Dark Museum

Erica

It couldn't be him: Joshua Rossi lying unresponsive, looking like he'd already been through hell before she hit him.

With trembling fingers, she took her phone from her back pocket and switched on the flashlight. He was sweaty and bruised, yes, and she'd never seen him with a week's worth of beard, but Joshua Rossi lay before her — or what he would have looked like when he disappeared thirty years ago.

"Those damn ransom notes," she whispered. She didn't get in trouble for the ones she left for Stephanie or Rachel, but for the only man she pranked. God, let us protect all the men.

She hadn't even thought about it. She cut up the Christmas card he sent her, Xeroxed the note, and planted them around the arena the night of their concert. Like the blood capsule she'd bitten in front of him, the ransom note was only supposed to annoy him. But he made a fool of himself drinking too much at the meet and greet after the show, and she never saw him again.

"Come on," Nasir said, approaching her with his flashlight trained forward.

Erica stood. "What about that other guy?"

"He got away. Let's get this one to the cabin before it's too dark to see."

Her heart pounded. "I'm not killing him. I can't kill anyone."

"All we're doing is saving our asses. Help me get him up."

Nasir slung Josh over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Light the way," he said.

Erica had immediately regretted leaving the notes the night she left them. A few hours after two young women escorted Josh out of the building, one of them returned backstage to pick up his things. Along with his violin and a change of clothes, the woman took a photocopied ransom note from Erica's makeup table and stuffed it into a gallon zip bag.

"I want to continue your little joke," she'd said, and Erica gave the woman her phone number to be included. She didn't hear from the woman again until thirty years later.

"It's Blair," the woman said over the phone while Erica was shopping for a bigger dress than she wanted.

"I'm sorry?"

"I still have that note in the bag," Blair continued. "With your fingerprints on it. $50mil or Joshua Rossi dies. Harsh words for a joke, but I'm still laughing."

Her face went cold. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you ever wonder what happened to him?"

"Lady, this was thirty years ago. I didn't have anything—"

"I need you to do me a favor."

"You've got the wrong person."

"Erica Brightman. Now Consoli. Soprano. Kew Gardens, New York."

Erica was silent.

"If you don't help me, I'll tell the police I saw you carry Joshua Rossi to your car the night he disappeared."

"I never even had a car. I didn't live in New York back then."

"There was an accomplice. Grainy security footage. It wouldn't take much to tie you to his disappearance with this ransom note. He had the original in his pocket. Did you know that?"

"What do you want out of me? I'm not rich—"

"I don't want your money, I want you."

"What I did was a stupid mistake and I want to put it behind me. I have put it behind me."

"There's no statute of limitations on murder."

"Erica, light!" Nasir shouted.

She trained the light ahead of them both as they trudged through the woods.