Once a Poisoner

I feigned love for the man who was supposed to be my husband as I held his lifeless body in my arms. The white front door had a bent frame and the hinges looked as though they had been practically torn off. There were signs of a struggle. The brown recliner had fallen on its side and one of the oak end tables was completely flipped over – leaving a lamp and magazines scattered on the floor. As I cried over my husband’s body, I pulled the white note out from between his thumb and index finger. It was from the poisoner:

Stop looking. Or others will die.

“Cut! Where’s your passion? The man you love has just been poisoned!” the director yelled at me.

“Sorry, sorry! I think I just need a small break,” I replied. We had been filming for nearly three hours and as the main character I didn’t get much a break between scenes. It was my first huge role in a movie, so I was equally excited and nervous. I hoped that this wouldn’t be my only movie role so I would have an opportunity to get used to the lights and the director yelling at me.

“Fine. Take five everybody!” The director’s booming voice filled all the crevices of the set, which was probably why he was the best in the business.

I walked over to the snack stand and picked up a few of the chocolate chip muffins that were dry from sitting all day, but I was too hungry to care. Michael Cabazon, the man who played my husband, came up to me. “So I guess you won’t have to worry about sharing the spotlight with me much longer,” he said. We got along, but we weren’t the best of friends. I guess you could say we were civil with each other even if he was a pompous ass at times.

“I’m sure they’ll let you stick around the set. I doubt they’ll kick you out before we find out who the poisoner is. That’s the least they owe you,” I gritted my teeth to a smile knowing that Michael was upset that his character was the one getting killed off. He thought that he should be the star of the show and was sure to let everyone know. Granted, I didn't really cared what a small town actor who thought he was tough shit wanted.

“You’re right. Thanks, Megan. I’m glad somebody around here recognizes my star quality.” He ran a hand through his jet black hair and stared at me with his green eyes. “Do you know who the poisoner is?”

I wanted to ask what it mattered to him, but remained civilized. “No one knows. They are trying to make it a surprise so we have the most ideal reactions to it.” Lucky for me the director called everyone back to set, so I didn’t have to stand there and talk to the arrogant Michael Cabazon.



It’s just like to me to get used to being yelled at on the last day of filming. It was the day the cast and crew would find out who the poisoner truly was. Truth be told, I was kind of excited and sad at the same time. I was excited that the mystery would be solved, but sad that I would be done working on the movie that had consumed my life for six months now. The director rounded all of us up and gave us a pep talk. The final scene where my character comes face to face with the poisoner and inevitably kills him would be filmed.

“All ready on set!” the director yelled hoarsely – probably from all the yelling he did every day of filming. “Action!”

I walked into the cemetery, alone, just as the note from the poisoner instructed me. It was dark and steam was rolling over the grave markers. I held up my gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other, careful not to stumble over my own feet or a grave marker. There was movement behind the willow tree when my flashlight batteries died. All I could see was a black figure. They looked kind of stocky, so I figured that it was man, but I wasn’t prepared for his voice. I knew that voice well; it was my husband’s voice.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to show up. I’m surprised that you actually listened and came alone,” he whispered.

“Wha – what are you doing here, Michael?” It wasn’t the first mistake I made during filming, but most certainly the worst. My cheeks turned red and I hit my forehead with my palm. His name in the movie was Hayden. How could I make such a stupid mistake?

“Cut! Cut! Cut!” the director screamed. I swore all of Los Angeles could hear him. “Megan, what are you thinking? Get with it! This is our final scene!” My eyes pooled with tears, but I refused to let them fall. I guess I wasn’t used to being yelled at after all. “Everyone take ten!” A ten minute break to get over such a dumb mistake. I couldn’t believe that I did that.

Everyone left to either go to their trailers or wander just outside the set, but my legs were too stiff to move far. I tucked the prop gun into the waistband of my jeans and sank down to into the plastic grass and cried, assuming no one was around. That’s when Michael came around the corner with a knife. “Trying to get me back into the acting mood, Michael? It’s not going to work. I fucked up. I’m so stupid,” I said, hoping that he would disappear. I didn’t want him of all people to see me like this.

“I’m not acting or playing or teasing. I’m dead serious. Now, get up!” Michael’s jaw was clenched and he looked damn serious. His green eyes were aimed sharply on me. “Now, bitch!”

I got up quickly. “Why are you doing this?” I said. I was still crying, but my sobs were getting more intense as Michael lunged at me. Even though I had never taken self-defense classes, I still knew to dodge out of the way.

“I should be the star! Everyone knows that! And you got the role. I don’t think you’re better than me. You’re just a little bitch!” I was still crying, but I tried to keep him talking knowing that everyone would be coming back soon. In my head, I was still filming the scene where I meet face to face with Hayden.

“I never said you shouldn’t be the star,” I interjected to play along with his game.

“You never said I should be though. I deserve it way more than you and that’s why you have to die!” Michael yelled at me.

My fake cop instincts kicked in and I whipped the gun out of my waistband. “I don’t want to have to shoot you. Don’t make me do it!” I yelled with unprecedented confidence.

“Go for it.”

“So much confidence for being at gunpoint.” I aimed the gun at Michael’s chest, clicked the safety off, and squeezed the trigger. The sound rang through the whole graveyard, but Michael was still standing. That’s when I realized the mistake I made.

Michael stood twenty feet away from me, laughing. “You stupid bitch. That gun is fake. It had a blank in it.”

I stood there in shock as the director and the cast and crew emerged from their ten minute break. Forgetting how foolish I was for forgetting the gun was just a prop, I cried and ran into the director’s arms. “What happened?” he asked sternly.

“Michael Cabazon just tried to kill me!” I blurted out.

“Where is he then?” the director said. Maybe he believed me or maybe he wanted Michael’s side of the story. It didn’t matter either way because Michael was gone – nowhere to be found on or near set. The relief that I felt when the director came back was replaced with fear that Michael was going to find me one day. When that day came, I would have to be ready.