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Where did you see me? Someone's following me. How could you do this? How could you do this? How could you do this?

It's not you. You're in a coffin, aren't you?

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I started sobbing in the middle of a convenience store after seeing a key-chain of your name. I leaned against the chips aisle--this was the first time I felt the grief wash through me, the first time I thought about you being dead forever. I always thought we would have another chance, that it was never too late because we were still alive.

When I left the convenience store, you were outside, smoking. Is it really you?

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Ellie?

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Why did you fake your own death? WHY ARE YOU MESSING WITH MY HEAD?

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Why did you fake your own death?

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Where did you see me? I saw you in my kitchen, softly singing that awful song that burns my ears. You julienned cucumbers; I don't know what for though.

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THE ACTRESSES SERIES (N668) CA. 1888

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Sometimes I forget that you're an actress.

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You, or whoever it is, glances over
and smiles.

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I was distracted by the pink, foamy clouds when I collected my mail from the post office. I didn't even notice the postcard hiding between the bills and the crossword subscriptions. I picked it up, and I couldn't shake off the fact that I'd seen you do this before--stick a pressed flower to your postcards and sketch out landscapes you believed to be beautiful. But when I read the message, I realised that the handwriting didn't really look like yours. But maybe it was yours, I mean, it had been nearly a year since I had heard your voice and I had already forgotten it--same could be said for your handwriting. Also, the message was gibberish to me. The author wrote about going to their beach house for the dark summer ahead--all honeyed and sulky among the deep ocean.

You have a beach house.

Why would you have done all of this?

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She walks into the kitchen, kettle brewing, stir-fry sizzling, and it smells like coriander even though she hasn't watered the window sill plants in weeks. She drizzles some cool water into the soil, softening it, and pressing her fingertips into the very foundation of life.

Lian suggested she cut and dye her hair to hide her identity in public, but she likes it the colour of brown sugar. There was also not much to cut anyways, since she prefers it short, curling at the neck.

Ellie would have to miss the Lunar New Year at her parents' house this year.

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Where did you see me? I saw you pushing the wisps of fake blonde fringe away from my eyelashes, pressing flowers between pages of the Poirot, asking me to read scripts with you, softly kissing me goodnight, bickering with me over what tile the bathroom should have, begging me to cook that Thai dish my mother made for us once, spraying your strawberry perfume on me when I was being petty, sewing the eye back on my polar bear plush... And I couldn't help but wonder how you woke up one today and wanted me gone.

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I swear you saw me too.

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Where do you see me now? You're at the farmer's market, rubbing the marks off the apples, like the way you used to rub your eyebrow scar. My therapist said it's common for the grieving to think they've seen their loved one alive--walking around peacefully, driving in the next lane, the first face in a crowd.

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Where did you see me? I saw you rub the scar that ran through your right eyebrow as if it still hurt. You told me that story properly. You said that if you were Orpheus, you wouldn't have turned back to look at Eurydice. I said that maybe the grieving can't help but look back upon the people they love, and feel like they're losing them again every time.

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Where did you see me? I saw you yawning, lifting the covers up to our chins. You asked me if I knew Orpheus and Eurydice. I asked if we had met them before. You laughed at that.

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The photograph of you splashed on the front pages of newspapers everywhere reminded me of the first time I saw you. This was before I met you in person--the time I saw you on a movie poster in the city. It was for that movie where you were a detective in the 1980s trying to find a missing 17-year-old girl. The close-up shot of you pierced me, daring me to look at you. I wondered what you were thinking at that moment, if you were happy, if you were in pain, what sort of life you had led that brought you to this specific flash of the camera. Back then you were just a stranger on a billboard, and I couldn't read what part of you was real, and what was for show.

I hadn't talked to you since you ended things seven months ago. The police came to interview me about your disappearance anyways, but I had nothing to give them. I called your older sister who told me that it was too crowded at her parents' house to meet. At the cafe, Lian told me that you rushed off in the middle of Christmas Eve night at your parents' house to go see me. I told her that you were probably just making up some excuse to escape for a few hours; you were the one who kicked me out, after all. Maybe you went to walk along the beach and the ocean swallowed you down to her ancient floor.

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what was it like to be the muse of the 24-hour news cycle?

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what was it like to be the muse of the 24-hour news cycle?

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Where did you see me? I saw you smoking on the balcony one night after work. I came to ask you when you were going to come to bed. You blew smoke into my face, like a magician blowing magic dust, creating an illusion I was all too ready to believe.

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Where did you see me? I saw you sketching landscapes, turning them into postcards to send your friends. You lightly brushed watercolour paints onto the black-inked outlines. You said you would send me one some day.

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The front door to your house by the beach is ajar, so I push it open, calling out your name. Nobody replies so I walk in further, but the lights are off in the parlour and the dining room. I see pictures of us still up on the walls, on the shelves, and see my things still strewn all over the place. I remember coming here one summer; the air was sticky and the ocean salty hot. I see you in the living room, sitting in front of the hearth, fire warming up your icy smile.

Y: I knew you'd figure out where I was. I was hoping it was going to be sooner than later.
X: You faked your death.
Y: What are you on about?
X: The newspapers, and the funeral, and your sister...
Y: You sound a little crazy right now.
X: Crazy?! You're dead! You're dead! You're dead!
Y: Is the cold freezing your brain to death too?
Y: Come sit in front of the fire. It's been healing people since the ancient times.

I sank into the floorboards in front of the fire, wondering when the lies, the truth and reality had become one.

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The papers said you were in a motorcycle accident and had died upon impact in a remote area, which was why it took so long to find you. I didn't cry at first. I just followed the motions of existing--waking up, eating, showering, working, sleeping, repeating. Lian called me, inviting me to your funeral. Your parents thought we were only old university classmates, as only Lian knew what we really were. You said they would go into shock, or that they were from a different time, a different country, or that you wanted to keep your private life private--I lost count of all the different lies you told me, and I think you did too.

It was a closed-casket ceremony. Part of me wanted to see you again, but the other part rationalised that it wasn't you anymore, just an empty house that nobody wanted to live in.

A few weeks later, I saw you at the train station.

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X: i remember the first time i watched you play that detective on tv, running around chinatown like you owned the place
Y: What was it like?
X: i was in my pyjamas, those purple ones, and i wasn't even paying attention as i flicked through channels late at night. but once i saw you, the moonlight bled through the cracked curtains
Y: Do you remember what I was doing?
X: yeah, you were at a train station, investigating this girl's disappearance. i think it was called 'running girl'
X: you were always running somewhere

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Read here: THE SIXTH STATION STAR MISSING
Read here: BELOVED ACTRESS, DISAPPEARED
Read here: ELLIE HALLETT: KIDNAPPED?
Read here: POLICE AT A LOSS IN ELLIE HALLETT CASE

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Where do you see me now? You're at the art museum that you used to always take me to, pondering over the exhibition of actresses. You're sporting sunglasses, so maybe it's a case of mistaken identity; I'm just seeing things again. But you lean down, and for just a second, I catch a glimpse of your eyebrow.