Page 38 of Make Me Scream

Her pout stirs a dark thirst inside me: those taut, little cheeks and thin, pressed lips burn into my mind’s eye. I want to capture that pure, beautiful malice with paper and coal.

“How am I supposed to do it?” she asks. “Alistair knew all kinds of-”

“I’ll teach you.”

This is the last exit. The point of no return.

Only if I’m sure.

“You? Just because you know Rat’s work doesn’t mean you can teach me-”

“I’m Alistair,” I say.

She stares in stunned silence. It’s the reaction I’d always hoped I’d receive someday, and it’s a relief to tell someone who can appreciate what I’ve done.

“What? You hate him,” she finally replies. “You’ve called him a hack. You’ve called his work ‘derivative stunts.’”

“And that’s why no one suspects I’m him, as far as I can tell. Plus, people in our circles love to criticize Alistair Rat. Being his foremost critic keeps me in their good graces.”

She takes a moment to process this, eyeing me with suspicion.

“That’s… like… fucking psychopathic! Do you like lying to people? Is it funny, tricking everyone you know?”

“Sometimes, yes. You see how people like Mundell dismiss my work. I absolutely enjoy making them look like fools, even if no one knows it but me.”

“Uh huh. But how do I know you’re not playing a joke on me right now? Can you prove you’re Alistair?”

“Sure.” I lead us back to the workstation and open up the folder markedSalesman. “Have a look.”

Gwen pulls up her seat and scrolls through a folder full of numbered video files. She opens one, an overhead shot of an empty theater starting to fill up as people arrived.

“What is this?”

Before I can answer, she skips to the middle of the video, showing the full audience. The stage isn’t visible from this angle, but we can hear the actors. She closes the file and opens another: a video of the same length, but from the left balcony of the theater.

I hide a grin. Does she recognize the play, or maybe Francis Bentham’s nasal voice?

Gwen gasps.

“No way! It’sSalesman?”

She jumps forward in the video several minutes at a time until she’s nearly at the end. She passes the moment the mannequin dressed as Bentham halts in the air, suspended by the noose. Gwen startles from the sudden screams, then backtracks in the video until she sees the moment for herself.

“I don’t believe it,” she says, opening another video from yet another camera. “This is the raw footage.”

“Proof enough for you?” I ask.

“How did you do it? How did you get all the cameras in place?”

“I had a little help.”

“Like, an accomplice?” she says.

“More like a partner in crime. He also helped me rig the sprinkler system at Askew Gallery.”

May as well come clean about that too.

“Holy shit. Is he another art teacher? Have I met him?”

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