‘I think it is. I know what Rose was going through.’ Heike took a deep breath. ‘Her fear, what she was believing towards the end. I still think a lot of it was in her mind, but not all. I looked into it. I did some research. I think some of it was real. If you say you are experiencing the same thing, I think you must be careful. You should have all the information.’

‘Okay. Thank you. I don’t know how much you know about Olivia Jouval or Rashida Barnes, whether you’ve heard of Curtis Worthing. But I think something strange, and possibly dangerous, is about to happen. If you have any information – if you’re in the position to share it – I’d be really grateful.’

‘I’m going to send you something Rose didn’t post to her website and some news articles she’d collected. She died in Boston last September – during the Metamuse show. She was writing a blog post that weekend. The things she’s written there, I can’t believe them all. Rose had become mentally ill – she was paranoid, she was afraid. And I blame this Olivia Jouval for doing this to her. She never had any problems before Metamuse.’ She paused, taking another deep breath, controlling her voice. ‘But she was starting to uncover things that were true. As you say, dangerous things – and that wasn’t in her mind. I looked into it,’ she repeated. ‘The people who died – they’re all connected. They all knew each other.’

‘I’m not sure what this all means,’ Petra said. ‘Can you help me understand?’

‘I would warn you to just leave it behind, but I don’t know you. I don’t know how deep you are. Maybe the only way I can help you is to send you what I have. Maybe you’ll be able to make some sense of it.’

Rose-Tinted Reviews

Unpublished blog post retrieved by Heike Maslow

[Heike, I’m not coming home this time, and I want to tell you why. I’ve emailed you the link to this page.

Maybe that’s what Olivia and I have in common. I’ve always expressed myself better in writing than talking, and I’m sorry about that. I love you.]

Casting Couch, Metamuse, Boston

Friday, 13 September

19:15

It immediately feels like a game, another elaborate Metamuse hallucination. Following the instructions, I check in and am assigned a room key. The Back Bay Hotel is an old-fashioned residential hotel with thick, dark and musty carpets and overpainted doors. When I get up to my room, number 401, green neon is pouring through the window against an overcast evening sky. Metatextual vibes shimmer knowingly.