The Stalker He Trusted

The first time I see Callum Wren, he's already three years into being the reason my sister is dead. I just don't know it yet.

I'm sitting on the floor of the storage unit in Van Nuys where the building manager dumped Tessa's things after the lease expired. Cardboard boxes, a duffel of her costumes from background work, a Ziploc of expired prenatals nobody told me about.

In a copy of *The Magus* I gave her for her twenty-second birthday, a ticket stub falls out. Folded so many times the creases are white. IFC Center. *Last Light at Ojai*. The A24 indie that put a particular British unknown on Sundance's short list.

On the back, in her hand:

*Callum says when he wins the BAFTA he'll tell them about me.*

I read it twice. I do not cry. I put the stub in my wallet and zip the wallet shut.