Famous Last Words

“Well, they’re pretty interesting, actually. Macabre, but interesting. The killer recreates iconic scenes from classic movies. He posed his first victim to mimic the final attack scene from The Birds. Then there was the wheelchair falling down the stairs from Kiss of Death.”

Jonathan’s clinical description of the murders introduces the central mystery while establishing the killer’s cinematic modus operandi. The passage incorporates the motif of classic Hollywood films that structures both the killer’s crimes and the novel’s plot. Willa’s morbid curiosity foreshadows her eventual connection to the murders.

“I stared in terrified stillness at the body floating overhead like an abandoned ship adrift on a calm sea. The corpse was female, wearing a knee-length skirt and a gauzy blouse that formed a translucent border around her rib cage, like the body of a jellyfish.”

The similes comparing the corpse to “an abandoned ship” and her blouse to “the body of a jellyfish” evoke the water motif that recurs throughout the novel. This first supernatural encounter occurs in the pool, establishing water as both a liminal space and conduit for supernatural communication. The ghostly female figure introduces the novel’s pattern of dead women attempting to communicate with Willa, bridging the gap between the living and the dead and highlighting The Value of Intuition.

“Wyatt’s handwriting was so tiny and precise that it looked like it had come out of a printer.

BRIANNA LOGAN, 20 Y.O., TAKEN MAY 17, FOUND MAY 21 FAITH FERNANDES, 19 Y.O., TAKEN JUNE 9, FOUND JUNE 13 LORELEI JULIANO, 21 Y.O., TAKEN OCT 31, FOUND Nov 5 TORI ROSEN, 18 Y.O., TAKEN MARCH 18, FOUND MARCH 22”

The clinical precision of Wyatt’s handwriting mirrors his methodical investigation and ironically echoes the killer’s meticulous staging of crime scenes. The chronological arrangement creates a visual pattern that suggests an ongoing series, imbuing the document with ominous predictability and inevitability. Wyatt’s reliance on data positions him as a foil to Willa, who approaches the same set of mysteries through intuition and supernatural visions.

“‘It suits you,’ says the voice—friendly and soft, amused. He reaches down and gently touches the delicate chain he’s fastened around my neck. Tests the weight of the rose charm in his fingers.”

In this first psychic vision, Willa enters the perspective of murder victim Brianna, creating immediate intimacy with the victim’s experience while introducing the symbol of the rose necklace. The killer’s seemingly gentle demeanor and “friendly and soft” voice contrasts with his actions, revealing his performative nature. The possessive gesture of testing “the weight of the rose charm” establishes the necklace as a symbol of ownership and control rather than affection.

“The tub was full of water. When I say full, I mean filled up 100 percent. Its upper brim was a perfectly flat and motionless layer of water. And on the side closest to me, water crept over the edge and dripped to the floor, one slow drop at a time. Drip…drip…drip…”

The overfilled bathtub establishes the supernatural presence through the water motif while creating an ominous mood through the repetition of “drip.” The unnatural stillness of the water’s surface contrasts with the active “crept” and “dripped,” personifying the water as an intentional, malevolent force. This scene literalizes the novel’s preoccupation with containment and overflow—of emotions, secrets, and trauma—that can no longer be perfectly maintained.

“‘I think you’re lying,’ he said calmly. It was like being blasted by a stun gun. My voice caught in my throat. ‘What?’ ‘You’re lying.’ He didn’t sound angry, which just made it worse. ‘I think you know where it is. You might even have it. You can’t even look me in the eye.’”

Wyatt’s accusation forces Willa to confront her carefully constructed performance of normalcy, highlighting The Tension Between the Self and the Persona. The physical manifestation of her anxiety contrasts with Wyatt’s unnervingly calm demeanor, creating a power dynamic that disrupts her protective isolation. This confrontation about a seemingly minor lie (hiding the notebook) symbolically represents the larger pattern of deception that Willa has created around her trauma and supernatural experiences.

“On the wall behind her, in jagged letters about a foot tall, were the words:

THIS IS THE KIND OF DREAM YOU DON’T WAKE UP FROM, HENRY

The letters were black and gooey-looking, like fresh paint or tar or oil. And as I stared, more writing appeared, underneath the sentence:

818”

This supernatural manifestation marks the ghost’s first direct textual communication with Willa. The detailed visual description—“jagged letters” in “black and gooey-looking” substance—creates an atmosphere of intrusion and violation as the spirit imposes itself onto the mundane family dinner. The repeated number “818” is a clue, later revealed to be the date on which Paige Pollan disappeared. The phrase itself blurs the boundary between dreams and waking life, emphasizing the novel’s theme of the value of intuition.

