She Died Famous

by Kyle Rutkin

  And the stadium rumbled.

  “KTROOPS.”

  “KTROOPS.”

  “KTROOPS.”

  I took my place to the right of the stage. Kelly was wrong about me. I wasn’t her soldier. This was bigger than me.

  A colorful spotlight beamed down, and Kelly’s silhouette appeared in the center. She squinted in the bright lights, adjusting her earpiece. Screams erupted from the sea of fans. She was everything they expected. Cleaned and polished, with shiny hair and perfect skin. The chained beauty, ready to lead her fans into battle.

  “Reborn” was the opening number. The beat detonated through the stadium and her silk boxing robe fell to the ground. She took one step forward, letting her glittery black crop top shimmer in the spotlight. The poison in her drink kicked in and somehow, she moved around the stage in unison with her dancers.

  Somehow, she sang:

  “This ain’t no act

  This ain’t no game.

  This is my show.

  Say my name.”

  They chanted. “Kelly! Kelly!”

  “Bitch, I’m reborn.

  I’m reborn.

  I have risen from the dead.

  Say my name. Say my name.

  My ego has been shed.”

  She swayed like a branch in the wind. Her voice wavered, off-key. My stomach lurched every time her footing slipped. She always recovered. Back in formation. Like a fighter in the ring, holding on for dear life. No one noticed. Her fans held their signs and chanted her name. They saw what they wanted to see.

  Her entourage was no different. Promoters were glued to their phones. Her friends were bobbing their heads to the music. Jez was beaming with tears streaming down her cheeks. But there was one exception. Barry. Our eyes met, and a crooked smirk twisted across his bloated face. He nodded his head, gloating. He was enjoying this. He was evil. He was a bully like my father. A creator of pain. Rage throbbed into my clenched fists. Kelly didn’t have to share her secrets with me. I knew he was responsible for the scar on her arm. For the wounds in her heart. He would suffer for what he did.

  She made it to the second song, third song. She changed outfits. She made it to “My Life Without You.”

  The blue spotlight fell on stage as the piano keys played. She started in her usual position, standing upright in her black slip. She closed her eyes in the blue beams, clutching her favorite silver chain. Her eyes remained closed as the first cue passed. The pianist replayed the notes. She missed the second cue. Finally, she sang:

  “Baby, when you say help me,

  you mean break me.

  When you say love me,

  you mean numb…”

  She stopped, mid-lyric, face scrunched in distress. “My life with you,” she stammered through her tears before kneeling on the ground. The piano kept playing, but she stopped singing.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” Kelly’s body collapsed. She turned to the side of the stage, scanning with urgency. She was looking for me. She needed me. Yes. My heartbeat thrashed wildly. She needed me to transform. To become the man she believed in.

  I was about to run onstage when a hand grabbed my arm. Barry’s fat fingers tightened around my wrist.

  “Don’t fucking do it,” he commanded.

  The rage seared beneath the surface, seeping into my bloodstream.

  The music kept playing.

  “Don’t fuck with my business,” he growled.

  Power radiated through my body. The familiar red flashes came.

  “Or else.”

  The rage exploded.

  I grabbed him by his fat neck and I shoved him against the wall. I squeezed the soft flesh as hard as I could until his sweaty bald head swelled with blood. Until his yellow framed glasses fell from his face. Veins burst from his forehead. I wanted him to feel the pain that Kelly felt. “Fuck you,” I spit. I wanted to keep squeezing until he had no more air in his pathetic lungs.

  I felt Jez’s hand on my back. “Kaleb, stop.”

  I let go.

  Barry fell to the ground, choking, smirking. “You have no idea what you just did,” he exhaled, shaking his head, chuckling.

  I turned back to the stage. Kelly. She was still on the ground, fighting her way back up. Still trying to perform. I rushed towards her, shielding my eyes from the blinding spotlight. The crowd whispered nervously as I knelt beside her, prying the microphone from her grip. Her face was drenched with sweat, her eyelids at half-mast. I could feel the stares, the cameras, the whispers. They wouldn’t stop me this time. Kelly flinched at my touch, mumbling, “Go away. Go away.”

