Scream Test: An unforgettable and gripping psychological thriller

by Mark Gillespie

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  Cassandra was blushing all over again. “Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. I don’t know why I did that.”

  “It’s alright.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  “Seriously, it’s cool.”

  Ellie was dying inside. She’d almost called her ‘Cassie’ a moment ago like she used to when they were kids. That would have been awkward, like they were still friends or something. Like she still knew the person standing in front of her. They’d been tight once, no doubt about that. They’d helped each other through traumatic childhoods, at least up until a certain point. They understood things about the other that no one else in the world could ever hope to. But now they were as good as strangers. No point in pretending otherwise.

  “How’s long it been?” Cassandra asked.

  “Eight years. I think.”

  “Oh man. Yeah, I guess it’s been eight years.”

  An elderly couple stood within earshot browsing the opposite shelves. Ellie glanced over Cassandra’s shoulder as the white-haired woman, her face thick with makeup and her hair immaculate, examined packets of ravioli while her husband, a thin bespectacled man leaning on a wooden walking stick, lingered behind her, dead-eyed and staring into space.

  “You really blossomed Ellie,” Cassandra said. The height discrepancy between them was so much that she had to tilt her head back to look Ellie in the eyes. Seemed like Cassandra was still the same height she’d been in 2009 while Ellie had shot up like a giraffe. “I always knew you’d blossom into something special. Wow, you’re like a supermodel.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ellie glanced at the contents of Cassandra’s basket – chocolate bars, fizzy drinks, cakes and enough processed sugar to make Ellie’s teeth hurt.

  “I feel quite inadequate standing next to you,” Cassandra said, laughing nervously. She glanced over her shoulder. The old couple were gone, wandering further down the aisle towards the front of store. The woman pushing the cart, her slow-moving husband a few paces behind her.

  Ellie shook her head. “You feel inadequate? I don’t see how. They’re not talking about making a movie of my life. Are they?”

  Cassandra gripped the handle of her basket and her knuckles whitened. “You heard about that?”

  “There was something in Backstage about it,” Ellie said, talking as if it was no big deal and she hadn’t read that particular article with her jaw on the floor. “Something about work starting early next year in Vancouver. Is that right? I don’t know much about it.”

  “Oh man,” Cassandra said, staring down at the items in her shopping basket. She was speed-blinking. “It’s all because of that goddamn book, you know, the one that journalist wrote.”

  “I remember,” Ellie said. “It flew off the shelves at the time though, didn’t it?”

  Cassandra’s eyebrows perked up. “You didn’t read it, did you?”

  “No.”

  That was Ellie’s second lie of the reunion.

  There’d been a massive buzz around the book, The Exorcism of Cassandra Saint, written by Allie Sawyer, a freelance journalist a couple of years after the strange events of 2009. The book covered all kinds of ground in terms of what happened to Cassandra and not just her, but to the people who’d been fascinated by the story to the point of obsession. In the end, despite touching upon Cassandra’s mental health and her troubled family situation, Sawyer had leaned into the supernatural element. She’d gone with the popular theory of ‘temporary possession’. It made for good reading but it was a work of fiction. Nonetheless, the book was a gigantic hit and Ellie wasn’t surprised to read in Backstage not long after its release that Klein Productions, based in Hollywood, had snapped up the film rights.

  “Good,” Cassandra said, looking relieved. “I’m glad you didn’t read it because it’s the biggest piece of crap you’ll ever read in your life. Sawyer doesn’t know shit. She sure as hell didn’t bother speaking to me about anything. Not that I would have seen her. As for the movie, that’s been in the works for years. I hear it’s in post-production already. It’s going to be nothing like my life. It’ll be sensationalized, even more so than the book.”

  “It was pretty sensational,” Ellie said. “At least by West Rouge standards. They’re paying you, right? Klein Productions or whoever’s making the movie? They’re giving you some decent coin for this?”

  Cassandra’s eyes were a blank.

