I Know a Secret

Five

Amber voorhees had violet-streaked blond hair and polished black fingernails, but it was the nose ring that most unsettled Jane. As Amber sobbed, threads of snot hung from that gold hoop, and she kept dabbing at it delicately with tissue to catch the drips. Her colleagues Travis Chang and Ben Farney weren’t crying, but they seemed just as shocked and devastated by the news of Cassandra Coyle’s death. All three filmmakers wore T-shirts and hoodies and ripped jeans, the uniform of young hipsters, and none of them looked as if they’d combed their hair in days. Judging by the locker-room smell of the studio, they hadn’t showered in days either. Every horizontal surface in the room was covered by pizza boxes, empty cans of Red Bull, and scattered pages from their film script. On the video monitor, a scene from their work-in-progress was playing: a blond teenager, sobbing and stumbling through dark woods, fleeing from some relentless and shadowy killer.

Travis abruptly turned to the computer and paused the video. The image of the killer froze onscreen, an ominous shadow framed between trees. “Fuck,” he groaned. “I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe this.”

Amber wrapped her arms around Travis, and the young man gave a sob. Now Ben joined the hug and the three filmmakers clung to one another for a moment, their three-way embrace backlit by the glow from the computer monitor.

Jane glanced at Frost and saw him blink away a brief sheen of tears. Grief was contagious, and Frost had no immunity to it, even after years of delivering bad news and watching the recipients crumble. Cops were like terrorists. They tossed devastating bombs into the lives of victims’ friends and families, and then they stood around to watch the damage they’d done.

Travis was first to pull away from the hug. He crossed to a sagging sofa, sank onto the cushions, and dropped his head in his hands. “God, just yesterday she was here. She was sitting right here.”

“I knew there was a reason she stopped answering my texts,” said Amber, sniffling into her tissue. “When she went silent, I figured it was ’cause she was stressing out over her dad.”

“When did she stop answering texts?” Jane asked. “Can you check your phone?”

Amber hunted around under the scattered script pages and finally uncovered her cell phone. She scrolled back through her messages. “I texted her last night, around two A.M. She didn’t answer.”

“Would you expect her to, at two A.M.?”

“Yeah, actually. At this stage of the project.”

“We’ve been pulling all-nighters,” said Ben. He too dropped onto the sofa and rubbed his face. “We were up till three, editing the film. None of us even bothered to go home, just crashed right here.” He nodded at the sleeping bags wadded up in the corner.

“All three of you spent the night here?”

Ben nodded again. “We’re under the gun because of deadlines. Cassie would’ve been working with us too, except she needed to pull herself together before she met her dad. Something she was definitely not looking forward to.”

“What time did she leave here yesterday?” Jane asked.

“Around six, maybe?” Ben asked his colleagues, who both nodded.

“The pizzas had just been delivered,” said Amber. “Cassie didn’t stay to eat. Said she was going to get something on her own, so the three of us kept working.” She wiped a hand across her eyes, leaving a thick smear of mascara on her cheek. “I can’t believe that’s the last time we’ll ever see her. When she walked out the door, she was talking about the party we’d have for picture lock.”

“Picture lock?” asked Frost.

“That’s when all the edits are done,” said Ben. “Basically, it’s the finished movie but without sound effects or music. We’re almost there, maybe another week or two.”

“Plus another twenty grand,” muttered Travis. He raised his head and his black hair stood up in greasy tufts. “Shit. I don’t know how we’ll raise it without Cassie.”

Jane frowned at him. “Was Cassandra supposed to deliver that money?”

The three young filmmakers looked at one another, as if unsure who should answer the question.

“She was gonna ask her dad at lunch today,” said Amber. “That’s why she was stressing out. She hated having to beg him for money. Especially over lunch at the Four Seasons.”

Jane surveyed the room, taking in the stained carpet, the ratty sofa, and the bundled-up sleeping bags. These filmmakers were well into their twenties, but they seemed far younger, just three movie-obsessed kids who were still living like dorm rats.

“Do you folks actually make a living as filmmakers?” she asked.

“A living?” Travis shrugged, as if the question were irrelevant. “We make movies, and that’s the point. We’re living the dream.”

“Using money from Cassandra’s father.”

“It’s not a gift. He’s investing in his daughter’s career. This movie could put her on the map as a filmmaker, and the story meant a lot to her personally.”

Jane glanced down at the script lying on the desk. “Mr. Simian?”

“Don’t be fooled by the title, or the fact it’s a horror flick. This is a serious project about a girl who goes missing. It’s based on a true event from her childhood and it’s gonna find a way bigger audience than our first film.”

“Would that first movie be I See You?” said Frost.

Travis shot a surprised look at Frost. “You saw it?”

“We saw the poster for it. The one hanging in Cassandra’s apartment.”

“Is that...” Amber swallowed. “Is that where you found her?”

“It’s where her father found her.”

Amber shuddered and hugged herself, as if suddenly chilled. “How did it happen?” she murmured. “Did someone break in?”

Jane didn’t answer the question but asked one of her own: “Where have you all been in the last twenty-four hours?”

The three filmmakers exchanged glances to gauge who should speak first.

Travis answered, his words measured and deliberate. “We’ve been right here, in this building. All three of us. All night and all day.”

The other two nodded in agreement.