  The crowd booed and shouted in confusion as I picked her up in one quick swoop. She fought my restraints, trying to return. But I wouldn’t falter. I carried her past the wall of shocked faces, through the cement tunnels. As we got further from the stage, Kelly softened in my arms. She stopped resisting. She put her arms around my neck, leaned into my body. I took her to her dressing room and laid her down on the couch. Her teeth chattered, her body trembled.

  “I went to find her Kaleb,” she cried. “I needed to find her.”

  “Who?” I put my hand to Kelly’s face.

  “My mom,” she closed her eyes in pain. “I drove for hours looking for her. I couldn’t find her.”

  A knock on the door.

  Kelly opened her eyes in fright.

  I stood up, clenching my knuckles. I was excited for the confrontation. I opened the door to find Barry standing in the doorway with his chest puffed out, grinning arrogantly. He stared me up and down, sizing up his opponent.

  “She’s not going back out,” I stated.

  “Is that right?” he snorted. “What’s your name again…Kaleb Reed. The penniless author she found in the box of broken toys. The one she decided to pick up and play with. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  “She’s done for the night,” I said through gritted teeth.

  He grinned. “I know.”

  I was about to close the door when his hand jammed it back open. He was surprisingly strong. “Listen, you pissant,” he frothed. “You have my permission to leave. But if you ever interfere again, I will destroy you both. Do you hear me? I will never let her leave.”

  Is that so?

  “She will always return to me.”

  You’re wrong.

  “I can break her.”

  Not if I destroy you first.

  I slammed the door.

  I escorted Kelly out of the building, into flashing lights. I held her close as we made our way past the mobs of fans that were waiting outside the arena. They held out their hands. They screamed her name. She kept her face buried in my chest. She was no longer performing. She was letting me protect her.

  She didn’t want to go back to her castle, so I took her to my apartment.

  She was silent as we climbed the stairs. She came out of the bathroom in my clothes, her head down. She closed her eyes when we kissed. Gentle, not assertive. I could feel her letting go, surrendering. Part of me wanted her to take control like she always did. Her face looked innocent, and her kiss felt real. Her moves weren’t calculated. She buried her forehead into my chest. I felt tears. I wanted to take away every pain, every burden. Everything that hurt her. I wrapped my arms around her tiny frame and held her as tightly as I could.

  I didn’t want to lose her.

  Her body moved slowly, waiting for me to lead. She wanted me on top. She closed her eyes when I was inside.

  With every thrust, she clenched tighter. She wanted this. She was giving me everything. Tears rolled down her cheeks. I put my forehead on hers. I felt her warm, salty tears on my cheeks. Her nails lingered on my neck. Her lips lingered on my mouth. Her eyes remained shut. Her moans were whispers, not theatrical. I glided my thumbs across her cheek.

  Then it was over.

  Stillness.

  Pounding hearts.

  She reached over to my nightstand and grabbed my book. She opened
up to a page and nuzzled closer. “Read to me.”

  “Kelly—”

  “Please.”

  I took a deep sigh, then read: “It is a thirty-minute drive to the dirt parking lot outside Old James Frosty. The night falls on the landmark restaurant that serves cold drinks and ice cream to overheated locals. Alice is sitting on a bench, her hands on her face, and only the sounds of crickets and passing trucks fill the night sky. She has been crying. Her cheek is bruised, her eyes are swollen. There is nothing worse for AJ. It tears and pulls at everything inside of him. The most beautiful girl in the world, bruised and beaten by a coward. How could she let him do this to her?”

  I stopped.

  “Keep going,” Kelly pleaded.

