Page 26 of Pink Ink

My cheeks burn at his praise, and there’s a mini-me doing a happy dance inside my head.

He moves on before I can pepper him with questions or get him to say it again. From the downturn of his lips, I think he might be regretting his decision to voice his opinion, but all I can think about is that not everything I’ve done is unworthy.

Shaw pauses on a frame where the subject is backlit. “You mirrored this motif at the beginning, even at the risk of appearing repetitive.”

That’s precisely what I thought. “Was that the wrong choice?” I was on the fence about it.

“No. This was earned repetition with structure and rhythm. You’re echoing the thematic element of isolation to perpetuate that they’re the killer’s sole focus.”

I try not to smile to myself, but I do.

“It’s different this time. She’s more of a silhouette, and there’s less clutter in the frame.” He noticed that? “The character is losing their identity as they become the killer’s single-minded focus.”

If Mom were still here, I would run home giddy with excitement to tell her someonefinallyunderstands my art. After nearly two semesters of Bradford’s negativity, I was starting to think that any talent I might have had was imagined. Buthe’sseeing it.

Sure, it’s not perfect, but it’s fixable. Hewantsme to succeed. It’s been a long time since anyone was rooting for me.

Maddox continues, then taps the space bar when we get to the scene filmed in Chad’s kitchen. The grand finale.

Nerves rack my stomach as I stare at Maddox’s profile. Out of everything I’ve ever filmed, this portion is what I’m most proud of. Even my acting wasn’t too shabby.

“The mise-en-scène is too clean and rigid for the characters you’re trying to portray.”

What?

“The coffee mug is filled to the top when the supposedly exhausted coffee-addict protagonist hasn’t been home all day,” Shaw explains. “Plus, there’s a plate with a half-eaten sandwich. Do you know what the problem with that is?”

My lips part. No one’s ever called me out on set design before.

“Your broke, so-called clean-freak protagonist up and left a club sandwich that would have been from the day before. It would have worked if you laid out the set better. There’s no other meaningful clutter on the table that provides any insight into her personality. You could have put an ashtray, a two-week-old newspaper, an empty single-use drink bottle, and maybe a gum wrapper. Your set is too clinical.”

“Maybe that was intentional because the killer wanted some level of cleanliness.” There’s no point arguing, because he’s right. I’m making excuses.

Maddox snorts, and I damn well almost gape at him. “Throat slicing is a messy kill. Do it fast enough and there’ll be far-reaching blood splatter. Slow, and it’s a blood bath because they’ll be thrashing around. The best way would’ve been to—” He stops himself, slightly shocked, then schools his features.

No, I want him to finish what he was going to say.

“If your goal was to make him fastidious and clean, then show me the tarpaulin he’s set down and the synthetic rope that won’t dirty the second blood gets on it.”

The Shadow had a kill like that.

I shake my head. “The killer is obviously well researched based on how he’s lured her in”—and how I’ve written him—“but he lacks practicality. Look.” I point at the clock in the background showing it’s eight at night. Obviously, I was taking liberties with the exact details of the Shadow’s kill. “Anyone could have heard the commotion and come barreling in. But she stayed completely silent and struggled far less than she could have, indicating an element of trust.”

I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t raised any issue with my choice of pink blood. For the sake of my ego, I’m going to say that he agrees with my creative vision.

“You’ve portrayed intimacy between the characters, and then you threw it all away by killing her behind her back,” he states.

I open my mouth to say that I doubt the Shadow killed that lawyer front on, but think better of it.

Maybe it isn’t a good idea to admit to following a murderer around.

“Up until this moment, it was about watching her through his eyes. Romanticizing everything she does, and how he yearns for her.” Shaw pauses the footage at the moment where the blade touches my throat, right before I’m meant to die. “Here, at the most pinnacle moment where they’re finally united, you made it about his kill, not her death.”

Shit.

He’s right about that too.

The romanticism dies the second Chad stands behind me. If we were gazing at each other as it happened, it would be a moment shared.