thwack.

The knock at my trailer door came just after ten.

I padded quickly across the floor, twisting the door’s handle with an almost imperceptible click.

Teddy stood at the bottom of the steps, hands clasped behind his back.

But instead of blending into the night as we’d agreed upon, he wore charcoal gray joggers, black sneakers, and a bright orange tee-shirt, vibrantly visible even in the pitch black.

“What are you wearing?” I hissed.

He stared at me a moment before glancing down at his shirt. “What?”

I motioned to my own outfit — black shoes, black leggings, and a black crew-neck sweatshirt. I’d debated a black balaclava, but ultimately decided against it.

“We’re supposed to be inconspicuous.” I stared dubiously at his shirt, which was all but glowing in the dark.

“Well, I didn’t have anything black. Besides the shoes.”

“Oh my God, get in here.”

As Teddy hopped up the stairs and followed me back inside, I retreated to the tiny bedroom to rifle through what few spare clothes I’d stashed away for emergencies.

Reaching the bottom of the drawer, the only thing I could find was an oversized black tee-shirt with the silhouette of a cat with a mohawk on it.

“Here.” I tossed it to him as I entered the living area. “Try that.”

He caught it, glancing at it with distaste. “There’s no way that’s gonna fit.”

“You won’t know until you try.” I shrugged. “Should have come prepared instead of showing up looking like a fluorescent tangerine.”

Sighing, Teddy gripped the bottom of his shirt and yanked it over his head, revealing rippling abs and chiseled pecs.

I averted my eyes, trying not to look. But the moon was angling through the window just right, highlighting his broad shoulders and taut biceps as he roughly pulled my tee-shirt down over his torso.

I imagined slipping my thumbs beneath the waistband of his joggers, pushing him back onto the sofa, and climbing onto his lap.

I shook my head, physically trying to clear it.

“What?” Teddy groaned. “I told you it wouldn’t fit.” He’d managed to get the shirt on, but the armholes were so strained I was shocked they hadn’t ripped, and the hem hadn’t made it down past his belly button.

I smothered a laugh with my hand. “You look great.”

“I look ridiculous.”

“No, that look was very popular when I was in middle school. You just need a belly button ring and you’ll be set.”

“I hate you.”

“At least you and your hate will blend into the surroundings now.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight, and the trailer suddenly felt very small, and very dark, and we were very alone. Once again, images of us on the couch flashed in my head. This time, Teddy easing the straps of my bra down my arms, his head dipping to press his mouth against —

“Anyway.” I cleared my throat. “Let me grab you something else. I think I have an old sweatshirt somewhere.” I returned to the bedroom and rustled around until I found it, an oversized crewneck with a Boston Red Sox logo emblazoned on the front.

“Here you go.”

Teddy eyed it skeptically. “This isn’t from one of your exes, is it?”

“Yeah. You can keep it — honestly, I don’t want it.”

“I’d rather not, thanks.” He held it by the tips of his fingers, looking even less enthused than he was about the tiny tee-shirt.

“Hurry up! We have to get going.”

Mutinously, he glared at me before slipping it over his head.

We crept outside and tiptoed through base camp, the moon illuminating our path as we made our way toward the props trailer.

It was a long walk — the trailer was located next to the set house, and at this time of night there was no PA in a golf cart to shuttle us.

The air was chilly, a breeze ruffling my hair and cutting through my sweatshirt with ease.

Teddy and I didn’t talk much along the way. Everyone was most likely back at the hotel, but you never knew — there could have been a late-night wardrobe emergency that needed attending to or a problem with logistics that had to be discussed.

Or there could be a murderer on the prowl, looking for their next victim.

As we finally made it to the trailer, a rare twinge of nerves snaked through my stomach. How would we explain ourselves if Scott caught us? And what, precisely, were we going to do once we got inside?

“Psst,” I hissed, grabbing Teddy’s arm. “Wait.”

“What’s up?”

“We should have a plan before we get inside.”

“Ok, uh. I don’t have one.”

“You were supposed to help me with this! I help you not suck so much at acting and you help me catch a killer.”

“We’re not even sure this was a murder! Scott could just be a weird dude who’s unreasonably passionate about lamps.”

“We’ve been over this! We at least need to find out what he knows.”

“Alright, uh. . .” Teddy ran a hand through his hair as he glanced toward the trailer. “We’re looking for clues, right? So let’s poke around and see if we find anything interesting.”

“I figured as much.”

“I wasn’t finished!”

“Ok, fine, finish.”

“So we go inside, and then” — he looked at me dramatically — “we look for anything that could tie him to the crime.”

I sighed. “You don’t say?”

“A written confession would be great, but bloody clothes or a murder weapon would also work.”

I rubbed my temples. This was going nowhere fast.

Motioning for Teddy to follow me, I approached the trailer.

The door at the back end was locked, and a quick peek through the window didn’t net much information.

All we could see were piles of junk — smaller items like alcohol bottles, a radio, and a Ouija board were lined on rows of shelves, while bigger props like chairs and an oddly large number of bikes were piled on the floor.

Tiptoeing through the grass, we moved to the door at the other end of the structure. A light shone through the window above, and I could hear whispers of classical music.

“He’s in there!” Excitement pumped through my blood and I hurried toward the door, eager to see what he was up to. I hadn’t made it two steps when Teddy grabbed the back of my shirt, yanking me to a stop.

“Wait.” Teddy gripped my arm, rooting me in place. “You could be sneaking up on a killer!”

“Weren’t you just saying you didn’t even think this was a murder? Let go.”

Reluctantly, Teddy released my arm. “I just don’t think we should be rushing into anything. We need to be careful.”

“Fine. I’ll carefully go spying.” I continued, slower this time, as Teddy trailed after me, grumbling. Standing to the side of the door, I carefully peered through the window.

Just like we’d suspected, Scott was inside.

He stood at a makeshift workstation that had been pushed into the corner, complete with a workbench and lamp with a flexible neck for precise positioning.

A radio sat alongside a bottle of paint, glue, and various solvents.

Scott was facing away from us, bent over the bench.

I assumed he was working on some kind of prop, but he was blocking the view and it was impossible to see what, exactly, it was.

“It’s him,” I confirmed to Teddy, who was hunched out of sight of the window.

“What’s he doing?”

“Working on something.”

“On what?”

Irritation sparked. “You know, I think he’s working on a murder right here as we speak.

” I peeked back through the window, hopeful that Scott would shift enough to allow me to see his project.

He was still crouched over, his arm moving in small, precise movements, clearly working at something delicate.

Come on , I thought. Get the hell out of the way!

Seemingly satisfied, Scott eased back on the stool. He shifted to the side, cocking his head as he examined his work. Only as he moved to get a better look did he finally reveal what he’d been so absorbed in.

A severed human head sat on the bench, eyes staring and mouth agape.

Unable to stifle my scream, I hollered as I wheeled back, my heart hammering as I braced myself against the side of the trailer.

“What happened?” Teddy moved between me and the door, grabbing my hips with both of his hands as he moved me out of the way.

The unexpected contact took me off guard, and for a moment I forgot that mere seconds ago I’d been staring at a head on a desk.

His fingertips pressed into my skin, the touch firm and protective.

Soothing. But it just as quickly came back to me — the terrible staring eyes and the way Scott had reached for his weapon.

“There’s a head,” I gulped. “On the bench.”

Teddy’s eyes widened. He released my hips, instead sliding an arm around my waist as he pulled me away from the trailer. “We’re going. Now.”

But we didn’t have the chance. A second later, the door flew open. Scott stepped out, his eyes wild as he brandished a scythe high above his head, its blade glinting in the moonlight.