Page 44 of Bend & Break
Kai grins. “Foam walls, fake mildew, the works. We built the whole thing on the lower level. It’s not pretty when the lights are on, but through the lens it’s perfect.”
I hum, tilting my head like I’m impressed. “So it’s all just a set? No actual creepy basement involved?”
“Exactly,” Kai says. “Our art team handled most of it. We rig up the lighting, scatter some props, cheat the angles.”
Mads slips his hands into his pockets. “You guys build it yourselves?”
“Mostly, yeah,” Kai says. “We’ve had a few extra hands from Briarwood’s soccer team, too—big guys, good at hauling lumber and gear. They help when they’ve got downtime. Jonah’s been around today, actually—he’s a film student too. You’d probably get a kick out of his vintage camera collection.” He waves it off. “If you’re curious, I can show you when I have more time. It’s one of our best setups.”
Mads and I trade another glance.
Well. That’s something.
Kai points toward a wall of black curtains. “Costumes and makeup through there. Bathrooms are… hopefully functional.”
Kai turns back to us, walking backward now with his hands in his hoodie pockets. “We wrap most nights by two. Filming’s on the back burner for tonight with my office in such disarray, but there’s still plenty to keep everyone busy. You can hang out, shadow wherever you want. Ask questions, take notes, whatever you need.”
He glances down at his phone, sighs. “Alright, you two are free to poke around, just don’t touch the lighting stuff or the sacrificial altar.” He turns on his heel. “I’ve got to go argue with my sound guy about why wecan’tdub an entire scene using TikTok audio clips. Back in a bit.”
We watch him disappear through a side door.
“I like him,” Mads says.
I glare up at him, incredulous.
We meander through the space, dodging a severed foam head and a tangle of stage cables.
I check one of the open laptops on a folding table. Just a budget spreadsheet and a half-written group email titled “Who took the goat skull again???” Nothing criminal. Nothing enlightening.
Mads peers into a crate labeled “Misc. Torture.” He closes it again quickly. “Unless you want a fake jawbone or a bloody severed toe, I think we’re tapped out.”
I sigh. “So much for leads, unless the entirety of Briarwood’s soccer team decides to pop in tonight.”
I guess it wasn’t a total bust, but still, somehow it feels like we’re no closer to figuring any of this out.
He turns toward me, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun while we’re here.”
Then he picks something up off the table.
A mask. White, stretched, with hollow black eyes and a long, open mouth frozen mid-scream. Iconic. Cheap plastic, but eerie as hell in the low light.
I know the movie was meant to be kind of campy, but I watched it in third grade, and it traumatized me. I didn’t sleep for a week, refused to answer the door for a month, and cried during a Halloween aisle walkthrough at the department store because my friend’s older brother thought it’d be funny to sneak up behind me wearing the mask.
He slips it on and tilts his head just slightly to the side.
Something flips in my stomach the second he pulls the mask over his face.
Heat curls low in my stomach, thighs pressing together before I can stop myself. It’s twisted, but I can’t look away.
The mask hides him, turns him into something darker, and the fact that it’s still Mads underneath only makes it worse.
He can’t possibly know what this does to me, yet I can’t shake the feeling he’s reading every thought.
“You good?” he says, voice muffled but playful. The damn thing even distorts the sound of it a little. Enough to make my brain spark in unhelpful ways.
I swallow, then squeak out, “Yeah. Fine. Great.”
He cocks his head again, stepping closer. My mouth goes dry. My knees attempt a negotiation with gravity. He takes one more step, and I have to physically stop myself from reaching for him.
