Page 37 of The Unknown

He looks up at me, clearly busted but reluctant to admit it.

“Stand up and take two steps,” I tell him. “Go on.”

Brad rises to his feet carefully enough to not budge the chair. But when he takes his required steps, it drags along with him. Violet stands to get a better look at the now-obvious fishing line stretched between his ankle and the chair. “Hold on. All of this is fake?”

“Just the chair,” Brad says. “The glass was all you.”

“I didn’t move it,” Susie says.

“All of you moved it, whether you intended to or not,” Brad says. “It’s the same way a Ouija board works. Tiny, almost imperceptible muscle movements guide the planchette to where the group subconsciously wants it to go.”

“Which means that, too, was fake,” Violet says.

Ronan approaches the table, hands raised in both apology and surrender. “Don’t blame Brad. It was all my idea. Since the whole point of you being here is to experience what the women of New Avalon went through, we thought that should also include a semi-spooky séance.”

Violet narrows her eyes at him. “Are there any more tricks up your sleeve?”

“Just some low-tech stuff,” Brad admits. “Drawing ominous footprints on the sidewalk. Making strange noises in the woods.”

“Like scratching?” I say, hoping that at least explains what I’d heard in my cottage.

“I was going to go with howling,” Brad says. “I raided the studio’s sound effects archive.”

“Here’s a suggestion,” Heather says, pushing away from the table. “You could just have rehearsals like normal directors do. I didn’t sign up for this middle school sleepover bullshit.”

“Actually, you did,” Ronan says. “When all of you accepted your parts, signed your contracts, and came to this island, you were quite literally signing up for this.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.”

“I think Ronan is right,” Violet says. “While I don’t like being deceived, I do see the value in this. To become these women on-screen, we need to also become them in real life.”

It hits me that all this trickery might be for my sake. As if Ronan and Loretta, having no guarantee I’ll be able to legitimately act the part, decided to put me through the real thing with the hope that I’ll summon memories of the experience once cameras start to roll. The thought leaves me feeling both insulted and, oddly, grateful. Ronan assured me he had my back. Maybe this is one way of doing that.

“I agree with Violet,” I say. Even though I don’t believe in any of this, I know it’s my job to appear like I do. Fake it till you make it, remember? “I think it could be good for our characters.”

“Or we could, you know, just act,” Heather says.

“Fake or not, I still don’t think it’s a good idea to mess around with things like this,” Julianne adds. “It could lead to bad karma.”

Violet, whom I’m certain has weathered her fair share of on-set disagreements, replies with a calm nod. “I suppose we should defer to those in charge.”

“You all know where I stand,” Ronan says before turning to the producer watching from her shadow-cloaked corner. “What do you think, Loretta? It’s your call.”

Loretta leans forward, her face emerging from the shadows like someone peering through a curtain. Although she appears to give it some thought, I can tell from the dark look in her eyes that her mind is already made up.

“I think we should continue,” she says. “Having seen the faked séance, I’m curious what happens during a real one.”

I

AM

OUT

Eight

Séance, take two.

We’ve returned our fingers to the upturned glass, even though now our hearts aren’t in it. Not mine, at least. The same goes for Heather, who rolls her eyes when I tilt my face to the darkness above the table and say, “Is there a spirit present?”