"Is that a threat?" I asked. "It sounds like a threat." That same familiar feeling of panic returned.
He waved dismissively. "Of course not, River," he said, his voice soothing. Patronizing. "But the film is nearly complete. Your scenes are essentially finished. The two that are left to film can be done are minor and can be done with a standin. It's possible for the movie to be finished without you even being on set."
"You mean I could be done," I said.
"Finished," he said.
"What's the catch?" I asked.
"No catch," he said. "You're free and clear. Done. There's an additional bonus for early completion."
"Hush money," I said.
He tsk-tsked me. "That's a tawdry way of thinking about it," he said. "It's simply a bonus for being so flexible, willing to complete the film ahead of schedule...and for your understanding of the importance of not drawing any more negative attention to the film."
It was hush money.
My head was spinning. I was done. Free and clear. I could go somewhere else. Do something else. Not this.
Take a vacation.
See the world.
Whatever the fuck I wanted to.
The problem was, the person I really wanted to see didn't want to see me.
"Where do I sign?" I asked.
"Are they going to tell us fucking anything?"
Silas shook his head. "They weren't saying anything. That's why I came and got you."
He left the rest of it unspoken. What he really meant to say was that he came and got me in case she died.
"I don't understand it," I said. "She was fine yesterday when I talked to her."
"What did you talk about?" Silas' face was white.
"Nothing," I said. "I swear to God, nothing. I didn't even press her on the property sale. Nothing stressful."
"You had to have said something," Silas said.
"Are you fucking saying it's my fault? I caused this?"
Silas shook his head. "Sorry. No. I'm not. It's just...not something she would do. It doesn't make any sense."
"We talked about the soaps she was watching," I said. "Just like the time before that, and the time before that. Her romance novels she was reading. Her friend Rhonda. Gossip. I don't know. It was all normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. You know how she is."
"She wasn't depressed?"
"No," I said, racking my brain for any sign that something had been off. More off than usual. "I mean, she said dad loved her - not last time, when I sent to see her before-she seemed...wistful, like she was reminiscing."
"Jesus Christ," Silas said. "You don't think she would have killed herself because of the asshole dying, do you?"
"No," I said. Then, less certain. "I don't know."
That was the truth. I didn't fucking know anything anymore.
"Tonight, we have an exclusive interview with Donna Gilstead, River Andrews' mother, who will open up to us about her upcoming book, Living with River." The entertainment journalist flashed her bright smile at the camera, then turned toward her equally perfect-looking co-host. "It promises to be a very interesting interview, doesn't it, Dave?"
"It does, Samantha," he said. "Particularly since River Andrews has gone radio silent since her split from Viper Gabriel."
"Stay tuned," Samantha said. "Donna Gilstead is next on Entertainment News Lately."
"Fuck." I clicked off the remote, my apartment, the new one I'd rented when I'd gotten back here, one with no ties to my past, to Viper, was suddenly silent. It was quiet, too quiet.
Of all the things for my mother to do, this was one of the worst. A tell-all book? I didn't put much past her, but cashing in on my unhappiness was just too much.
I sat there, in the emptiness of my new place, my thoughts churning. And my mind went to cutting. I thought about the cold of the steel blade against my skin, the rush of relief it would bring.
I sat there, frozen, my arms resting on the sides of the armchair, paralyzed with indecision, mulling over the possibilities in my mind.
But I didn't cut. Instead, I called my manager.
"It's River," I said. "I want you to get me an interview with Deborah Ames. I'm ready to go public."
"What the hell happened?" Killian blew into the waiting area like he owned the fucking place. He was unshaven, boots smeared with grease and dust, jeans torn, wearing a leather jacket and still holding his motorcycle helmet. A couple of the other people waiting moved to the other side of the room, and Killian tossed them a dirty look. Then they up and left. If the circumstances were any different, it would have been funny.
Hell, it was fucking funny. Killian wasn't exactly a slight guy - he was a roughneck and intimidating as hell to most people.
Of course, the four of us together probably were pretty intimidating.
"Glad you're here, man," Silas said, clapping an arm around Killian's back. "Not like this, but still, good to see you."
"You too, shithead," he said.