Sadako understood perfectly well why Bella had helped her—her healing ability was the draw, the same logic that made everyone want a doctor for a close friend. When your health was on the line, that one contact could mean the difference between life and death.
She had no illusions about it. Without anything to offer, she'd have been just another restless ghost nobody cared about. That was just how the world worked.
Sadako was kind. She wasn't naive. The thirty-odd years she'd spent at the bottom of that well—trapped in darkness, festering with rage—were part of her history too: the history of Sadako's darker side.
Those years had left her starved for validation. Now that people were finally recognizing her worth, she was genuinely happy about it. Bella, Professor Xavier, and now Diane—in her eyes, each one of them mattered.
She loved the atmosphere on set. Everyone seemed to enjoy having her around, and that was more than enough.
"Diane? Where are we going today?" she called out cheerfully after another day of shooting wrapped. The director and the male lead had both praised her performance again that afternoon. She knew what was behind it, but it still made her feel warm.
Diane watched the young director laughing with Sadako and felt her face go rigid. She didn't know how to name what she felt or what to do about any of it.
The more beloved Sadako became, the more she shone like a real star, the more it gutted Diane. Why her? She's Japanese. I'm American. Whatever happened to the prejudice everyone loves to talk about? Oh—it only applies to people with no connections and no money. Got it.
In the version of this she'd imagined, Sadako would have been struggling, getting picked on by the crew, and she would have stepped in to protect her. That would have been perfect.
But reality had its own agenda. No amount of resentment changed the fact that Sadako was simply more popular.
All that praise, all those compliments, all that flattery—imagine if it were hers instead.
Love and hatred had twisted into something indistinguishable. All she could manage now was a strained smile.
"Camila, let's go—" She'd been about to suggest a movie.
The words died in her throat.
A memory surfaced—something from six months ago. And then the nightmare she'd been having over and over lately.
The urge to burn everything down had been growing clearer and clearer inside her. The thought that had been lurking at the edges came out on its own.
"The director complimented your acting again today, didn't he? Honestly, I think we both still have room to grow. I came across an old tape recently—what do you say we study some classic performances together?"
Sadako's mind produced three large, blinking question marks.
She had a natural sensitivity to the word tape. The memories were all still there—she could access them, though from an outside angle, without feeling the old emotions that had driven Sadako's darker half. But from her gut: she had absolutely no desire to watch any tape.
Still, she was honest about her own limitations. Her acting technique was rough, and she knew it. Watching old films together, using the dialogue to practice scenes back and forth—that was actually a reasonable idea.
She smiled and agreed. They drove back to Diane's apartment.
Diane's palms were drenched. She went to the deepest recess of her closet and took out a black videocassette.
She'd picked it up during her time as a journalist's assistant in Seattle. She didn't like remembering that period. What it had done to her was nothing but nightmares. But tonight she was pulling it out, because she wanted one final act of madness.
She wanted to destroy Sadako's safety net completely.
She knew exactly what this tape did. Anyone who watched it was dead within seven days—unless they passed it on to someone else before the time ran out. Six months ago, that was how she'd survived.
Now the tape had found its way back to her. She wasn't going to run this time.
Her plan: they would watch it together. Then she'd confess everything—her jealousy, her obsession, all of it. They'd spend seven days together, and then die together.
She ran through the whole sequence twice in her head. No gaps she could see. Clean and simple.
She pressed the cassette into the player with trembling hands. Faced with Sadako's bewildered stare, she forced a smile. "It'll start in just a moment. Let me go make some coffee."
Static had already begun crawling across the television screen.
Sadako looked at her new friend. Looked at the television. Her voice dropped several degrees. "Sure. Go ahead."
Diane was too wound up to notice the shift in tone.
Sadako settled back on the sofa to wait, perfectly composed—back straight, knees together, hands resting in her lap.
She fixed her gaze on the screen. The static thickened, and somewhere beneath it, a shape began to take form.
"Hah." A quiet exhale. Seriously? Of all things. She'd held out a sliver of hope that she'd misread the situation. But this opening—she'd know it anywhere.
Nobody knows this tape better than I do. She dearly wanted to ask Diane what she'd been thinking. Did she really just try to use that against her? Was this a joke?
In the kitchen, Diane was shaking, caught between regret and a savage, vindictive thrill. She watched Sadako's back, and something cruel welled up inside her.
So what if you have powerful people in your corner? So what if the whole crew fawns over you? Death doesn't care about any of that. In front of death, you're the same as me. Go ahead—call in your backers. Let's see if they can help you.
Sadako didn't need to call anyone. Kayako, Yaeko—she could have dragged any number of spirits through in an instant, enough to make Diane jump out of her skin. But that wasn't even necessary here.
She watched the image clarify on the screen. The deep stone well, unmistakable. The white figure beginning to climb out of it.
Sadako turned and glanced back at Diane. The woman looked away.
The white figure emerged—moving as fluidly as ever—and then froze.
If she'd had a smartphone, she would have sent a deeply confused reaction meme.
What is going on?
Just to make sure she hadn't made a mistake, the figure parted the long black hair covering her face and peered out at the room.