Chapter 1

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Jesse St James was a star. He told himself as much every day. As he sat in Central Park, he stared at the newspaper clipping in his hand. With every word he read, he could feel heat rising inside of him, bubbling away, ready to explode.

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He let out a short laugh, his lip curling into a sneer as he re-read the name at the top of the article, a look of repulsion on his face. He growled to himself, screwing the newspaper into a ball and tossing it as far as he could.

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It was a ridiculous name. It didn’t even fit in with the glamorous lifestyle of a Broadway performer. This name was better suited fixing cars or, better yet, working in the fast food industry. If Jesse had a name like him, he would have changed it as soon as he could.

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In fact, he had. Who was going to take Jeremy Jamerson seriously in New York? Jesse had chosen and changed his name legally when he was sixteen years old and had never looked back. Once he had reached eighteen, he moved to New York with high hopes and a plan of reaching Broadway.

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For the first couple of years, Jesse spent most of his time working at a high end restaurant called Backstage, which had walls covered in framed photographs of Broadway stars. He would often spend extra time cleaning tables so he could familiarise himself with who he would be hanging next to. His dream was to one day be on that wall.

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He would audition for plays here and there, waiting for the day when a lead part would open up. As the months drew on, Jesse began to get frustrated. Why hadn’t anything good come up yet? Pretty soon he wouldn’t be right for some of the parts he had marked himself down for.

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Drastic times called for drastic measures.

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*

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He had met them three months ago. Jesse was doing the late shift at Backstage and had to close up alone. He was sure everyone had left so when he noticed a couple in one of the back booths, he was a little surprised. The pair were huddled together, clearly enthralled in conversation, clearly not wanting to be disturbed. They poured over a map of New York and had several headshot photographs of people Jesse did not recognise. There was a woman with long black hair and a sharp expression, unsmiling and cold. There was a rather large man with what Jesse could see was the ugliest mole on his face. Lastly, there was another woman, beautiful, with curly red hair and bright red lipstick to match.

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He wondered if the pair worked in the business, perhaps as agents or possibly directors. They certainly didn’t look the part.

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They looked around the same age as him, possibly twenty-two, maybe twenty-three years old. The woman had shoulder length blonde hair, a streak of hot pink through her side fringe. She wore black skinny jeans with a black leather jacket. She was pretty--very pretty-- something that Jesse noticed straight away. Her partner looked more like an actor than someone who worked behind the scenes. His dark hair curled at the nape of his neck and his hazel eyes were shining, darting across the map quickly. He too stuck to dark colours, layering a maroon jumper over a black shirt. A black jacket rested beside him in the booth.

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Jesse must have been staring a little too long because the woman looked up and asked, “Was there something you wanted?”

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Surprised, Jesse shook his head. “Uh no, I was just…”

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“Yeah? Well can you do that over there?” the woman asked indignantly, nodding her head towards the kitchen.

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“I need to close up actually,” Jesse said, standing his ground. There was no way he was going to be told what to do. He stared back at the woman and their eyes locked unblinkingly. After a moment, the woman smirked and started to pack away the paperwork into her bag.

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She walked over to Jesse and looked him up and down, taking him in completely.

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“Fine,” she said, picking up her bag. She nodded her head at the door and glanced at her companion, who had been watching the exchange with a bemused expression. And with one final glance at Jesse, they were gone.

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*

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Jesse didn’t see the woman and man again for a few weeks after that. He had almost forgotten about them until one afternoon when he was walking to work and happened to catch the headline of a newspaper. Furrowing his brow, he looked at the photograph of a man who had been found dead a few days earlier. Shot in the head, the article had said. The man had a distinguishing facial feature – a rather large mole on his chin.

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Jesse’s walk to work took him past the Majestic Theatre, which was running The Phantom of the Opera, his favourite musical. He often approached the ticket office to ask if there were any castings coming up, and every time he was turned away. He hadn’t asked for a couple of weeks, so today he went inside and spoke to the usual woman behind the counter.

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“Still nothing, Jesse,” the woman said. She sounded exasperated and rolled her eyes when she saw him approach the desk.

