Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
If I did something with his scripts, I can’t remember, but clearly at least one ended up in Cowan’s hands.
“You have to be joking,” Blair says, pushing her chair back. “This isn’t funny.”
“It’s not funny, you’re right. But this is my father’s manuscript. I’m absolutely fucking sure of it because it’s the last thing he sent me before he died. The last time I ever spoke to him was when I went over to his place and gave it back. He asked me what I thought and do you know what I told him?”
The memory is like one of my own ribs jabbing my lungs again and again.
“Baptist,” she whispers, her mouth hanging open. “You don’t have to. Don’t do this to yourself.”
“I told him the truth.” My hands ball into fists as pain rips through me. “I said, ‘Dad, it needs some work, but I’d be happy to help if you want.’ You should’ve seen his face. He was trying so hard to keep on smiling like nothing was wrong but I knew it killed him, even if I’d softened the blow a bit, and by then, I was so mad about his addiction that I didn’t care. I still hate myself for treating him like that when I could’ve just given him some bullshit about how I liked it and maybe we could do some rewrites together. I could’ve been kinder about it, Blair, but instead I basically told him the whole thing was shit. And now Cowan has his script, and he’s pretending like he wants to make this movie.”
Anger jolts down my spine. It’s anger with myself as much as with Cowan. I’m so angry I can barely breathe, and I want to find the old director and smash his teeth into his throat. I failed my father and was unkind to him during one of our final conversations, and that memory haunts me still. I could’ve lied and told him it was good, or decent, or found a way to sugarcoat the truth—instead, I gave it to him straight, and hurt the old man’s heart for absolutely no reason. He wasn’t a professional. He was just writing stories to help pass the time as he wasted away and fell deeper and deeper into his addiction.
Sometimes I think I was the one that killed him.
I know it’s stupid and it was the drugs that did it, but still. I wonder if I could’ve been gentler and kinder, if maybe that would’ve helped keep him alive for a few more days at least.
If maybe he wouldn’t have taken so damn much.
Blair gets up and comes to me. She takes the script from my shaking hands and hugs me, holding me tight. I feel empty and strange, standing there in the coffee shop while a couple other nearby patrons stare at us like we’ve gone absolutely insane. But fuck them, and fuck everyone in this shithole of a world. There’s no reason to keep grinding my face in this suffering, and yet Cowan, fucking Tony Cowan, that washed-up piece of psychopath trash, he keeps doing it anyway.
We break apart and I look into her eyes. “I’m going to go ask Cowan where he got this and then I’m going to kill him.”
“Baptist—”
I turn and walk away from her. She can hold on to the pages—they don’t matter now. I find my car and get in, and she comes running over, breathing hard and hair flying behind her in the breeze. Before I can pull out, she jumps into the passenger side and snaps her seatbelt into place, glaring at me.
“Think for a second,” she says as I peel out and head toward Rodrick’s hotel. If Cowan’s not there, I’ll go out to that empty house and see if he’s hiding inside, and then I’ll track down his assistant and find his new address if that doesn’t work. But no matter what, I’m going to find him, and I’m going to make him hurt for this.
“I’m thinking,” I say softly. “Lots of thinking.” Planning how I’ll kill Cowan and get away with it.
“Cowan did this on purpose. He knew you’d see it. He knew you’d recognize it. Why would he do that? He doesn’t do anything without a plan.”
“I don’t know. He’s a fucking nutjob.”
“Yep, exactly. He’s absolutely freaking insane. But even still.”
“I’m still going to punch him so hard his teeth turn into his tonsils.”
“Think for a second.” I feel like my head’s going to explode and if I do what she’s asking, if I slow down and really consider where this ends, I’m going to let all that pain inside.
There’s no more thinking. There’s no more hesitating.
I’m going to kill Cowan.
I have friends with money and connections. I’ll do time, but I won’t spend the rest of my life in prison. I can survive getting locked up for a decade if it means ending this piece of trash and watching the life drain from his worthless body. It won’t bring my father back and it won’t fix the way things ended with me and him, but at least it’ll give me a few minutes of pleasure in this otherwise bleak and miserable world.