  “AJ and Alice don’t speak. There is nothing left to say. AJ places his hand on hers, and she allows herself to cry even harder. They are both trapped. AJ is forced to watch the girl he loves cry with bruises on her face while he does nothing. She cries because she isn’t strong enough to leave him. Both are stuck. Both are exhausted. AJ keeps his arms around her and just holds her, because that’s all he can do now—hold her as tightly as possible and pray that he can strip the pain away—for the moment at least. He may not save her, but he can be there. She cries on his sleeve, lifts her head, puts her lips to his.

  ‘I’m going to leave him,’ she says through the tears.

  AJ smiles as she burrows her head deeper into his shoulder. He knows it isn’t true, but there is no point in arguing. No point in pushing her.

  ‘I know you don’t believe me,’ she says, looking off into the abyss, ‘but I’ll prove you wrong this time. I promise I will.’

  AJ holds her even tighter, and he knows right then. He will never be with Alice. And she will never be free. Unless her husband somehow went away.”

  I closed the book and turned over to face Kelly. She had rolled away, sobbing.

  “Kelly? Are you okay?”

  She ran into the bathroom. I gazed down at the book. I never fully understood. Not until the very end. I knocked on the bathroom door. It slowly opened. Kelly was leaning against the wall, tissues in hand. I dropped down next to her. We stared at the cheap eggshell-painted wall in my bathroom.

  “Please don’t quit on me, Kaleb,” she sobbed.

  “I won’t.”

  “I need you now,” she whispered.

  Then I held her too long because she was the only person I had left.

  “I need you, too,” I said.

  She smiled through the tears.

  “I love you,” I said. Whether I was talking to Sara, my brother, or Kelly, I didn’t know. I didn’t care. Because I said it, and I didn’t regret it. It was real. This wasn’t an obsession on a computer screen. Not a quick fix. I cared about her. I was hopeful.

  She took a deep breath and laughed—not the reaction I was looking for. She weakly mumbled, “See? I was right.”

  “What?” I snapped out of my sentiment.

  “I said you were going to fall in love with me.”

  I pulled my head from hers. She squeezed my hand.

  “But I love you too.” She closed her eyes.

  A smile broke out on my face.

  “Will you come with me tomorrow? I want to see Barry,” she said. “I’m going to fire him. I want to start over. I want to take a break and get healthy. I want to find my mother. Do you think you can be there?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  She pulled out her phone. “Let’s take a picture so we can remember this moment.”

  An hour later, she was in my bed, eyes closed. She looked so beautiful, peaceful. I glanced over to the silver sparrow on my nightstand. I had never seen her take it off. Her voice was so clear in my mind.

  I want you to fall in love with me…

  But then those other words—

  And in the end, I’m going to break your fucking heart.

  Lizzy: That concert was a disaster. They had to refund everyone’s tickets. I’ve never seen Barry so upset. To be honest, I think it was all part of her act. Maybe a cry for attention. I don’t know. I told Barry that Kelly wasn’t ready. But he didn’t want to listen.

  Jez: I would have done something sooner. But she wanted Kaleb to rescue her.

  Lizzy: He was no match for Barry.

  The Real Alice

  New Mexico, 2015

  Sixty-seven days sober. Sara was sitting on a park bench, a black scarf protecting her bruised neck from the cold. A half smile played in the corner of her mouth as she watched the sun rise behind dull gray clouds. Then she bit her lip, a sure tell that she was returning to her daydreams. It was her way of avoiding pain.

  Her body sank deeper into the bench as her mind drifted into the fantasy. I knew exactly where she was going. She called it the perfect sunrise. With it, her smile grew wide. She imagined blue skies and fluffy, white clouds. She imagined the sun illuminating the morning sky. She imagined herself as a free woman.

  In this fantasy, she had no husband. The day was full of possibility. Free of bondage. No pain, no fear. Sometimes her fantasy included children running around, playing as she watched the day commence. She would never have kids with her husband. If she was too afraid to leave him, she would be too afraid to protect her children.

  I looked off into the distance.

  Just like Sara, I was good at fabricating stories.