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The usual defeated feeling Jesse felt when he was turned away felt different today. Like a bubbling hot pit in the bottom of his stomach. He scowled and said bitterly, “yeah, yeah,” walking out quickly, shoving the doors open as he went. He walked into the nearest alleyway and just screamed, letting his frustration out the only way he knew how.

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Today was different. He had received two letters that he was not expecting, nor was he happy to get. The first was from a popular agent, Reginald Frink, whom Jesse had written to expressing his interest of becoming one of his clients. Frink only represented the best, and Jesse knew that if he was in his books, doors would fly open. He had received a standard rejection letter that began Dear Sir/Madam and was signed on behalf of his secretary.

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The second letter was from the bank, asking for the last couple of month’s payments for his student loan.

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Breathing heavily, Jesse ran his fingers through his hair, urging himself to calm down.

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“Hello again, Busboy.”

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Startled, Jesse swung round to see the blonde woman from the restaurant leaning against the brick wall behind him, arms crossed, a look of amusement mixed with pity on her face.

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“What are you - ?” He stopped mid-sentence and sighed. “I don’t need this today.” He began to leave when she spoke again.

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“Couldn’t get tickets, huh? Shame. I hear it’s a good show.”

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Gritting his teeth, Jesse didn’t turn around or stop until he was at work. He had managed to calm himself down during his shift, that is until he was about to close up for the night and noticed that the back booth of the restaurant was occupied.

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Feeling tired and praying for the time when he’d be at home taking a bath with a bottle of wine, he approached the table to as kindly as possible tell them to get out.

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“We need to stop meeting like this.”

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The blonde woman smiled up at him from the booth. This time her male companion was with her. He stood up, offering his seat to Jesse before taking a seat opposite him.

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“What do you want?” Jesse asked, almost maliciously.

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The blonde woman held her palms up to him defensively. “If you’re going to be like that...”

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“We spoke to the woman in the theatre. Seems you’re a little obsessed with Phantom of the Opera,” the man explained, smiling almost politely at him. His tone was even, non-threatening, but there was something in his smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

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“And?” Jesse asked. “So what?”

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“So, it seems that you need us and we need you,” she said. She pulled out a photograph from her bag and handed it to Jesse. He surveyed it. It was a photograph of Freddie Capon, the actor who was playing Raoul in the Phantom of the Opera.

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“I don’t get it,” Jesse said, looking between the pair, his noise crinkled, puzzled.

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She leaned in close, so close that Jesse could smell her perfume. “We can get him out of the way for you. For good.” Her voice was low and she was grinning in a way that Jesse wondered if she had escaped from a hospital somewhere.

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“Do you mean… murder?” Jesse raised an eyebrow, staring solemnly at her. He didn’t dare break eye contact or even blink until she answered. As though doing either would somehow show weakness or fear to her.

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“We like to think of it as Community Service,” the man said casually, resting back in the booth, crossing his legs.

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“And what do you get out of it?” Jesse asked. There had to be a catch. Two strangers don’t randomly ask you if you’d like someone dead without wanting something in return. Perhaps she wanted sex? Jesse eyed her breasts, which were peaking through her tight fitting shirt like two perfect peaches. If he was honest, he would. Oh yeah, he would.

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“In this case, we’d like this restaurant,” she said casually, throwing Jesse off guard. “Or more accurately, the storage room above it.”

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“What for?” Jesse asked slowly. “You know I don’t actually own this place, right?”

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“Obviously,” the man said, hiding a laugh.

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She gave him a dirty look before turning back to Jesse. “Our old place, it isn’t safe anymore. Too many cops around; we need to move as soon as possible. We just need somewhere to crash while we find somewhere new.” It was like something out of a gangster movie and Jesse wasn’t sure if he wanted to watch anymore. “Of course, if you didn’t want the part, we fully understand.”

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Jesse licked his lips, head spinning. Raoul was his dream part and seeing as Freddie had played it for the past four years; he didn’t appear to be getting tired doing it. There was no telling when Jesse would have a chance to audition, let alone perform. But murder? Would he really go that far?

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“I don’t even know your names,” Jesse suddenly realised, voicing his thought aloud.

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The woman seemed to consider this question for a moment. She rolled her eyes and smiled in a way that suggested his question was absurd. She looked at her friend who looked equally amused.

