Beneath the Scars (23 page)

“But it wasn’t your imagination, was it?”

“No. We went through the scene up to the point of her throwing the water at me, and then we were ready to go.” Zachary let out a deep sigh. “The cameras started rolling and we both slipped into our characters. It was perfect—both of us were on our mark. The last part of the scene, Marni picked up her glass and looked at me.” Zachary’s hand lifted to his face in an unconscious gesture of defense. “Her eyes were cold and determined and so fucking filled with insanity…that I knew. I knew right then something was going to happen.”

His words were coming faster now, his accent more pronounced, his hands clenching and unclenching. “I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t move. It was as if I was watching it from outside my body—looking in, and powerless to stop it.” His breath started coming out in small gasps. “It was all choreographed. I was supposed to stand there and take it. Let her throw the water at me and not move; be stoic. We’d rehearsed it enough, I could watch the water come at me and not even blink. But it wasn’t right. She wasn’t right. As soon as she tossed the contents of the glass my arm came up.” His hands balled into fists, his entire body trembling now.

“What was it?”

“Vodka. What everyone thought was water was alcohol; she replaced the water she drank with straight vodka. It hit my face, burning my eye and soaking into my shirt.

“Before I could react or anyone else realized what was happening, she picked up a lit candle”—he swallowed and lowered his voice—“and set me on fire.”

My stomach lurched and I covered my mouth as I stared at him in horror. Not only had she done all that, but she’d planned it.

Zachary’s eyes were wide, filled with the emotion of his terrible memories. He braced himself against the wall with one shaking arm.

“It happened so fast. Chaos broke out. I fell down, screaming in pain, Marni was ranting and shouting, trying to stop people from getting to me. The accelerant was everywhere so fire was burning on the set, as well as me. All I vaguely remember is the screaming and shouting as people rushed around.” His voice became gritty with emotion. “I remember the smell of my flesh burning. The pain overtook me and I blacked out.”

“And Marni?”

Zachary’s head shook slightly, as if he was trying to clear his mind. His chest heaved with a large puff of air.

“She killed herself.”

I shook with nerves. I’d never felt so cold in my life as I huddled into the blanket, my body physically reacting as Zachary’s words kept repeating in my head—a constant unending circle. So many emotions raged within me. Grief and sorrow for Zachary’s suffering. I felt a fierce, almost primal anger toward a woman I never met, for inflicting such horror and pain onto another person, then in a cowardly act, taking her own life. I drew the blanket closer; my hands gripping the soft material so tight my knuckles were white as I struggled not to be overwhelmed. I needed to be calm for Zachary when he returned.

After he told me Marni had killed herself, he had locked down. “I have to walk. I have to go. I need—”

I only nodded, unable to stop him. He paused at the door. “Will you be here when I get back?”

“Yes.”

His shoulders lost a little of their tension and he called for both dogs, closing the door quietly behind him, leaving me alone with the deafening silence. I had no idea how long he’d be gone, but I knew this time he would be coming back. I had to wait for him and be here when he did. I had to be strong for him.

I was surprised when the door opened again not long after. I was silent as I watched him shed his coat and join me on the sofa. Reaching out, he pulled me onto his lap, holding me tight as I gathered the blanket around us both. The tension in his body began to dissipate. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Why?”

“I shouldn’t have said all that and walked away again. I know you have questions. I needed to clear my head, though.”

“I understand.”

A shaky sigh escaped him. “I needed to hold you. I needed to know you’re for real.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His arms tightened and I snuggled deeper into his warmth. Minutes passed as we drew comfort from one another.

Slowly, my shaking stopped and I drew back. He looked so drawn and weary, his eyes dull and flat. “We don’t have to talk anymore today.”

“I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I want to finish it.” His hands cupped the back of my head, restlessly stroking my skin. “Help me finish it, Megan.”

I nodded, understanding he needed my questions again.

“Can you tell me what happened…after?”

Gently, he lifted me off his lap and got up, once again on edge. As if sensing the growing tension in the room, the dogs crept away, heading for the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if Zachary even noticed them leaving.

“I only know what I was told.” He frowned. “I was out for a while. They weaned me off the drugs gradually, letting my periods of consciousness become longer, until I was lucid enough to understand what had happened. That Marni had done that for revenge. She had a total break from reality—Ryan told me she laughed as she watched me burn.”

My stomach heaved as I listened. I wanted to get up and wrap him in my arms as he spoke, finally letting the memories that had festered and raged inside, out into the open. I knew, though, if I touched him right now he would shut down. I had to sit and let him talk, yell, scream…whatever it took.

“She died that day?”

“Yes. In the chaos she ran to her trailer and locked herself in. She, ah, shot herself. Besides the alcohol there were drugs in her system. She knew what she was going to do; she knew she was going to set me on fire, then kill herself.” His eyes were filled with guilt. “I did that to her. Ryan told me she was unstable. He warned me she had a history of nervous breakdowns and she’d even attempted suicide once. She did a few strange things that should have set off alarm bells in my head, but as usual, I blocked them out. I remember waking up one night, finding her in my room, just staring at me—she had somehow got a copy of my key. Another time I found her going through my stuff, taking little things she thought I wouldn’t miss. I chalked it up to her quirkiness instead of seeing the truth.” He shook his head. “When I told Ryan he warned me again, but in my usual selfish way, I ignored him and did what I wanted. Took what I wanted. Only this time I paid a price. We both did.”

