While sniffles abounded around me, Willow began to sob. So loudly I could barely hear Lermontov deliver his final line before the performance: “Miss Page is unable to dance tonight—nor indeed any other night.” Willow’s sobs grew louder as the movie culminated with the dance company performing The Red Shoes, a spotlight on the empty space where Vicky would have been, and then cutting back to the train station where a battered Vicky, lying close to death on a stretcher, asks her beloved, distraught Julian to remove the red shoes, just as in the end of the ballet.
While the teary-eyed audience exited the movie theater, Willow stayed in her seat, paralyzed and sobbing. A sickening sense of déjà vu washed over me. It was almost as if I were reliving Allee’s hysterical reaction to the tragic ending of Camille. An ending that paralleled her own tragic one. Fuck. What had I done? Why did I have to pick this movie? Was it some sign that I was destined to lose Willow? My stomach twisted as this dark thought lodged in my brain and morbid fear seeped through my veins.
After the credits rolled, the lights came up. We were the only two moviegoers left.
“C’mon, baby. We should go.”
Her face soaked with her tears, her eyes red and swollen, Willow staggered to her feet. I gave her a helping hand and then wrapped an arm around her.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, swiping at her tears.
“It’s okay. Do you want to talk about it?” I asked softly.
She shook her head as tears continued to fall. “Ryan, I don’t feel well. I need to go home.”
“Sure.” I didn’t feel well either. Fate was a bitch. And she was fucking with me. Willow Rosenthal was hiding something, and deep inside my heart, I knew it was going to be my undoing. A chill ripped through me. It frightened me.