  “I don’t want anything to do with it. The last thing I want is the spotlight on this again. People aren’t very nice when it comes to, you know, what happened.”

  Ellie couldn’t help herself. “Is that because you faked it? Because your folks faked it? What do you expect from people?”

  Cassandra lapsed into another seizure of embarrassed blinking. She looked down at the candy again. “That’s not what happened Ellie. I didn’t fake anything. It was just…”

  She stopped. Her body was shaking from head to toe.

  Ellie was worried that Cassandra was about to freak out in the middle of No Frills. “I know,” she said, holding a hand up. “I’m sorry Cassandra – that was a horrible thing to say.”

  Cassandra shrugged. “Guess that makes us even.”

  Ellie nodded. “Guess so. But people are just saying what they’re thinking. That your mom and dad made a lot of money from the attention the story gathered in 2009. And when it all crashed and burned, you guys fled West Rouge and I never saw you again. You were my best friend, Cassie.”

  “Please don’t be mad at me Ellie.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “You are. You were. How couldn’t you be? I never said goodbye or anything.”

  “You weren’t yourself,” Ellie said. “You had a breakdown. Right? That’s what happened?”

  Cassandra wiped her thumb up and down the corner of her eye. “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you run away?” Ellie said. “If it was so bad at home, why didn’t you run away or come to me or something?”

  “Do you remember that class presentation?” Cassandra asked, looking up from her basket.

  “Yeah of course. We rocked and everyone hated it.”

  “That was a turning point for me. Everyone hating it. We worked our asses off on that project and I was excited beforehand because I thought I was a part of something good. Like, A plus good. And if we could get an A plus there was hope for us. I didn’t have much to get excited about when I was fourteen but that project was smoking hot. We stood up in front of class and they didn’t see us. It killed me. I wanted to run away that very day but, remember? You said it was too early. Said we had to wait. I waited and the waiting tipped me over…”

  “We were fourteen,” Ellie said, cutting in. “How far do you think we’d get at fourteen with no money? They would have found us and brought us back and it would have been even worse than before.”

  “Who cares?” Cassandra said, her voice trembling. “It was a risk but we should have tried anyway. Everything that happened…it might not have happened.”

  “Are you saying it’s my fault? You cracked up on the front lawn in front of a hundred cellphones because I wouldn’t run away with you?”

  Cassandra chewed on her bottom lip. Blank eyes, staring into the distance.

  “No. I’m not saying that.”

  “What the fuck happened? I mean, what really happened?”

  Cassandra made a quiet groaning noise. “I screamed. I screamed for help and what did my parents do? They filmed it just like everyone else. They went along with the ride when they saw it taking off and yeah, that time my mom called your mom freaking out about it? Remember that? It was fake. Fake concern. She called a whole bunch of people freaking out like that. She wasn’t worried, she was creating publicity. They didn’t deny or confirm anything when everyone started talking about the crazy girl in Toronto who’d gone all Exorcist on the front lawn. They sure as hell didn’t say no when people started offering money to come into the house
. A quick interview here, another one there. That’ll be ten thousand dollars, thank you very much. Our money worries gone, just like that. The freak show rolled on and my parents were all for it. In the end, I began to doubt whether I was possessed or not.”

  “She always liked that otherworldly shit,” Ellie said. “Your mom. Seances, Ouija boards and stuff. Right?”

  “Yeah,” Cassandra said. “Just like that aunt of yours you told me about. But Mom loved the money side more than the occult. My dad sure as hell did. Me freaking out and going viral was like a gift from the gods.”

  Cassandra stared into empty space.

  “Can’t blame ’em for cashing in. Hey, it wasn’t all bad. At least they stopped fighting for a while – just long enough to count the money.”

  She managed a weak laugh.

  “You guys shipped out pretty quickly in the end,” Ellie said.

  “You can say that again. We couldn’t stay. Not in that street, not in that town.”

  “I called,” Ellie said. “I sent like a thousand texts. It was like you’d just disappeared off the face of the Earth.”

