Mayday (Reality Check #1), page 12
Finn was never far from my mind. He was the one thing in life I regretted most. The woman told me to stand and turn around in a circle, so I did. She watched me, clicking her sharpened fingernail on her teeth. “Looks good. You’ve passed inspection.”
Oh, joy.
My feet were cramped in the heels. “Are you sure these are the right size?”
She tutted. “Of course, I’m sure.”
Then she opened the door to the hallway. “Go left and look for the door that says ‘Production’.”
My palms began to sweat. I wiped the moisture off on my skirt as my heels clicked along the polished, white tile. It looked clean enough to eat off of. The hallway was long, and door after door had names stenciled on them in gold lettering. The last door on the right read ‘Production’. I didn’t bother knocking.
They were no doubt expecting me.
Grayling sat behind a desk that probably cost more than my car. She eased her chair back and stared at me. “The last six months have been good to you, Jessa.”
I wouldn’t say the same to her. She was an awful bitch and I hated her with every fiber of my being. I wasn’t about to pretend otherwise. Fake wasn’t pretty on anyone.
“You wanted to see me?”
“You’ll have to be on camera with Finn for a few moments.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” I gritted.
“Well, the deal has changed. We need you two together. You were paired together and the viewers want to see your reunion.”
It wouldn’t be a happy one, but that was what the viewers wanted. They wanted to see more pain. I suddenly understood why there had been so much bloodthirst thousands of years ago in the Coliseum. People didn’t change. They never would.
“He agreed to it?”
“He did,” she assured me. “He’s going to be interviewed first, alone, then we’ll bring you in. After you’re interviewed together, he will leave and you will continue your interview alone.”
Alone. That was what they wanted all along. This wasn’t a show set on ‘love matches’; this was a show hell-bent on torturing people. God help anyone who showed a weakness. The vulnerable got eaten alive.
I didn’t think I’d watch any of it, but before it aired, I set my DVR to record the entire season, intending to binge watch after the season ended. Instead, I found myself watching each episode as it aired, watching people’s tweets and Facebook posts roll across the screen. It was easy for people to be inhuman and cruel as they sat safely behind a computer screen. I learned that all too fast.
-Look how fat she looks in that bikini.
-Finn’s so hot. Why are they pairing him with her? She’s obviously a frigid b*&$#.
-Why is she so mean to him? What’s wrong with her?
And I did look fat. Worse than that, Finn was hot and I was a complete bitch to him. No one, at that point, knew what was wrong with me. They still didn’t, and that was why I did what I did.
Grayling stood from her desk. “I’ll escort you to the set.”
“Grayling?”
“Yes?”
I smiled. “If you mention anything about my past tonight, I’ll have your job tomorrow.”
The smile fell from her face as she nodded. She knew that was part of the deal, a part I would never budge on.
I squared my shoulders and prayed I wouldn’t cry…because facing Finn Cohen was going to be the death of me.
Chapter 27
Reality Check Magazine: Of course, the after-show was interesting. Can you tell us how you felt when you saw Finn again after six months of being without him?
Jessa: I thought my heart was going to explode. I wanted to run to him, but the way he looked at me—with such hatred—I knew I couldn’t, and it cut me to the bone.
Grayling and I watched from a small room with a window as Finn sat on the set. A wooden deck was placed on the stage, lifted a few feet off the ground, with sand thickly poured around its base on a giant blue tarp. Whisper-quiet fans blew his hair. It was longer, thicker, and he was no longer lean. He was strong and healthier than he was before signing up for Mayday. He no longer looked like a college boy, he looked like a man. Five o’clock shadow and all.
Gone was the beard he started growing instead of letting me shave his neck, the protruding ribs, his knobby knees and ankles. We didn’t stay long in paradise, but then it wasn’t truly paradise, was it?
Having time to reflect, I realized why the producers hadn’t given us trials every day. They wouldn’t have had a long enough show. Ours was definitely cut short. They had to give us and the viewers time to breathe. The producers had to give them time to get to know us, or at least the versions of who they thought we were.
Randall turned to him and asked the million-dollar question, one I didn’t even have the answer to. “Tell me what happened after Jessa said Mayday three times.”
Finn shifted in his seat. “I didn’t know she had, of course. She left the cave and obviously needed space, so I gave it to her. If I would have known what she was going to do, I’d have followed her and tried to stop her. But, to answer your question, a few guys showed up, told me she’d tapped out, to gather anything I needed, and that I was off the island. I was escorted to an ATV that took me across the island to a control center, of sorts. From there, I was put on a boat and transported to the island I’d first landed on in the beginning, and taken back to my hut. I lived there until filming was over, by choice. They gave me the option of flying home right away, but I didn’t particularly feel like going.”
Randall smiled. “I bet it was hard to leave paradise behind.”
“I was ready to go as soon as filming was over. I guess I just needed some time to recuperate and some time alone, as well.”
“Did you see Jessa after that? Was she on the island after she called Mayday?” Randall asked.
