Kitty had used Luke’s phone to send a text to Connie (having to dig the number from the recesses of her brain—she couldn’t remember Mama’s number at all), warning her not to reply to any messages.

My phone was STOLEN!! If u get a text it is NOT from me. DO NOT RESPOND!!! Tell mama and everyone else. I will call u when I have a new cell (sending this via a friend!!)

The idea that Johan might be exchanging texts with her family—pretending to be her—filled Kitty with a cold and miserable gloom. This, hopefully, would sever that line of communication.

It had been Luke’s idea. She would have thought of it herself, and probably a lot sooner, except her brain was only functioning at about forty percent power. The drugs had something to do with that. The painkillers. The Xanax. Mainly, it was the memories—the vivid flashbacks of that terrible night, everything from Sly Boy’s rain-cloud expression to the sound of Johan’s ax scraping across the cement floor.

Kitty waited for Luke to return home, trying to distract herself by sleeping, listening to music, or watching Netflix on the dusty TV in the spare room. None of it worked, and she didn’t like being in the house by herself. She took a long shower and that helped a little, although the worst of the grime was on the inside. The easiest—and certainly most healing—part of her afternoon was when she sat on the toilet and had a good, deep cry.

Phase one of the plan was to make Johan believe she was dead, which would get him off her back and keep her family safe. It was a stroke of genius from Luke, and his commitment to realism was off the charts, but it wasn’t a long-term solution. Not if she wanted to stay in Los Angeles (which she did), and certainly not if she planned on getting into TV and movie work.

Phase two was to defame Johan—to use the internet against him. This was a more tenuous procedure, but Luke was confident he could make it work.

“Discrediting celebrities is all the rage,” he’d said. “Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. The internet goes from being a golden, robust structure that supports and celebrates you, to a cancel culture that’ll burn your shit to the ground.”

“But any kind of smear campaign will be traced to its point of origin,” Kitty had said, unable to keep the concern from her voice. “Then it’ll be you in Johan’s crosshairs.”