  “They took my phone away. I’m sorry, Ellie, I thought about you a lot and about us going to LA and everything else that we were supposed to do. I missed you so much. Three days of insanity, it ruined everything.”

  “Well,” Ellie said, looking at the floor. “It was a long time ago.”

  “If it wasn’t for that trashy Sawyer book,” Cassandra said, “no one would even remember what happened. No one would care. And there wouldn’t be a goddamn movie with my name on it.”

  “Look on the bright side,” Ellie said, a half-smile flirting with her lips. “It might be the start of a big movie franchise. You know, like The Conjuring.”

  Cassandra rolled her eyes. “God, I hope not. I hope it bombs on opening weekend and sinks into the void. It’s going to bring it all back, you know?”

  “You were just a kid,” Ellie said. “People. Media. You do know they blame your parents, right? Not you – you were just a kid.”

  Cassandra shrugged. “I expect my parents will pop up on TV when the movie comes out, sitting side by side, holding hands, and backing up Sawyer’s version of events and telling everyone that I really was ‘temporarily possessed’. Fuck it, let’s talk about something else. What have you been up to these past eight years?”

  Ellie gave a half-hearted shrug. “Been trying to break into acting and failing spectacularly. Landed a few bit parts around here and Vancouver but nothing worth writing home about. Otherwise, I’m working in Holt Renfrew four days a week to cover the bills.”

  “You didn’t go to LA?”

  “No. At least not yet. Still thinking about it.”

  “But you got away from your folks. Right? You’re out of that place?”

  “Hell yeah. Long time ago.”

  A bead of sweat trickled down Cassandra’s forehead. “Go to LA. Jesus, one of us should try to keep the old dream alive. Do it before it’s too late, Ellie.”

  “We’ll see. You living back in Toronto now?”

  Cassandra shook her head. “No chance. I’m just here for the week visiting my cousin. You remember Regina, the one with the big Coke bottle glasses?”

  Ellie vaguely remembered the name. She did remember the big glasses. “Sure. Where’s home?”

  “British Columbia. About an hour’s drive north of Vancouver.”

  “You like it there?”

  “It’s quiet.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You married or anything like that?”

  “No, just me and my cat.”

  “Cool.”

  Ellie was torn between getting out of No Frills in a hurry and standing there beside the pasta, rice and beans, watching her old friend crumble to pieces.

  “I’m sorry you went through all that,” she said. “What a freak show.”

  Cassandra laughed and for a moment, her eyes lit up. “Hey, you remember sitting by the Rouge River every other evening? Getting away from our folks. Didn’t matter if it was summer or winter. When things got tough, one of us would run to the other’s house and then we’d disappear together to that crusty old bench beside the bridge. Staring out at the park, convincing ourselves that the ghost of Nicole West had called us there to get revenge? Remember that? God, we were weird kids.”

  “Right.”

  “I guess we just needed something, right? Anything to keep us going. Anything to make us feel important.”

  Ellie smiled and recalled something her friend had said a long time ago. Something she hadn’t forgotten.

  What if everyone else is right and we’re wrong?

  “It was good to see you again Cassandra.”

  “Yeah, I’d better go. Regina’s making dinner and I’m in charge of the snacks.” She laughed and pointed at the contents of the shopping basket. “Guess that’s kind of obvious. Hey, do you…do you want to join us? There’s plenty of food.”

  “I can’t,” Ellie said, backing off slowly. To hell with the pasta sauce, she’d order takeout when she got home. “I got work stuff to do. But uhh, maybe some other time.”

  Cassandra blinked hard. “Sure.”

  They said their goodbyes and Ellie watched her old friend shuffling away to pay for her snacks. Cassandra Saint didn’t walk like a twenty-one-year-old.

  10

  Nicole sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process what it felt like to kill a man.