“Look, I know why you’re asking us these questions, Detective,” said Travis. “It’s your job to ask them. But we’ve known Cassie since we were all students at NYU. When you make a movie together, it’s this — this incredible bonding experience like nothing else. We eat and sleep and work together. Yeah, we argue sometimes, but then we make up, because we’re family.” He pointed at the computer screen, where the image of the killer was still freeze-framed. “We were gonna break out with this film. Prove to the world that we don’t need to kiss some studio executive’s ass to make a great movie.”

“Can you tell us what your various roles were in making Mr. Simian?” asked Frost, dutifully jotting everything down in his tattered notebook.

“I’m the director,” said Travis.

“I’m DP,” said Benjamin. “Also known as the cinematographer.”

“Producer,” said Amber. “I hire and fire, do payroll, keep it all running like a well-oiled machine.” She paused and said with a sigh, “Actually, I do pretty much everything.”

“And what was Cassandra’s role?”

“She wrote the script. And she’s executive producer, which you could say is the most important job of all,” said Travis. “Financing the production.”

“With her father’s money.”

“Yeah, but we just need a little more. One more check, that’s all she was going to ask him for.”

A check that they would probably never see.

Amber sank onto the sofa next to Ben, and all three of them sat in silence. The room itself seemed to smell of stale food and failure.

Jane looked up at the movie poster hanging on the wall behind the sofa. It was the same poster that she’d seen in Cassandra’s apartment. I See You. “That movie,” she said, pointing to the image of the monstrous red eye peering from the blackness. “Tell me about it.”

“It was our first feature film,” said Travis. He added morosely, “And I hope it’s not our last.”

“Did all four of you work on it?”

“Yeah. It started as our film school project at NYU. We learned a lot, making that one.” He gave a rueful shake of the head. “We also made a lot of mistakes.”

“How’d it do in theaters?” asked Frost.

The silence was painful. And telling.

“We never got a distribution deal,” Travis admitted.

“So no one saw it?”

“Oh, it was shown at quite a few horror-film festivals. Like this one.” Travis displayed the SCREAMFEST FILM FESTIVAL T-shirt he was wearing under his hoodie. “It’s also available on DVD and video on demand. In fact, we hear it’s become something of a cult classic, which is, like, the best thing that can happen to a horror flick.”

“Did it make any money?” asked Jane.

“That’s really not the point.”

“So the point would be?”

“We now have fans. People who know about our work! In the indie-film business, sometimes all it takes is word of mouth to build the audience for your next project.”

“So it didn’t make money.”

Travis sighed and looked down at the filthy carpet. “No,” he admitted.

Jane’s gaze lifted back to the monstrous eye in the movie poster. “What happens in that movie? What’s it about?”

“It’s about a girl who witnesses a murder, but the police can’t find any body or evidence, so they don’t believe her. That’s because the murder hasn’t happened yet. She’s telepathically linked to the killer, and she can see what he’s about to do.”

Jane and Frost glanced at each other. Too bad we don’t have that advantage. We’d solve this case in no time flat.

“And I’m guessing the killer eventually comes after her,” Jane said.

“Of course,” said Ben. “That’s, like, straight out of Horror 101. Eventually, the killer must come after the heroine.”

“Does anyone in that movie get mutilated?”

“Well, yeah. Again, it’s one of those rules of horror films. Straight out of—”

“Yeah, yeah. Horror 101. What sort of mutilations?”

“A few fingers get chopped off. A girl gets the number 666 carved into her forehead.”

“Don’t forget the ear,” reminded Amber.

“Oh, yeah. One guy gets his ear sliced off, like van Gogh.”

You people are sick.

“What about the eyes?” said Frost. “Do any of the characters get their eyes cut out?”

The filmmakers looked at one another.

“No,” said Travis. “Why are you asking about eyes?”

“Because of the title. The movie’s called I See You.”

“But you asked specifically about eyes getting cut out. Why? Did something like that happen to...” Travis paused, horror suddenly registering on his face.

Amber pressed her hand to her mouth. “Oh, God. Did that happen to Cassandra?”

Jane didn’t answer but moved on to another question. “How many people saw that movie?” Again, she pointed to the poster.

For a moment, no one spoke. They were still stunned by what they’d just learned. In their world, all the blood was fake and the limbs were rubber props, mere cartoon violence. Welcome to my world. The real world.

“How many?” Jane asked again.

“We don’t really know,” admitted Travis. “We did sell some DVDs. Made about a thousand bucks from video downloads. Plus, we showed it at those film festivals.”

“Give me an estimate.”

“Maybe a few thousand people saw it. But we have no idea who they are. The horror audience is worldwide, so they could be living anywhere.”

“You don’t think she was killed by someone who saw our movie?” said Amber. “I mean, that’s crazy! Horror fans may look scary, but they’re actually really nice and well-adjusted people.” She pointed to the computer screen, where the killer’s silhouette was still frozen. “Movies like Mr. Simian, they’re all about helping us process fear, about working through our inner aggressions. They’re therapeutic.” She shook her head. “The nasties don’t watch horror films.”

“You know what the real assholes watch?” said Ben. “Romantic comedies.”

Travis opened a desk drawer, pulled out a DVD, and handed it to Jane. “A copy of I See You. It’s all yours, Detective.”

“And the movie you’re working on now? You have a DVD of Mr. Simian we can watch?”

“Sorry, we’re still editing, so it’s not ready to be seen yet. But take a look at I See You and tell us what you think. And if there’s anything else you need, we’re ready to help.”

“If this really does have something to do with I See You, should we all be worried?” Amber said. “Will the killer come after us?”

There was a long silence as the three filmmakers considered that possibility.

It was Travis who said, softly: “It’s Horror 101.”