FADE IN.
EXT. BLACKSTONE COTTAGE—NIGHT
Tall trees loom over us. Moonlight filters through clustered foliage, the only light source. Insects whistle, leaves rustle.
Another sound slices through the night. The sharp THWACK of a blade hitting wood.
ELLA runs toward us, still shrouded in darkness. She stumbles across uneven terrain, dodging fallen branches and hanging vines. We hear her labored breathing, her thumping heartbeat. Each time her feet collide with the earth, she winces in pain (an injury from earlier in the night), but she can’t stop now.
Someone is chasing her.
We don’t know who or why. We only know our heroine is in peril.
As she ducks under a moss-covered branch, we get a glimpse of the maniac behind her. A terrifying image: long dark gown sweeping the forest floor, a lion mask streaked in blood. Gripped between two hands is an axe, mottled with soil and splinters and more blood.
Ribbons of blood streak Ella’s clothes, too. Her arms and hands are painted with mud, now dry and cracking as though she dug herself out of her own grave.
In many ways, she has. Her mistakes brought her to this point. Her cowardice and naivety. And yet, with each staggered stride, she is shedding those former skins. She must keep going.
If she emerges from the forest, this maze of madness and mayhem, she’ll be a survivor.
If she doesn’t, she’ll end up dead like all the others.
FADE OUT.
1
Now
The August heat sticks to my skin. I’ve been back in New York City for only two weeks and I’m already wishing I’d waited until fall, when the breeze is more forgiving and pedestrians aren’t as buzzy.
I’m here because my agent, Fiona Thatcher, told me it’s where I need to be if I’m serious about reviving my acting career. And she’s right. Of course she’s right. I’m not big enough to make a name for myself living somewhere else, like Nicole Kidman in Nashville or Sandra Bullock in Austin. That’s why I’ve dragged myself out of the small corner of my hometown upstate.
After years away from the spotlight, being here—or any place with more than three stoplights—results in a sensory overload. Upstate, I could go weeks without seeing people if I wanted. Even if I didn’t want. Here, I can’t go anywhere without bumping shoulders with strangers, hearing catcalls and the endless rumbling of cars as they pass.
Here, I’m one of the thousands trying to turn their dreams into reality. Except my dreams already came true once. I’m just trying to get them back.
I arrive at Pendulum’s ten minutes earlier than expected, but Fiona’s already beat me here. This establishment is another realm that presents the best of what the city has to offer. The hostess leads me toward the back of the restaurant, passing linen-clad tables and a strikingly beautiful waitstaff.
“You’re early,” Fiona says when she stands, greeting me with air-kisses on both cheeks. She looks almost identical to the way she did three months ago, when I last saw her. Black blazer and slacks, short dark hair tucked behind her ears. A mauve color on her lips, which part to reveal perfect teeth. “Happy to be back?”
“I suppose,” I say, taking my seat. I’ve never been very good at small talk, and I’ve found since returning to the city, I’m out of practice. For so long, it was only Mom and me. Now I’m surrounded by people again, trying to earn my way back into their good graces. “Are you here long?”
“No, I fly back this afternoon. I wanted to talk to you in person first.”
Fiona, like most agents, is based in Los Angeles. For someone only a few years older than me, she’s already been quite successful. Her most famous client just signed on to join a superhero franchise. Another client stars in a network hospital drama. She reps a slew of up-and-coming teen actors.
And then there’s me.
“You look good,” she says, her eyes appraising each detail of my ensemble. I’m not sure she means it. I wasn’t sure what to wear, so I ended up throwing on a vintage sundress that was popular several seasons ago.
I’m about to ask her if she approves of my look, if she thinks it’ll help me stand out in auditions, when our waitress arrives at the table.
She’s tall and slim, with flowing hair and expertly done makeup. I’m sure she, like most of the staff, is an aspiring actress or singer.
If she knows who I am, she doesn’t let on, a sign she’s on the right track. No one makes it in this industry by fangirling. The goal is to act like you’re one of the elites, not an admirer.
We order our drinks—gin for Fiona, water for me. The waitress wanders off, stopping at another table. That’s when I spot her. A famous actress from the nineties who hasn’t been in anything for a while. She’s wearing sunglasses and a summer cardigan, and her posture suggests she doesn’t want recognition.
“Did you see her?” Fiona asks.
“Is that—”
“Mm-hmm.” She smiles and nods. “Word on the street is, she’s going to be in the new Scorsese film.”
“Really?”
“It’s a smart move for her. Revitalizing her career at the perfect moment.”
I watch the actress as she takes delicate sips of her drink. Even though she’s far more famous than I ever was, if she can take off a few years and come back successful, maybe I can, too.
“Are you going to drag this out?” I ask Fiona. Again, I’m not great with the small talk, and since she insisted on meeting in person, I assume she has news about my last audition.
“Straight to business. I can roll with that.” She smiles conspiratorially and wiggles in her seat, like an exec about to give a pitch. “It’s down to you and another actress, but the producers loved your intensity.”
I inhale, and it’s like the air around me is cleaner, fresher. Full of hope. Then worry returns.