  She’d never get this moment back. No amount of self-reflection in the days and weeks ahead would recapture the feeling of sitting there on the edge of the bed, knife in hand, Klein’s blood still warm on her skin. Her heart wasn’t beating any faster than usual. Both hands were steady. The room wasn’t spinning like a merry-go-round and there was just, nothing. Was that it? Wasn’t she supposed to feel something more at the taking of a life, even a life as corrupt as Klein’s had been? Maybe that would change soon and the warmth would come back. After all, Grady Klein was just the starter. The main course was yet to come.

  Nicole wiped her bloody hands on the cream-colored sheets. She watched herself do it in the diamond mirror, her body and clothes smeared in different shades of red, the old blood and the new. Looked like she was going out trick or treating as the victim in a slasher movie.

  Klein was lying supine on the carpet, eyes wide open. There was an expression of disbelief etched on his face. Even in death, he appeared to be feeling more in that moment than Nicole.

  She edged her way around the bed towards the headboard. There was a landline phone on the bedside table and she lifted the handset like it was boobytrapped. Then she pulled out a small square of paper from within her back pocket and put it down on the table before her bloody fingers rendered it unreadable. She looked at the numbers, scribbled in blank ink. It was an Ohio number, one that she’d found and jotted down several weeks earlier.

  The call she had to make was an important one but she needed some time. Just a little time before summoning up the courage to punch the numbers in. The blood had to go first. She wanted to feel clean.

  Nicole grabbed the big box of Kleenex Extra Care from the other side of the bed. Pulling several sheets out, she began to wipe her face down. She scrubbed hard, like she was trying to take her face off. Blood and sweat were glued to her skin. She grabbed more Kleenex and stood up off the bed, still wiping her face and arms down as the Klein’s blood cooled.

  Nicole approached the body on her tiptoes. She wasn’t convinced that monsters could die so easily and before getting too close, she stared at it, waiting for Grady Klein to reanimate and charge at her with a bloodcurdling scream.

  Finally convinced that he was dead, Nicole grabbed Klein’s cellphone off the counter. With a look of grim concentration, she tried to access the home screen but the iPhone blocked her, requesting facial ID.

  She looked at the body.

  Getting facial ID meant getting closer to Klein. Nicole groaned softly but waded through the blood, amazed at how thick
and viscous it was, more like a pooling of dark syrup at her feet. She bent down and grabbed Klein by the hair. With the other hand, she began to wipe the producer’s ashen face clean with the Kleenex she’d brought over from the bedside table. She scrubbed around the mouth and chin where the bloodstains made Klein look like a vampire sleeping off a fresh feast.

  “You’re just too good to be true,” she sang.

  Nicole pushed a cluster of damp hair off his face. Gray roots were showing in his dyed brown hair. Christ, the man had been sweating – she might as well have been pulling the corpse out of the river. With her other hand, Nicole brought the iPhone closer, pointing the screen at the producer’s face. When the iPhone requested ID, she pulled Klein’s head upright and circled the screen slowly, trying to send it the visual information it wanted.

  The home screen lit up.

  “Thanks,” Nicole said, letting go of Klein’s head. It hit the floor with a dull thud. She walked away from the body, ignoring the squelching noise at her feet. She studied the numerous apps that clogged up the first page on Klein’s phone. The images were brightly colored but it didn’t take her long to find what she wanted. The green box with the white speech bubble inside.

  She opened Klein’s texts, studying the list of names. Jami’s name appeared in the second tab down after a thread with someone called Cecilia. Who was that? His wife? His sister? Mistress? Didn’t matter. Jami Maddox, that’s the name Nicole was looking for. She opened the tab and scanned the recent conversations between Klein and Jami. Her eyes darted between sentences. Too much small talk and no juice. But it had to be here – the information she wanted. She continued to browse and eventually found it. It was in a short exchange from yesterday. The first SMS, sent at 4.57pm, provided initial instructions from Klein, telling Jami what he wanted her to do. Below that, the Shadow Man’s address. He lived in the Hollywood Hills.

  Last text in that exchange. Sent from Klein’s iPhone at 5.07pm.