“WATER (BATHTUB/POOL) ROSES NECKLACE (ALSO ROSE) HENRY”

This list discovered in Wyatt’s notebook forms a crucial nexus between Willa’s supernatural experiences and the Hollywood Killer investigation. The items connect multiple motifs—water, roses, and the significant name “Henry”—cataloging elements that recur throughout Willa’s hauntings. The list’s stark, categorized format reflects Wyatt’s analytical approach to mystery, contrasting with Willa’s experiential understanding of these same elements. This contrast establishes the tension between rational investigation and supernatural intuition that drives their relationship throughout the novel.

“‘But why? What’s the worst that could happen if you let yourself get angry?’ I turned around and stared into his eyes. You want eye contact, Wyatt? Here’s your eye contact. ‘The worst that could happen is that someone else could die.’”

This exchange reveals Willa’s profound guilt and her belief that her emotions have deadly consequences. The narrative description of her deliberate eye contact creates a moment of genuine connection that punctuates their otherwise contentious relationship. Her response employs dramatic irony—the reader understands that her statement refers to her father’s death, which she believes she caused, while Wyatt lacks this context. This moment exemplifies the theme of the haunting power of unresolved guilt and illustrates how Willa’s emotional suppression forms a barrier to authentic relationships.

“He’s made me sit here at this table, my ankles and wrists bound so I can’t run away, dressed in an old-fashioned skirt and scratchy blouse, with my hair pinned so tightly my scalp feels bruised, and talk about love and Namur and old ladies and apple carts. He’s been in control. It’s all been on his terms. But tonight is on my terms. He can take away my ability to run, but not my will to resist. He can kill me…but he can’t kill my spirit.”

This vision from the murder victim’s perspective employs first-person narration to create immediate psychological intimacy with the victim’s experience. The detailed sensory descriptions—“scratchy blouse,” “hair pinned so tightly my scalp feels bruised”—convey the physical discomfort that mirrors her emotional captivity. The passage builds toward a declaration of defiance through short, determined sentences that crescendo in emotional intensity. This moment portrays the killer’s theatrical staging of his crimes while highlighting how the victim refuses to be merely an actor in his production.

“What you have to understand is that a spirit presence doesn’t operate like you or me. We’re a mess of thoughts and feelings. A spirit is more like…an instinct. Its whole purpose is to drive at something, to convey an idea or a concept.”

Leyta’s explanation provides a conceptual framework for understanding the ghost’s fragmented communications. The simile comparing a spirit to an instinct rather than a complete consciousness helps contextualize the disjointed, symbolic nature of Willa’s supernatural experiences. This passage offers the novel’s most direct explication of its supernatural mechanics while reinforcing the water motif as a conduit for memory and truth. The psychic’s words validate Willa’s experiences while simultaneously challenging her to actively interpret rather than passively receive the ghost’s messages.

“‘Yes, she is!’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘This is Bernadette Middleton. She’s also Kate Middleton’s cousin!’ Before I could say a word, three dozen flashbulbs exploded in my face. And the air was filled with photographers shouting, ‘Bernadette! Bernadette, over here! Look right here!’”

This scene at the movie premiere demonstrates Marnie’s compulsion to create fictional identities, forcing Willa into an uncomfortable performance. The sudden explosion of camera flashes and shouting creates a disorienting sensory experience that mirrors Willa’s confusion at being thrust into an unexpected role. The fabricated connection to royalty reveals Marnie’s understanding of Hollywood’s value system, where significance comes through association rather than merit and where the truth is whatever she can get people to believe. This moment exemplifies the tension between the self and the persona while foreshadowing how easily identities can be manufactured and manipulated in this environment.

“I’d never seen a screenplay before, but I knew that’s what I was looking at. There were character names and lines of description and action. It started in the middle of a scene in which two people were eating dinner. One of them was a woman. Her name was Charice. And one of them was a man. His name was Henry. And the last thing on the page was a line of dialogue.

CHARICE This is the kind of dream you don’t wake up from, Henry.”

The discovery of the screenplay page creates a narrative convergence, connecting the mysterious writing on the wall with Diana Del Mar’s lost film. The formatting of the screenplay excerpt visually interrupts the novel’s prose, creating a text within a text that mirrors the blurring of fiction and reality. The repetition of the phrase first seen on Willa’s wall demonstrates how the ghost has been quoting this screenplay, establishing a connection between past Hollywood and present hauntings. This revelation transforms seemingly random supernatural elements into coherent clues.

“‘It’s in my house,’ I whispered. ‘It won’t leave me alone. I think it’s trying to kill me—’ ‘Whoa, whoa,’ he said. ‘Slow down. Take a breath. Start at the beginning.’ I took two deep breaths, but they were that weird jerky kind of breath that happens right before you bust out in epic sobs. Somehow I managed to hold all that in and describe everything that had happened the night before, starting with the knocking and ending with the screenplay.”

Willa’s fragmented speech pattern and “jerky” breathing physically manifest her emotional distress, creating a visceral depiction of fear as she confides in Wyatt. The passage establishes her growing trust in him as a confidant despite her earlier resistance to their connection. Wyatt’s measured response emphasizes his level-headed rationalism and his value as an ally and foil to Willa.