“No. I haven’t seen her since that day,” said Finn, setting his lips into a hard line.
Randall smiled. “Have you seen the show now? Have you followed any of the articles that have been written or interviews that were shared about the filming?”
“I’ve seen the show, but haven’t read any interviews yet,” Finn admitted.
“One particular woman is speaking out more than anyone else. The camerawoman who was with you and Jessa during Hurricane Tillie, Andrea Nager, was just interviewed by the Public Enquirer. She decided to sue the show for endangering her life. Do you have anything to say about that?”
“No,” answered Finn sternly. Mayday had put us all in danger. They deserved to lose something.
“Why wasn’t there an entire crew of people with you during Tillie? The rest of the time, it seemed that there were camera crews everywhere. We got several different angles, and sometimes they were even in the background on screen. Why was it just you two and Ms. Nager during the hurricane?”
“Because she was the only one who could keep up, or else the only one brave enough to do her job in the middle of a category four hurricane. Look, I’m done talking about this. Can we change the subject?”
Finn looked amazing. Hawaiian shirt with a few buttons undone, cargo shorts, leather sandals. His calves were huge. He’d obviously been working out. His dark hair swayed in the fan-generated wind, along with the palm fronds on the roof of the fake hut behind him.
Randall was smart enough to change the subject to something more upbeat after that.
Finn and Randall were seated in director chairs, chit-chatting with smiles on their faces. Finn might not have had the opportunity to finish the show, but he looked like he owned the universe. He definitely looked happy.... until a crew member set up a third chair, right beside his.
I looked at Grayling. “Can’t you put Randall in between us?”
She smiled. “I’m afraid not. And in case you didn’t realize it, that was your cue.”
I walked out the door stiffly, watching Finn’s smile fade to a scowl as he took me in. My ankles teetered in the heels as I walked across the sand, so the heels had to come off. I slipped one off and then the other, walked up to the set, and took my seat beside him.
There wasn’t a muscle in either of our bodies that was relaxed.
Randall clapped. “Jessa McDaniel, it’s great to see you!”
I smiled nervously, avoiding Finn’s razor-sharp stare. I could feel my heart being shredded. “It’s good to be here.”
“Tell us a little bit about what you’ve been doing since filming season one of Mayday,” he said.
“I’ve been livin’ in North Carolina.”
“That’s it? Are you working or going to school? Tell us more.” Randall was nothing if not persistent.
“I just got my GED.”
“That’s great. And I’m sure you’d like to thank Finn here for helping teach you how to read.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” I said, still staring at Randall.
“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Is there something you’d like to say to Finn? Would you like to explain anything at all?”
I swallowed, wishing the floor would open and I could fall into it.
“She doesn’t think she owes anyone anything. Right, Jessa? You don’t think you owe me an explanation, do you?” Finn bit out.
“I do owe you an explanation, and I’ll give it to you. But not on camera.”
“Of course not,” he smarted. “But sweetheart, if you think you’re getting a moment of my time outside this room, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms.
“You know what? It’s not fine. Why the hell did you quit on me? And besides that, I need you to explain something to me, right now.”
“What’s that?”
“How did a million dollars show up in my personal checking account a month after Mayday aired? How’d you get that money, and why did you give it to me?”
“Maybe I didn’t. Did you ever think of that?” I turned to him, gripping the arm rests for dear life.
“I called the show. They didn’t do it. That means you did, and that you got paid at least that much for bailing on me. So what was the deal? You tap out and I get paid? That wasn’t in our contract, Jessa.”
Randall sat up straighter and leaned in to watch. He was as entertained as I bet the whole country was right now. “I did make a deal, and it didn’t involve you.”
“So why give me the money? Did you feel guilty, Jessa?”
“Yes!” I yelled. “I felt awful, but I couldn’t-”
“Couldn’t what?” Now he was shouting.
“I just couldn’t do it anymore!” I shouted back.
“Why?”
“Because you were about to wear me down. I knew you’d keep at me until I told you exactly how I knew-”
“How to kill a man?” Finn interrupted. “You’re damn right I would.”
I looked at Grayling. “I’m done.”
Wrestling with the microphone they’d stuck in my blouse, I tugged it free and clapped it in the hand of one of the open-mouthed crew members as I stormed out of the room.
Finn was hot on my tail. “That’s just like you to tuck tail and run, Jessa.”
“I’m not doing this right now, Finn.”
“The hell you’re not!” he said, jogging ahead and stopping my retreat.
“Yes, I am,” I said, trying to shove around him. He blocked my every move until I couldn’t take it anymore. The cameras were zooming in. He was standing there, chest heaving, eyes pleading with me to talk to him. And damn him for that, because I lost it.
“Fine!” I threw my hands in the air. “You want to know why I sleep during the day, stay up all night, and knew how to kill a man so easily? It’s because I was taught to. That’s all I grew up knowin’. That and poverty. My mom didn’t think education was important, but she sure taught me how to gut human beings. She taught me how to hunt them!”
“What?” His brows pushed together in confusion.
