Chapter 4: Death is My BFF: Chapter 3

Death. He’d introduced himself as Death.

The Grim Reaper was a mythical being, not a nutjob I met at a Halloween party.

Yeah, a nutjob who knows my name. Knows my paintings. My . How was any of this possible?

Marcy stared ahead in a stupor, leaning her head on the passenger window. Frantic, I reached over and shook her shoulder. “Hey, snap out of it. Did you tell anyone else about the paintings?”

She lifted her head lethargically, hair splaying over her smudged makeup. “Huh?”

Headlights flashed behind us. A car appeared in my rearview mirror right on our tail. It swerved back and forth, flashing its head-lights. Clearly, the driver wanted me to pull over.

“The cherry on top of my night.”

Suddenly, a deafening bang rang out from underneath my car, as if I ran over a speed bump and bottomed out, and I slammed on the brakes. Spoiler alert: they didn’t work.

Terror seized my heart and squeezed.

“Marcy, put your seat belt on! The brakes aren’t working!”

She sobered up. Marginally. “What? My seat belt is on!” She turned over her shoulder to peer out the back windshield. “Pull over!

Pull over!”

“I can’t! There’s no shoulder and no brakes!” Not to mention, my car was speeding up on its own. I chose not to disclose information to her.

“E brake! E brake!” Marcy attempted to yank up the emergency break and the handle came off. “It snapped off! It snapped off!”

“I can that!” I scanned the bushes on the side of the road, contemplating where to pull over and slow this car down. “I refuse to let us die in this stupid hunk of metal! Hold on to something!”

The car behind us had strangely backed off.

“Watch out!” Marcy cried.

This time, when I slammed on the brakes, they worked. My eyes closed involuntarily as a huge mass struck my car with a bloodcurdling crash, shattering part of the windshield. Screams ripped from both our throats, even after the car finally stopped. Though we were wearing seat belts, both our heads went sharply forward.

Airbags blew up into our faces at the wrong moment, knocking my head back into the seat.

It wasn’t over. A red Lamborghini maneuvered to the left of my car, scraping the driver side with a sickening screech as it sideswiped past. The vehicle fishtailed ahead and blocked my path.

My airbag deflated as a hand smacked it down. “Faith!” Marcy reached over the center console, screaming in hysterics. “Faith! Are you okay?”

I cut the ignition. My car hissed. I was fleetingly aware of blood in my mouth from biting down on my lip, and there were large spiderwebs of fissures in my windshield. Clicking out of my seat belt, I threw myself from the vehicle, fell to the asphalt, and collapsed, bile rising in my throat.

“Oh, my gosh!” The shrill, distant voice of a woman sliced through the ringing in my ears. A perfectly manicured hand tried to lift me up. “Oh, my gosh! Are you, like, dead?”

“No, I’m not dead! Let go of me!” I said, shaking off her bony hand. When I tried to stand, the road tilted on its side. My back hit the ground, glass scraping against my bare legs. Wincing, I rolled over and was slow to get to my feet. The woman with the bleach-blond hair reached for me again with her scrawny hands.

“I said don’t touch me.”

“We hit a deer!” Marcy cried from the opposite side of the car.

“We hit a poor, helpless deer! Oh my God . . . ” She braced a hand on the roof and heaved.

“Help the passenger, Meghan,” a deep, melodious voice projected behind me. “Make sure she doesn’t choke on her vomit.”

A man stepped into my line of vision. Once again, I could not believe the surreal night I was having. It was David Star’s father, , president of the D&S Tower, aka the most prestigious advertising agency in the world.

“Are you all right?”

Despite my aversion to the Stars, my brain short-circuited.

Devin’s eyes were as electric and intense as in all those magazines my mother cherished. But here, under the streetlight, they dimmed to an arcane ocean blue. His features were sharp, lethal, perfect. Money expertly concealed any wrinkles from his skin, making it hard to believe he was forty-five.

“No.” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “I am not all right.”

“Let’s get you off this broken glass.” He guided me by the elbow to his vehicle. My legs threatened to give out as I rested on the hood of his car. “Take deep breaths. Everything is okay.” His voice was level, reassuring.

“Why were you tailgating me?” I asked. “It distracted me, or else none of this would’ve happened.”

“Your muffler was scraping the ground and sparking,” he explained. “I was just trying to get you to pull over, before your gas tank caught on fire.” We both looked over my mangled car. I visualized my tombstone:

“You stopped so suddenly,” Devin said, “and it seemed like you hit something. You’re lucky I didn’t rear end you.”

I gripped my temples with both hands. “I am screwed.”