“She made the decision to hurt you.”

He shook his head. “She wasn’t in her right mind. I pushed her over the edge with my cruelty.”

Remembering his words from the other day, I cleared my throat. “You don’t think you
deserved
what happened, do you?”

“No.” He sighed. “Not most of the time, but at others, I think maybe I did.”

I shook my head furiously. “No. Nobody deserves that to happen to them. Ever.”

“What I did—”

“—was wrong. You were cruel. You were also only human; you made a huge error in judgment. She could have done a dozen things to show her displeasure. She was obviously sick, Zachary.”

“I should have seen that more plainly, though.”

“No. You weren’t capable of seeing another person’s suffering at the time.”

“So you forgive me for what I did? So easily?”

I frowned at him. “It’s not my place to forgive you. You need to forgive yourself. You need to forgive her.”

He was motionless as he contemplated my words. “I forgave her a long time ago. I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself completely.”

“Only you have that power,” I reminded him gently.

“I know.”

Nothing I could say would change how he felt. Nothing would change for him until he was ready, so I let it go for now.

“How did you end up here?”

The tension returned to his shoulders and he started moving around the room again, touching things, once again lost in thought. Absently, he picked up a small sculpture, his thumb tracing over the smooth glass.

“One day I was an actor—everyone wanted a piece of me. I thought I had everything: looks, money, a life most would envy—my whole future laid out before me. People to do anything I told them to do, women falling over me. I knew I was a complete and utter asshole, but I didn’t care. They didn’t care.” He stopped pacing and looked out the window.

“Then I woke up. It was all gone. I had no future. It all changed in one instant. I changed. Everything I knew…everything my life was built around was my
face
. My looks. My entire life was because of how I looked.” He sneered in disgust and looked down at his hands, as if he was surprised to see he was holding something. “My fucking face. God damn it, I
hated
my fucking face!”

With a roar, he threw the sculpture across the room, the glass hitting the wall and shattering into thousands of tiny shards. I covered my mouth to stop the startled gasp, my body trembling in the face of his sudden rage. He started shouting.

“I wasn’t Adam Dennis the famous actor anymore! I was a scarred, ugly man who needed help! But I had no one who wanted to help me! I had surrounded myself with people just like me—cold and uncaring—and when I really needed someone there was nobody I could rely on.” His voice broke and he stopped shouting, his chest heaving with exertion. He stumbled to the chair, almost falling into it. His head fell back, eyes shut. All I could do was stare, waiting for him to speak again. When he did, his voice was quieter and laced with sadness. “I was useless to anyone in my life; I held no value to anyone. I was in pain, and for the first time in my life I was scared. I had no one—not a single person to help me. My agent was distant; he knew my career was over, so I was of little use to him anymore. He played his role, but we both knew what was going on. The studio was in protection mode; too busy disclaiming any responsibility for the tragic accident on set that injured one person and killed another. All they wanted to do was throw money my way, and sweep it all under the rug and forget it. Forget me.”

“That’s what was said?”

“It was a closed set. They concealed it up as best they could; twisted the situation to serve their purpose. Her family didn’t want what happened to be known. I didn’t want the extent of my injuries out there. They paid money to the right people and covered it up. There were rumors and innuendos, but frankly, I was too ill to care much about that. I was in too much pain.

“Did you know, Megan,” he murmured, his voice almost robotic, “if you’re burned enough you get cold?”

My chest constricted as tears filled my eyes. “No.”

He nodded, his eyes distant and unseeing. “It felt endless: pain, burning, cold. I shook all the time. My skin was on fire, but I shook all the time from the cold. Odd, isn’t it?”

“Zachary—”

He kept talking, his voice an empty drone, as I cried without a sound, my tears running down my cheeks, unheeded.

“It was a cold that came from inside—nothing could warm me up. Every time I would start to wake up it was the first thing I felt. As though I was trapped in a burning iceberg. I didn’t think it would ever end.” He paused, a rough exhale of air leaving his lungs. “I thought I’d go mad before it was over. I wanted to die.

“Maybe it would have been better if I did.”

My heart ached at those words. I couldn’t even comprehend his pain.

He looked past me. “I struggled daily, just to make it through every day. Get past the physical pain and work through the mental part of it. They did what they could for me medically, although my head was in such a bad place I refused some of the treatments. My career was over—I knew that. I had a couple procedures to help with the scarring, but they were extremely painful and didn’t make much difference in my opinion.”

I wiped my face, my voice raspy when I spoke. “You didn’t have anyone, Zachary? Anyone you trusted?”

“I was still stupid enough I thought I did, but the people I was unwise enough to think of as friends, couldn’t be bothered with me. I was utterly alone…except for one person.” His voice was deep with weariness. “One person stayed. A staff member I had never paid much attention to. She was there, and helped me over the next few months. I was so grateful.” He snorted in disgust. “I acted like an idiot, I was so grateful; like a fucking stray dog someone takes home instead of kicking. That was what I had become—a stray dog nobody wanted. I trusted her, I believed everything she said. Until—” His voice trailed off.