It’s a big role. We’re talking press tours, premieres. Possible award show buzz. This is everything you need to get your career back on track.”
“Which is why I want the part.” I so fucking want the part, and I’m afraid my eagerness is peeking through. I repeat, “What’s the catch?”
“Shooting won’t start until the spring, which gives you plenty of time. Meanwhile, the production company is going full steam ahead on another project, and they want you to join.”
Two jobs at once? My heart flutters with excitement.
“What is it?”
Fiona’s lips tighten. “It’s the Grad Night reunion.”
Just as quickly, that same enthusiasm plummets. The possibility of a reunion has been mentioned a few times before, but I’ve always refused to get involved. “No, Fiona. I told you—”
“I know. You don’t want to do it. You’ve never wanted to do it. But you’re now the only holdout.”
“They have Leo?”
“He signed last week.”
Leo is the biggest star to come out of the Grad Night franchise. He’s more than an actor. More than a celebrity. And he also happens to be my ex-boyfriend, although we’ve since lost touch.
“Why would he agree to a reunion? His career is on fire.”
“For the same reason you should agree to do it. One yes now leads to more down the road. Leo knows how to play the game, and his career is proof.”
“I don’t want to participate in a reunion. I’m trying to branch out. Distance myself from the franchise.”
“Right now, it’s more important to remind people who you are. Reunions are all the rage. Every big cast is getting together for either an interview or a reboot, and this is the perfect opportunity to get your face back out there.”
Reclaiming my career is the first step in finding myself again. I want my face out there. I do, more than anything. But not for the Grad Night films. I’ve spent the past twenty years trying to forget about that shoot, even though it’s the gig that kick-started my career.
The waitress returns with our drinks, giving me a few seconds to compose myself. The role I want could relaunch my career and make people forget I was ever part of a horror film all at once. Emotional drama. Big director. But I can’t land that project without committing to the reunion, and I promised myself I’d never participate.
“This was a mistake. I should have known better than to think I could waltz back to New York and pick up with my career where I left off.”
“Don’t be like that. I told you they want you for the film, they just want you to play along for the reunion, too.”
I sip some water, trying to settle my rising anxieties. “Tell me the details.”
“It’s a two-day shoot. They have the original cast back together. Including Leo. And Cole will be there, too.”
Cole Parks. The director behind the Grad Night films. His father, Daniel Parks, is one of Hollywood’s most popular directors. If Leo has been the biggest success on-screen, Cole has been the biggest one behind the camera. I’m shocked he’d take the time to participate, too. But then again, maybe it’s not that surprising. Grad Night has always been Cole’s passion project, and it ended up being far more popular than any of us could have predicted.
“Where and when?”
“Shooting starts this weekend.”
city.”
Her eyes dart to the left. “I may or may not have given the impression you were considering getting involved.”
“Fiona—”
“Hey, I’m doing this for you. I know you’re trying to take things in a different direction, and I support that.” She pauses. “But you need this.”
I stifle my outrage, staring at my water glass, drops of condensation dampening the tablecloth. Fiona is smart. Probably too smart to take on a has-been actress, but she did anyway because she believes in me. And she’s far more supportive than Gus, the last agent I had. She wants me to succeed, and she wouldn’t push for this if she didn’t believe it could open the door to bigger opportunities.
“Where?” I repeat.
“Blackstone Cottage.”
My palms slap against the table. “Are you kidding me?”
“They want to shoot on the original location. Have a big nostalgia vibe, getting the whole gang back together in the same place.”
But that place is precisely what I want to avoid. There are too many secrets there. Too many ghosts. And the same people participating know all of them. I can’t be the only one bothered by the idea of returning.
“I don’t know if I can do this. It’s all too soon.”
I’m referring to the two decades that have blinked by since I was last at Blackstone Cottage, but she thinks I mean something else.
Fiona slides her hand over mine. “Grief is hard.”
Instantly, a ball of tension feels stuck in my throat. I clench my eyes to hold back tears. Mom has been gone six months, and I’m still not used to the fact that I’ll never hear her voice again. What I’d give to be back in my sleepy hometown with her, instead of here, pretending to be a person I’m not.
“My parents died when I was young,” Fiona continues. “I struggled for years, but once you process those emotions, it clears a path for you to do what you’re meant to do with your life. She would want this for you.”
Fiona is right. The person who was always most supportive of my acting career was Mom, and she’d want me to pursue it again.
I exhale. “Making Grad Night wasn’t an easy time in my life.” It’s not the whole truth but as close as I can get. “I was young, and the shoot was stressful. There was a lot of drama with the people on set.”
“Are you talking about Leo?”
Like the rest of the world, she thinks it’s because of him. As though the only thing keeping me from accepting the job is a few days with my ex-boyfriend.
“That’s part of it,” I say, my voice strained. “It’s all too overwhelming. I can’t handle it on my own.”
“It’s a closed set, but each cast member is allowed to bring a companion,” she says. “You can bring anyone you want.”
Problem is, I don’t have anyone. When I walked away from my career, I cut off my professional and personal ties, too. Mom was the only person I needed in my life, but she’s not here anymore.
“Could you come?”