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“Are you in or not?” She pressed, seemingly ignoring his question.

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Jesse licked his lips and let out a deep breath before answering. “I’m in.”

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The woman smiled, pleased. “I’m Quinn and this is Blaine.”

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*

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Freddie Capon had been found hanged in his own apartment, swinging from the ceiling fan. It had been a shock for the entire theatre world, and a loss for everyone who had known and loved him.

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Jesse was somewhat annoyed that auditions wouldn’t be held until a month later, but the silver lining was that this gave him a chance to really prepare for his audition.

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On the day of his audition, he gave it his all. He gave a really beautiful rendition of Twisted Every Way, the irony not lost on him. He was so sure that he had the part that he had quit his job at the restaurant.

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When he got the call thanking him for trying out, but unfortunately the part had gone to someone else, he had punched the kitchen wall in his apartment, breaking his hand in two places.

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The box office had printed a new poster and billboards for the show, which would be starting up again the following month. Jesse had studied his adversary carefully from the picture in the paper, reading the bio with interest. The man was twenty-three years old. He came from Ohio and been part of his school’s glee club. This mirror image did nothing to calm the feeling of pure hatred that he felt for the man.

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Eyeing the photograph, he scoffed. He hardly had movie star good looks like he did. His neat dark hair was styled in the pompadour fashion. His lips were pencil thin and his skin milky, almost like porcelain. This was a large contrast to Jesse’s tanned toned body, wavy sun kissed hair and gleaming smile.

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After throwing the screwed up newspaper clipping on the ground, he had made a movement to leave Central Park when a shadow cast itself on him.

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Blaine Anderson bent down and picked up the discarded article. Flattening it out, he gazed upon the photograph of the man critics were claiming was the “next best thing!” and “truly superb!”

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“He’s cute,” Blaine said offhandedly, showing Jesse the other man’s picture before turning it back to himself to study further. Jesse wasn’t sure if he was playing with him or being serious. Ever since he asked Blaine if he was sleeping with Quinn and was told matter-of-factly that “she doesn’t have a cock,” things between the two men had been a little off.

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“What do you want, Blaine?” Jesse asked. He didn’t have the time or patience to deal with him right now. His broken hand was throbbing and he was beginning to get a headache. It was bad enough when Quinn teased him, because you knew she was joking, but with Blaine, you could never tell.

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“We saw the billboard and thought you’d be upset,” Blaine said, not looking up. He ran his index finger over the face of the new Raoul, mild interest registering in his eyes.

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“Of course I’m fucking upset,” Jesse almost shouted. “I’ve worked so fucking hard for this and for what? So some snotty kid from Ohio can swoop in and take this from me?” His face was crimson and he was aware that he was shaking. A few pigeons scattered the area around the park bench, cooing in fright as the taller man threw his arms into the air dramatically.

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Blaine looked up as though Jesse had politely asked him about the weather. “Are you saying that you require our services again?”

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Jesse huffed, breathing hard. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel the vibrations in his ears. “Yes… but this time, I want it done differently. I want him to feel pain.”

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Blaine laughed. “And the other guy didn’t?” He mimed putting a rope around his neck and pulled it up, sticking his tongue out.

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“My dad died last week,” Jesse suddenly said.

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Blaine, a little taken back, began to say “I’m sor-“ before Jesse cut in.

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“He left me ten grand.”

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“I see,” Blaine said quietly, eyeing Jesse carefully, wondering where he was going with this.

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“I want you to… to seduce him. I want you to worm your way into his life and when he feels happiness, when he feels hope, I want it taken away from him… I want you to destroy him. Just like he did to me,” Jesse said, his voice deep and his eyes alight. “You do that and the money is yours.”

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Blaine considered this. If he was honest, killing random people was getting a little boring. Where was the fun? Where was the chase? And Quinn did like to finish them off; she got her kicks from it and if Blaine was honest, she was starting to piss him off. The last three guys he had at the brink before Quinn leapt in at the last minute.

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“You’ve got yourself a deal, my friend,” Blaine said. He looked down at the picture in his hands again, his lips twisting into a smile. “You better watch out, Kurt Hummel.”