“My mom was the Statesboro Slayer, Finn. She was a serial killer. I grew up knowin’ only what my mama would teach me, and it wasn’t anything good. That’s why they wanted me on the show. I’ve been fendin’ for myself since I could remember how. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t eat. My mom was so wrapped up in choosing her next victim, she forgot she had a child to care for. Most of the time she left me at home, but when I got older and started developin’, she told me I had to learn to defend myself. She made me hunt with her.”
I could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Did you ever kill anyone?”
“No,” I choked out. “But she wanted me to, and for the briefest moment, I considered it. I thought it would be easier than arguin’ with her. It was easier than taking the beatin’s she thought would break me, but I didn’t break, Finn. I didn’t then, and I didn’t for this show. But if I woulda’ stayed, I would have broken, because you’d have looked at me exactly like you are now. That was my biggest fear, Finn. Not anything else. And now, the producers have gotten exactly what they wanted this whole time,” I cried.
This time, he let me push him out of the way. I ran down the hall, racing to push the elevator button. The doors closed in Finn’s face. He’d been too late to stick his hand in between the doors. Luckily, it paused only once on the lobby floor. I yelled to the women trying to step on board that I had an emergency and had to go to the garage. They backed away, flustered.
If I knew Finn, he’d be racing down the stairs, so when the doors parted in the artificial lights strewn through the dark garage, I ran for it. He didn’t know what I drove, but he did pop out just as I did in the lane of travel.
“Jessa!” he yelled.
My car was only ten cars down. I made a run for it, pumping my arms and pushing the button on the fob. My taillights blinked rapidly. I threw the door open and slid inside, quickly locking it.
“Jessa!” Finn yelled again. “Stop!” He banged on the door as I threw the car in reverse.
“Just roll your window down. Just crack it! For a second!”
My brain said no, but my hand brushed the buttons on the door. The driver’s window didn’t open, but the rear window on my side cracked a few inches.
“Damn it, Jessa. Talk to me! Stop running for one time in your life.”
“I can’t.”
It was true. I put the car in drive and peeled out, leaving rubber tire marks on the pavement and a frustrated Finn Cohen in my rear view, standing with his hands on his hips. Then I saw the camera guy move in, and saw Finn shove his camera away before storming off.
When the parking fee was paid, I stopped to program my GPS and was out of there, praying I’d never set foot in New York City again.
Chapter 28
Reality Check Magazine: The live show was intense. The altercation between you and Finn was explosive. But you finally told the world how you were raised. How difficult was that?
Jessa: I’ve never done anything harder than when I told Finn about how I grew up. Truthfully, I didn’t care about the cameras or who else was watching, but seeing his reaction almost killed me. That’s why I ran.
I’d driven to New York. I thought it would calm me down and clear my mind if I spent some hours on the road, but I was wrong. Just a few miles out, I realized my mistake. It was hard to drive when you were sobbing, and I’d sobbed for two hours straight as I drove south down the winding highways that linked the country.
Everyone knew. They knew my face. They knew my history. There would be no going to the store without people whispering. I wouldn’t be able to find work, and I desperately wanted a normal job.
I just wanted normal.
And I wanted Finn.
But sometimes, we couldn’t have the things we wanted. I pulled off the highway and into a gas station to refuel. In the bathroom, I could see that the fake lashes they’d stuck on me were peeling off, and the black makeup that once artfully highlighted my eyes was now streaking down my cheeks in shaky, dark rivers. I wiped them with a paper towel, my lip quivering back at me in the mirror.
In the store, I grabbed a pair of sunglasses, a case of Red Bull, and a candy bar. Snickers made everything better. Even on long drives while hiccupping from crying too hard.
Red Bull in my veins, I put my foot on the gas and drove as fast as I could to get home. The only thing slowing me down was the occasional driver who liked to drive slow in the fast lane, or when traffic ground to a stop around bigger cities.
Once the territory began to look familiar, I was almost about to fall asleep. I’d driven all night. I pulled up to the small house I rented and hoped I would be able to buy one day, thankful that no press was camped outside my home. I half expected them to be.
I fumbled with the keys at my door and stumbled inside, tearing the chain off my neck and getting the awful clothes off. I changed into something comfortable and passed out in my own bed, the salty scent of the ocean surrounding me.
When I dreamed, it was of him.
Something was wrong. I sat up straight in bed, listening for the noise again. My clock said it was almost four in the afternoon. Something banged in the kitchen. I grabbed the aluminum ball bat from behind my door and lifted it, ready to swing as I eased the door open and stepped out.
Standing in my kitchen was none other than Finn Cohen, cracking eggs into a frying pan. “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, my voice raspy from sleep.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”
“Why are you in my house? How did you know where I lived?”
He ignored me, whisking the eggs with a fork and whistling. My head was splitting open. He opened the oven door and peeked inside. “What’s in there?” I asked.
“Biscuits.”
“You cook?”
He huffed. “Of course I do. Don’t you?”
“Not really. I microwave, though.”
Finn smiled. “Then I’ll teach you.”