“Me?” Fiona’s posture stiffens, her hand pulling back slightly. “I hadn’t planned on it. I have some commitments the rest of this week, but I might be able to fly out this weekend.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I slump forward, defeated. “Even if you tagged along, I’m not sure I could make it through an entire weekend.”
valid,” she says, leaning forward again. “But people don’t want to hear about how much you hate the franchise. They want to see the gang back together. It’ll remind them of how much they loved the movie when it came out. And how much they loved you.”
“But none of that is real.”
“You’re an actress, Ella,” Fiona says. “Fake it.”
“I don’t know if I’m that good.”
“There’s a fine line between what’s real and what’s fake. You have to learn to tell the difference.” She pauses. “Give the audience and the cameras and, most important, the producers what they want. Your career will thank you.”
I’m about to respond when there’s a clattering sound across the room. I look. The beautiful waitress with the luscious hair has dropped a platter of food right in front of the other actress’s table.
“This is ridiculous!” the actress yells, no longer caring if there’s attention on her.
“I’m so sorry—”
“Are you moronic or something? Where’s Teddy?” The actress turns her head from left to right, searching. “If he expects me to frequent his establishment, he needs to hire someone with an actual brain.”
An awkward silence blankets the room. You can hear the clanking of broken porcelain as the waitress cleans up the mess. After a few seconds, Fiona speaks, her voice lowered.
“If you remember, she was People’s Most Beautiful years ago,” she says, her eyes on the actress. “Nothing in this business is what it seems.”
Before our food arrives, I excuse myself for the restroom. Truthfully, I need a few minutes away from Fiona to think. I know that she wants me to participate in the reunion, but I’m not sure I’m up for it. I don’t know if I can return to the set of Grad Night and all its secrets, even if my career depends on it.
I stare at myself in the mirror. Same face, new highlights, familiar dread. There’s so much to unpack by going back to Blackstone Cottage. Frightening stuff happened that never made it on-screen. The world wouldn’t believe me if they knew the truth, and a lot of people would be punished, including me.
A commode flushes, and a stall door opens. The waitress who broke the dishes exits the stall and stands beside me at the sink. I can tell by her splotchy cheeks she’s been crying. Our eyes catch in the mirror.
I smile. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Her tone is kind but false.
“Don’t worry about her. It could have happened to anyone, and she didn’t have to handle it that way.”
“You know, I always admired her.” She smiles weakly. “Never meet your heroes, huh?”
“Not everyone is like that, even if a place like this makes it seem that way.”
“I appreciate it,” she says, making her way to the door. Before leaving, she stops and turns. “By the way, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I’m a huge fan of the Grad Night movies. It’s one of the films that made me want to be an actress.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, looking back at the mirror, ashamed of my own reflection.
2
Now
I barely ate at lunch. I suffered through the last half hour listening as Fiona told me about other future prospects. None of them is as important as the film for which I already auditioned, and I sense all of them are contingent on whether I complete that job first, which I can’t do without committing to the Grad Night reunion.
It’s the way this business works. One yes leads to another leads to another. One no can end your career. I never would have embarked on this journey again if I’d known it would all come down to the first project I did, twenty years ago.
Technically, it wasn’t my first project. I’d been in two films before, although they were minor roles. Pizza Girl in a stoner comedy called Green Bloods and Friend Number Two in a romance called Lovebird. I earned both of those roles after I graduated from the Performers Academy, a creative arts school in New York City.
Even though I lived here for a few years—from age fourteen until eighteen—it still never felt like home. Bedford was home, ninety minutes north of the city. It’s where my mother was born and raised. She, too, had a small showbiz stint. Mom was a gifted dancer and had dreams of making it on Broadway. Her plans were cut short when she found out she was pregnant and moved back home to give birth to me. Sometimes, I can’t remember whose idea it was for me to study acting, if I was starting my own dream or finishing hers.
Since childhood, I jumped at any and every opportunity to be in front of an audience. School plays. Community theater. I even booked a few commercials advertising toothpaste and sunscreen. Instead of enrolling at my local high school, I sent my résumé and demo reel to the admissions team at the Performers Academy. They invited me to audition for their program and eventually offered a scholarship reserved for low-income families.
When I received the acceptance letter, Mom and I were sitting on the secondhand sofa in our Bedford apartment. She’d recently returned home from her closing shift as a cashier at the local pharmacy, and boxed macaroni and cheese was cooking on the stove for supper. “This is a make-or-break moment,” she told me. “Most aspiring actors would kill for an opportunity like this.”
“We’d have to move to the city,” I said, overwhelmed by the enormity of what was to come. “There’s no guarantee I’d ever be a real actress. I don’t want to uproot both our lives just to fail.”
“If you don’t accept this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life,” she said. “I believe in you. It’s time you start believing in yourself.”
I was fourteen. Eating the same dinner I’d had the night before. Wearing clothes the local church had donated the week before. A month before that, I’d had my first period. Yet there I was, making a decision about my future. For
both our futures, it seemed.
My years at the Performers Academy marked the beginning of a new adventure, one that brought us even closer together. Mom held down two or three jobs to pay our way, ...
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