Plot Twist

Kate sipped from her overfull margarita, trying to keep the liquid from spilling over the edge. The first round of speed dating was about to begin.

"Good?" her friend Amanda asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Kate nodded. "Thanks for doing this," she said.

After the events of the last month, she knew she had to get out again, to experience life- and dating- without fear, but it was difficult. She needed the push.

The tables were set up a few feet apart, and Kate made her way to the closest one, putting her drink down between herself and the man across from her.

"Hi," she began, "My name's-"

Her voice died when she saw his face, or what little of it wasn't obscured by large, ridiculous shades. The man's thin mouth curled up at the side as if she'd just told an amusing joke and he lifted the glasses away.

"Well, hello Kate. So soon to meet again."

Impossible. Brady wasn't alive anymore. After he'd broken the restraining order, after she pushed him from the bridge, he...

.

Elizabeth pushed away from her writing desk with a scowl.

She often told her readers that her characters had minds of their own. She liked to write her first drafts by hand, and she'd once told an interviewer that the ink from her pen was like a lifeline between her and the characters, or a puppet master's strings. For the most part, she moved them where she wanted, but sometimes they seemed conscious of their strings and they liked to rebel. Elizabeth liked the metaphor, but it was just plain annoying in reality.

Brady dies. The plot needed Brady to die. She stared at her words for a moment longer before continuing.

.

Kate gasped, her knee striking the table as she jerked back.

"Are you all right?" a concerned voice asked, and when she looked back at the man folding the large glasses in his hands, she saw that she'd been mistaken. His eyes were blue, not Brady's depthless brown. She ran a hand over her face and smiled shakily.

"I'm sorry, I-"

.

Elizabeth was interrupted by a knock on her door. Sighing, she waited for the visitor to leave, but when the hammering continued, she got up and went to address it.

"Can I help you?" she asked the man standing outside. He lowered his dark glasses to reveal even darker eyes.

“I always get what I want," Brady said, closing the distance between them before the stricken author could move. A burning sensation lit up her insides, and she looked down dumbly to see the knife sticking out from her stomach. She stumbled backward, falling on the floor inside of the door as the villain she’d created stepped over her. This is impossible, she thought, some wry part of her realizing she was echoing her own heroine.

"How..." she managed, her vision going dark.

"Oh, it wasn't hard," Brady told her. "I just followed the strings."