“‘The odds of any of this happening are astronomically slim,’ he said. ‘I don’t think we should worry about odds anymore.’”

This statement signals a pivotal shift in Wyatt’s investigative approach, as he acknowledges that they must move beyond conventional explanations. The line demonstrates how rational thought fails to explain supernatural phenomena. Wyatt’s willingness to embrace the improbable represents character development from his initially rigid, fact-based approach to the mystery.

“‘Given what you’ve just said, and the findings from the autopsy, nothing you did caused your father’s death. What’s more, Willa…nothing you could have done would have saved him.’ I stared at the computer screen, feeling a tightness in my own chest.”

This moment directly confronts the haunting power of unresolved guilt that has defined Willa’s identity since her father’s death. The doctor’s definitive statement creates a stark juxtaposition with Willa’s internalized beliefs about her culpability. The physical sensation of “tightness” in her chest mirrors her father’s heart condition, connecting body and mind in this moment of painful revelation.

“‘Why did you call now? Why two years later?’ I swallowed hard. ‘I think I just finally wanted to know the truth.’”

This brief exchange reveals Willa’s emerging willingness to confront painful realities rather than hide behind guilt. Her physical action of swallowing hard conveys her ongoing emotional despite the courage of her words, creating a nuanced portrait of growth. The simplicity of her response contrasts with the complexity of her journey, demonstrating how Willa has begun dismantling the “wall of pain” that isolated her from healing.

“I thought it might feel different to be in the water, after talking to Dr. Tilliman. But it was pretty much the same as always. I suppose a rational person would consider my father’s death reason enough to stay out of pools for the rest of her life. […] I couldn’t stay away. I was drawn to the water. Maybe it’s human nature to be drawn to the things that have hurt us the most.”

This passage develops the water motif, making it a symbol of Willa’s complex relationship with trauma. Her paradoxical attraction to a source of pain shows her understanding that she can only heal by confronting her trauma.

“‘Wrong question,’ I whispered, looking down at the pillow stuffing that littered the floor. Not what do you want, but… ‘Who?’ I asked. ‘Who are you?’”

This moment marks Willa’s growth as she learns to ask the right questions rather than merely reacting to supernatural events. The destroyed bedroom visualizes the destructive force of misunderstanding, while Willa’s realization about the “wrong question” demonstrates her developing intuition and agency.

“I slipped open the door and grabbed it. The logo in the corner said Pool Pros Inc., and someone had scrawled, Jonathan, I found your stepdaughter’s necklace in the filter. My necklace…? With my heart in my throat, I dumped the contents of the envelope into my open palm. It was a thin silver chain, with a solid silver charm. A rose.”

The rose necklace that Willa has seen in her visions appears for the first time as a real, material object, providing crucial evidence that Willa’s visions are real. The physical response of having her “heart in [her] throat” mirrors the narrative tension at this pivotal moment. The necklace symbol operates as both evidence of murder and a connection between victims, validating Willa’s experiences while heightening the immediate danger.

“I balled up my fists, thinking, It’s not real. The pool isn’t full of blood. It was Paige, sending another sign. Of course she’d be sending the warnings fast and furious, now that I knew her killer lived in the house with me.”

This passage marks Willa’s pivotal transition from doubting to accepting the value of intuition. The vision of blood in the pool connects to the recurring water motif and foreshadows the violence to come. Willa’s immediate recognition of Paige’s communication shows her developing intuition and the ghost’s increasingly urgent attempts to protect her from danger.

“The whole room was covered in the same two words, repeated over and over: GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT The rose petals led to an open window. I deviated from the path just long enough to pick up the phone and hear the thick silence of a dead phone connection.”

The typography creates an urgent visual effect, with the all-caps repetition of “GET OUT” intensifying the warning’s desperation and immediacy. Rose petals function as supernatural breadcrumbs guiding Willa toward an escape route, connecting to the symbol of the rose necklace associated with the killer’s victims. The juxtaposition of supernatural assistance against practical obstacles (the cut phone line) heightens tension while demonstrating how Willa must navigate between ghostly guidance and physical reality to survive.

“On a shelf next to the table was a stack of empty film cans—the ones that had held the reels that were loaded on the editing table. I picked one up and looked at the label on its top. It read: THE DINNER PARTY (WORKING TITLE ONLY). I’d heard that name before…but where? Then it hit me. From Reed. It was one of the movies he’d listed as his favorites. But it wasn’t even the real name of the movie.”

This revelation provides crucial evidence connecting Reed to the murders. The narrative builds suspense through Willa’s internal dialogue and gradual recollection, allowing the reader to experience her dawning realization. The discovery exemplifies how ordinary objects (film cans) can contain extraordinary information, bridging the supernatural elements with concrete evidence that propels the plot forward.