  Like fantasizing about my life with her. I imagined our house, kids, everything. But for the first time since we met, I knew for certain that the fantasy would never be real. She would always be trapped. She would never have that sunrise. And I would always be on the sidelines, ensnared. Rapt in my obsession, thinking about her, waiting.

  A new fantasy sparked in my head. One much darker. It started as a thought, but my stomach didn’t twist. In fact, my body felt euphoric, almost light. This wasn’t a daydream. This wasn’t a fantasy. No. For the first time, I was starting to understand the difference. This was my destiny. I was here to protect. I knew what I must do.

  Bob’s cold hand clasped my shoulder.

  I didn’t flinch. Not this time.

  I must kill her husband.

  The Real Kelly Trozzo

  TheInsideJuice.com Interview 2019

  INSIDEJUICE: Walk me through those first months back in the spotlight. How did you decide on the new image you would present to the world?

  TROZZO: If I wanted to move forward, I knew I would have to kill the personas from my past. I had to destroy all the memorabilia—the clothes, the awards, the photos, all evidence of my vulnerability. My ex, Noah, turned out to be very useful in my comeback. He helped me build my new image by recruiting his band of merry misfits—artists, writers, hip-hop heads, and dancers—ready to come party at my command. He even found me the perfect assistant. I saw them as a buffer, the moat in my castle’s defense. Perfect accessories for the new lifestyle I created.

  INSIDEJUICE: What did Barry think of this new image?

  TROZZO: I remember the day Barry and his team heard the first single off my album, as well as the storyboard for the video. It was a little shocking for everyone. I’ll put it this way. My very first music video had four horses, a fake family, a blond-haired boy in a charming log cabin. This new one had two lesbian hookup scenes, three whips, and one scene where I go down on a tattooed guy in a bathroom. But Barry had to agree. I had already gone too far. There was no turning back.

  After that meeting, we had a celebratory party at my mansion. I remember catching Noah’s gaze as I moved through the mass of kids. I could feel my new image start to seep into my thoughts. I wasn’t the weak little girl he remembered. This time, I was leading. He was following. I loved how strong that made me feel. How easily I ripped off his shirt and shoved him against the wall. He needed to know. This time around, I did the fucking.

  Lizzy: She had this incredible life. This great guy who adored her. Her music career was taking off. She was so ungrateful. All she cared about was recruiting soldiers for this make-believe “spi
ritual war.” The whole thing was so absurd. I couldn’t believe her fans bought into that madness. And Noah was caught right in the middle. He wanted to please her. But at what cost? Kelly and all her “troops” were living in a freakin’ fantasy!

  Jez: Noah was as weak as Lizzy.

  Lizzy: Do you really think Kelly trusted Jez with her secrets? Please. She meant nothing to Kelly. She was a pawn. Just another fanatical KTroop that Kelly could manipulate. Jez didn’t know a damn thing. But I did. I knew everything. She told me everything in New York. Why do you think I left?

  Jez: Where was Lizzy on the day Kelly died? Ask her! Ask her!

  The Blog of Kaleb Reed

  July 25, 2019

  “Today, we have obtained pictures of the murder scene. I warn you ahead of time, these images are incredibly graphic and disturbing.”

  I fill another coffee mug with vodka. Pour out the last of the cocaine on the motel dresser. I smash up the last of the pills. Dump out the psychedelics for good measure. This should be fun. One last hurrah. One final fantasy. It’s time to finish the story I was paid to write. I can’t tell you I’m not nervous. I am. I’m frightened of what comes next.

  “I realize these photos are very difficult to look at,” says the anchorman.

  There’s nothing I haven’t seen.

  Donaldson once laid the same pictures in front of me. He was confident recreating the murder scene with his photos strung together like puzzle pieces on the table. He made me stare at Barry’s bloated body in the foyer. He waited for my reaction. He showed me the pools of blood atop the marble. Then a picture of my footprints clearly marked next to the body. My bloody handprints smeared on the railing. Then a picture of Kelly, her body strewn across the driveway. A close-up of the knife wounds. I couldn’t look.