Curtain Call

For the What Happens Backstage competition.


1. Curtain Call

“London, you have been absolutely wonderful! Thank you and good night!” The stalker watched as Melody Black took her final bow for the night. Soon, she would be his, and his alone. Of course she would. He loved her, and he knew she loved him too. She just had to realise it. Surely she appreciated his gifts, his tokens? Had he not gotten rid of her troublesome ‘lover’ after she screamed that she wished he’d go to hell? He’d made her wish come true, hadn’t he? Had he not proven his devotion to her by leaving quotations of her songs at the doors of her various apartments and at the desks of the hotels she stayed in?

The stalker followed Melody backstage. It was so easy, slipping past the security guard at the door while he was looking the other way, trying to keep screaming fans at bay. The imbeciles. Did they not know that Melody belonged to him? Down the corridor he walked, his footsteps muffled by the plush, dark red carpet, coming ever closer to his ebony-haired goddess. He stopped outside her dressing room. This was it. The moment they had both been waiting for.

The door was unlocked and opened easily. Had she been expecting him? The stalker stepped inside. The room was cool, much more pleasant than the muggy performance arena. Gifts and trinkets from fans were scattered about the room, things that had been given shortly before the performance. Pathetic. These people clearly did not know how to appreciate Melody Black.

A door to the left opened and the artist herself stepped out, having gotten changed in the adjoining bathroom. The stalker could not help but to stare. Even in ripped jeans and a faded grey T-shirt she looked stunning.

“I’m sorry, what are you doing here?” Melody asked, her amber eyes flashing as she spotted him, her angelic voice tainted with surprise and hostility.

“I j-j-just wanted to c-congratulate you on y-y-y-your sh-show tonight,” the stalker stuttered, still taken aback by her perfection.

“Well, that’s… sweet of you,” Melody replied, still with that hostile tone. “But I really think you ought to go.”

“But don’t you think we should… get to know each other?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t know who you are and I have no desire to find out. Now please, leave.” She pointed to the door.

The stalker was crestfallen. He felt like his world was falling apart. “But… after everything I did for you… Did you not notice?” Suddenly, the sorrow turned to fury. “I gave you everything, all my time, all my love! I sold everything to follow you! Everything! I even got rid of that nuisance Marcus Brisbane for you! And this is how you repay me?”

Melody was silent for a while, speechless. Then she whispered. “Marcus… They told me he died in an accident.”

“Accident?” The stalker laughed. “It was no accident. I pushed him into the river after you said you wanted him to burn in hell. I fulfilled your wish, didn’t I?”

“It was you all along,” she whispered. “The anonymous letters and presents, it was all you.”

“Yes. Me.” The stalker walked slowly towards her. “And if you can’t appreciate it…”

“No, please! I didn’t mean–” Her pleading was cut short by the letter opener that was now in her throat and the blood gushing out of the severed artery.

As soon as Melody Black’s body went limp, the stalker regretted what he’d done. With his idol gone, who was he? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to find out.

When someone finally came to the dressing room, what they found was the bled out corpse of one of the world’s most popular singers, and the body of a John Doe no one could identify, with the murder weapon embedded in his temple.

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