“Please, let me take care of any medical expenses and repairs to your vehicle.” Concern pooled in his crisp blue eyes. “All I ask is that you don’t talk to the press about this accident.” He smoothly slid a business card from his breast pocket and held it out to me. “I’m Devin Star, owner of the D&S Tower.”

“I know who you are,” I said.

Devin straightened and withdrew his card, bewilderment flickering over his perfect face. How arrogant do you have to be to expect people to fangirl over you the moment you drop your name?

“Listen, I understand you don’t need any more negative press”—

—“but you were driving like a maniac and hit my car. We could have been killed, so I’m not making any promises. Not until I talk to my parents. If you’ll excuse me, I have to check on my best friend—”

“Twenty thousand dollars, cash,” he offered. “That’s a lot of money for a young girl.”

I let out a short laugh. “Mr. Star, you have some nerve.”

He cocked his head in confusion, squinting his icy eyes. “How so?”

“

You’re trying to negotiate a deal to protect yourself, five minutes after I was almost killed in a car crash. Because of obnoxious driving. That’s how so.”

He was perplexed for a second time. “What’s your name?”

“Faith.”

“Do you paint, Faith?”

“How does everybody know I paint?” I said, exasperated.

Devin pointed at my hand with a raised eyebrow, drawing my attention down to my paint-stained fingertips. “You’re creative.

Headstrong. Ambitious, I bet.”

I looked up, held by those sapphire eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He scanned my features. “How old are you?”

My mind immediately jumped to thinking Devin Star was hitting on me.

“Eighteen.”

“Are you currently unemployed?”

“Technically, yes . . . I babysit and sign up for my town’s fairs.

We have a lot of them in Pleasant Valley.”

“My son and I run an inner-city art program,” Devin explained.

“We’re always looking for young aspiring artists to counsel the kids.

Twenty-five dollars an hour. If, of course, you can get past the interview and an overview of your portfolio.”

“Did you say twenty-five dollars an hour?”

“Art school is expensive, is it not?”

“I never said I was applying to art schools—”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, I—”

“Wonderful, then it’s settled,” Devin said, flashing his famed smile. “I’ll have an associate retrieve your car to be fixed free of charge, and I’ll call a chauffeur to pick you up to ensure you both get home safely.”

I had no intention of doing any interviews or seeing David Star ever again, but his offer rendered me speechless.

“I hope we didn’t hit a deer! I love deer!” Marcy wailed. “They’re so cute! They don’t do anything but eat grass and be cute! I’m never drinking again! Not even root beer!”

As soon as she started belting out a melancholy rendition of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” I turned away.

After the strangest night of my life and with Marcy’s drunken state, I needed to get us both home safe.

“Do you want me to stay until my driver comes?” Devin inquired.

“We’ll take an Uber,” I answered. “Thank you though. We’ll be fine.”

“Do I have your word you won’t mention my name or this accident to anyone?”

I shrugged passively. “Sure, whatever. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Call or come by the office Monday morning. If you don’t want the job, we’ll figure something else out to make it up to you.” Devin stuck out his hand, and I clasped it in a daze. “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”

“Same here . . . ”

He turned his beautiful face to the side. “Meghan.” Like a trained dog, the supermodel left my best friend and hurried in the direction of the red Lamborghini. Devin Star retreated to his car. I peered down at my hand and realized he’d slipped his business card into my palm.

“Wait!” I called out, and he turned around. “Smile!” Like a professional photographer, I shot rapid photos of him by himself, a selfie with him beside me, photos of his car and license plate, and then another with both our cars in the frame, for evidence. “Evidence. In case you screw me over. Ya know?”

His eyes crinkled from a broad grin. “Completely understand.”

“What are you doing picking up David in the suburbs anyway?

Don’t you live in the city?”

“To think I got the impression you weren’t a fan.”

“I’m not. My mom is.”

He laughed, a pleasant sound. “Since you’re so inquisitive, me and my lady friend were at a wedding today in Albany and she lives by here. Figured I’d drop her off and scoop David up before he calls a driver home. It was great meeting you, Faith. Think about that job offer.”

Devin ducked into his vehicle and shut the door. As his Lambo took off in a roar, my eyebrows scrunched together.

Scrolling through my phone with frozen, shaking fingers, I tracked a nearby Uber. I stuffed the business card into my bra and took a few more pictures of my car, before I walked back to Marcy.

She sat in the grass on the side of the road, wrapped in the blanket I thankfully kept in my trunk. I stood next to her, embracing the cold.

“I can’t believe that was ,” Marcy groaned. “Any other night I would have asked him to sign my boobs. So sexy.” She giggled. “I own all of his modeling calendars.”

“Yes, I know.” Softer, I added, “So does my mom.”

“Now what?” she asked, her voice reduced to a whisper. “I’m going to have such a bad hangover tomorrow.” Her bloodshot eyes widened as she exclaimed, “Oh, God, wait! Did you call the police?

My dad will flip—”

“I’m not calling the police. Mr. Star is handling the car, I hope.

I called an Uber to pick us up.” I peered into the dark woods behind us and hugged my body tighter. “I hope that deer is alive, so I can come back tomorrow and shoot it.”

“Faith!”

“Kidding.” I stifled a dark laugh. “My parents are going to kill me because of that stupid deer.”

We were quiet for a long stretch of time. I wanted to tell Marcy what happened at the party, but she was too smashed to comprehend.

Even sober, the story was so outrageous, I struggled to comprehend it myself.

Marcy had paled significantly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know this is going to sound crazy, since I’m totally shitfaced . . . ”

She let out a shaky breath. “Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t . . .

I don’t think we hit a deer. I could have sworn it was a person.”

“Don’t be silly, it was a deer. What would a person be doing way out here in the woods?”

She wiped at a stray tear. “You’re right. It couldn’t have been a person.”

Unable to sit still, I fished through my car and cleared out any valuable items between the seats and in the glove compartment.

My hands were pretty much empty at the end, besides a few vehicle documents and some spare change. After, I stood in front of my car and inspected the windshield.

There was no blood, which amazed me, considering the extent of the damage. The animal had been hit hard and ran off like a champ.

Inspecting the ground around the car with the flashlight on my phone, I found skid marks and retraced them twenty or thirty feet back, where I pictured hitting the deer.

The flashlight danced over an object on the road, and I froze.

Blood pulsed in my ears as I crouched down to pick up the stub of a hand-rolled cigarette. Cherry.

Cold washed down the back of my neck. I sensed his stare before I saw him. Across the road was the cloaked man, Death. He stood motionless in front of the backdrop of the woods, a mere silhouette outlined by the light of the moon. Time slowed.

I put two and two together. Marcy had claimed there’d been a figure in the road, and she was correct. It was Death. But why?

As if agreeing with my thoughts, Death pulled back from the moonlight and faded into the night. At that point, I was too exhausted and confused to be afraid.

A car appeared at the end of the road. I checked my app and saw it was our driver.

“If the driver asks any questions, let me do the talking,” I said to Marcy.

She gave me an unenthusiastic salute.

The car rolled to a stop in front of us. Why wasn’t our car getting towed yet? Where were the police? I began to script my answers for the driver’s possible questions. Fortunately, for once in my life, our Uber driver didn’t care for conversation and focused only on his driving.

He dropped Marcy off first. She turned down my offer to sleep over and wanted to be home in her own bed. I had a feeling she was still hurt about our fight, and so was I, more than I could let on.

Despite her intoxication and heels, Marcy climbed the old tree outside her bedroom window and hoisted herself inside like a pro.

This wasn’t her first prison break.

When the car pulled into my driveway, I wished my parents were home and not in Hawaii. But they deserved the time off and the last thing I wanted was to get in the middle of their “second-honeymoon activities.” Ick.

I bolted toward the house. After a brief struggle with my keys, I threw open my front door and scrambled to lock it. Pressing my back against the cool wood, I sighed in relief.

Flicking on all the lights, I closed all the blinds. I paced the kitchen barefoot and sipped a root beer, reeling over what’d happened at the pool and the car accident. I pinched myself. Stomped my feet dinosaur-style into the cool tile floor, as if it would somehow ground my reality. Okay, I was awake. This was happening.

What was I supposed to do now? At some point, I’d have to tell someone about this Death character. Who handle this alone?

And did Devin Star actually want me to work for him? Or was it a clever ruse to buy my silence? I needed answers.

Placing Devin’s card on the counter, I considered my options.

His office was closed for the weekend. I needed my car back ASAP to get groceries. If I didn’t call him Monday morning, for all I knew, he’d pull a fast one and junk my car and blow me off. No, I had to see him in person.

I scribbled a Post-it reminder and stuck it to my bedroom door.

It was settled. Monday morning, I would wake up early, head to Devin’s office, and force myself into a meeting.

“So let it be written, so let it be done.”

I peeled off the never-to-be-worn-

black lace dress, showered, and slipped into a T-shirt with sweatpants. My bed was a cloud of blankets. I hit the mattress with a bounce, clutching my old teddy bear, Mr. Wiggles, to my chest. Only then could I breathe again.

Happy birthday to me.